Secrets of the Dead: A serial killer thriller that will have you hooked (Detective Robyn Carter crime thriller series Book 2)

by Carol Wyer

  ‘DI Carter, I wasn’t expecting you. I have a class at five.’ He checked his watch as if to make the point.

  ‘Sorry. We didn’t have time to make an appointment and it is important we talk to you.’

  Scott could barely stand still; a nervous energy pulsated through his body and his hands and wrists jiggled while he talked. The drama of the last week and his new responsibilities were taking their toll, and, if Ross was correct, so too were marriage difficulties. Scott led them to his office, where he propped himself against the desk.

  ‘Is it about Miles?’

  Robyn shook her head. ‘Harriet Worth.’

  Scott slumped a little. ‘Mrs Worth died in 2012. The police came. It was an accident.’

  ‘So I understand. Tell me what you know about that night.’

  ‘I don’t know a lot. I’d recently been promoted to gym manager so I was more concerned with making sure our clients were satisfied with the gym and the training programmes we were offering. Harriet dropped by to check out the gym. I remember her and her friend coming in. Both were into running, as I recall. We had a chat about the forthcoming Olympic Games in London. She was really excited because she’d got tickets to watch some track event. She complimented me on my trainers that day. They were brand new and had cost me a fortune. I’d bought them to celebrate being promoted to gym manager. That’s pretty much why I remember her.’

  ‘Okay. And were you in the building when she died?’

  He sighed. ‘I wasn’t. I’d gone home at about seven thirty. It was my mother-in-law’s birthday and I was in charge of doing a surprise barbecue for the family.’

  ‘The verdict was accidental death. Who was responsible for the spa area at the time?’

  ‘The spa was a shared responsibility between the gym and the cleaning staff. We made sure used towels were collected regularly and floors were kept clean, the pool levels were correct and so on.’

  ‘The night Harriet died, there was water on the floor.’

  ‘That’s right. The shower next to the pool was leaking. It was discovered late in the day, too late to get an outside plumber to fix it. Jakub Woźniak was quite handy at that sort of thing so I asked him to take a look at it.’

  Scott tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his polo shirt. Robyn studied him for a moment before asking, ‘Who had responsibility for locking up the spa?’

  He gave a dry cough. ‘All the managers took it in turns to be duty manager and check all the doors to the beauty salon, gym and spa were locked and secure.’

  ‘And who was duty manager that night?’

  ‘Me. I was duty manager. I failed to lock the door. Jakub spent an hour trying to fix the shower and I’d been busy with a client. The client wanted me to go through a written personal programme afterwards, and consequently, I was running late. My missus called me to say her parents had arrived and asked where the heck I was. I wanted to lock up and asked Jakub to get a move on but he needed another ten minutes and said he’d lock up. I don’t know if there was a miscommunication or what. Anyway, he didn’t lock the door.

  ‘I admitted all this to the police at the time and to Lord Bishton. He told me not to worry and he’d handle it, and I was never charged. Am I being charged now?’

  She responded with a shake of her head. She had no more questions regarding Harriet. She was now concerned that Scott might be targeted by a killer intent on revenge. She would have to make sure he was out of harm’s way. She’d clear it with Mulholland first. She had to talk to Jakub Woźniak.

  ‘Do you have Jakub Woźniak’s number?’

  ‘Sure. He’ll tell you the same story. We didn’t hide anything.’ He pulled out his mobile, scrolled through his contacts. Robyn copied Jakub’s number into her mobile.

  ‘I’m sure you didn’t. Look, when you finish your class, don’t leave the premises without telling Sergeant Patel.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I’ll explain later. First, I have to talk to Mr Woźniak.’ She moved away from the gym entrance and dialled the number. It rang four times and a woman’s voice answered.

  ‘Hello, can I speak to Mr Jakub Woźniak please?’

  ‘I’m sorry, who is this?’

  ‘It’s DI Carter from Staffordshire Police. Can I speak to Mr Woźniak? It’s very important.’

  The woman at the end of the phone spoke so quietly Robyn could hardly hear her. ‘DI Carter, this is PC Fallows from Burton-upon-Trent. We have an incident here. Mr Woźniak has been killed. We’re at the scene now.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Near Bromley Hall. We’re two miles along Branston Lane in the direction of Burton, just after the crossroads. Do you need GPS coordinates?’

  ‘I’m at the Hall. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.’

  She pulled Mitz to one side and indicated Scott Dawson. ‘Keep him in your sights. Jakub’s been killed. I’m going to find out what’s happened.’

  Thirty-Nine

  She spotted the flashing lights almost as soon as she turned into the lane and passed the church. An ambulance was parked on the verge along with several other cars, and, in spite of the rain, there was a flurry of activity. A squad car blocked the road at the crossroads. She wound down her window and spoke to the officer standing in the road. He was drenched.

  ‘DI Carter. You have a hit-and-run victim.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Over there.’ He pointed towards a line of bushes and groups of individuals huddled in plastic ponchos. A tent had been erected over the body.

  She guided the Golf into a space between a Volvo and a squad car and got out. The rain was easing a little. She stood for a moment and surveyed the scene. If it weren’t for the squad car lights and torches, the area would be pitch black.

  She flashed her warrant card at a female PC with a neat bob.

  ‘I just spoke to you on the phone, ma’am. I’m Karen Hall, the family liaison officer on this case. I’m just about to inform Mrs Woźniak of the sad news. Her husband was found by the side of the road. Whoever hit him did a runner. There are no witnesses, other than the Tesco van driver who happened upon the body and called us. We took a statement from him. He had to leave on account of his deliveries.’

  ‘The driver wasn’t involved?’

  No, ma’am. All deliveries and delivery times are monitored by the company, so we were able to track his route. The pathologist thinks Mr Woźniak has been dead for two or three hours. The van driver was loading up at the depot at that time. DI Young is the officer in charge. He’s with the pathologist.’ She pointed out three men huddled under a large blue umbrella. ‘The man in the anorak is the forensic photographer. He’s been here for a while. I think he’s about to leave.’

  Robyn recognised the familiar green anorak. It was Sam Gooch. He spotted her and lifted a hand, leaving the officer and heading in her direction.

  ‘Nice evening,’ he commented. ‘I was happily playing bridge with my dear wife when I got dragged out into this filthy weather. Now, what are you doing here? Other than the obvious. I thought you were occupied with another case in Lichfield.’

  ‘I think this could be related.’

  He chuckled. ‘Haven’t you already got enough dead bodies? You’re getting greedy, Robyn. There was a note in the victim’s trouser pocket similar to the one you found on Rory Wallis’s body. I’m pretty certain you’ll find they’re linked. Anyway, I’ll let you get on with it.’

  The rain tapped on Sam’s umbrella like keys on a typewriter. He gave Robyn a small smile. ‘I’ve seen enough death. It’s time to see some life. I’m having a leaving party at my house next month, once Christmas is over. I’ll send you an invite. Bring a friend.’

  ‘I’ll bring Ross. He’ll want to wish you well.’

  ‘Lovely. We’ve seen some things, the three of us in our time, haven’t we?’ With those words and a cheery wave, he scuttled away to the Volvo.

  Robyn walked towards the tent and Chris Young, the officer in charge. He was ta
king photographs and recording a video of the scene on his phone, and cast a cursory glance in her direction. Droplets of rain splashed onto his head and trickled down his face, leaving silvery lines: snail trails, she thought. Satisfied he had captured sufficient detail, he tucked his phone into his pocket and turned his attention to her.

  ‘Ah, the infamous DI Carter. Chased any blind men recently?’ He laughed at his own joke. Robyn smiled as pleasantly as she could.

  ‘It wasn’t my finest moment.’

  ‘We all make mistakes. I have to admit that was a cracker. I’m Chris Young.’ He had a soft drawl she couldn’t place and a lazy smile. ‘I’m afraid I’m one of Tom Shearer’s mates. We have met, although it was a while ago. You were assigned to the Buxton Barber case at the time and I was a mere junior aspiring to greater things.’

  She vaguely recalled a fresh-faced PC with sandy hair who had followed her about with the air of an eager puppy. ‘I remember you now. You wrote everything down in shorthand.’

  ‘A skill I picked up from my mum, who assured me it would be useful. It’s helped me on many a case. No long-winded sentences. No one can read what I’ve written, though, so I still have to copy stuff out.’

  ‘You’re friends with Tom?’

  ‘We live near each other. I bump into him from time to time at the local pub. He’s the one who told me about the gaffe with the blind man.’

  ‘That explains it. Are you the SOCO on this?’

  ‘I am. Hit and run. Name of Jakub Woźniak.’

  ‘I reckon I know who this man is. He worked at Bromley Hall. He came off shift about three hours ago.’

  ‘That accounts for why he was cycling down this lane on a shitty November afternoon.’

  ‘I wondered if this accident might be connected to a case I’m working on. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a look.’

  ‘Sure, be my guest.’

  He led the way past an abandoned bike that lay on the verge.

  ‘Any clear idea of what happened?’

  ‘It looks like he wasn’t actually riding the bike when he was hit. The front tyre is flat. My initial thoughts were that it had deflated after the accident, but there was no damage at all to the bike, and I discovered a drawing pin in the tyre. He’d picked it up from somewhere else and got a slow puncture. That seems to be borne out by the fact we can’t find any tyre tracks, no rubber left from a vehicle skidding to a halt, or weaving to avoid him. In nearly all cases there is some evidence, especially when a person is spotted at the last moment and the driver swerves to avoid a collision. It’s as if the driver didn’t see him at all, whacked into him and carried on driving.

  ‘There’s significant trauma consistent with being struck by a vehicle while standing or walking. Forensics took samples from his clothing to help determine how the damage was caused. The pathologist confirmed Woźniak has several broken bones, ribs and other injuries, that were most likely caused by a frontal collision, and he’ll be able to tell us more when he’s conducted a full examination of the body.’

  ‘Sam said you found a note in his trouser pocket.’

  ‘Yes, I didn’t understand its relevance. As you know, you have to look at every angle, and he may have had the note on him before he was hit.’

  He lifted the tent opening and she entered. Temporary lights had been set up and shone on the victim’s ruined face, which was covered with blood the colour of black tar. His right leg was twisted at an awkward angle and his foot was facing in the wrong direction. The shoe had come off. The sock bore the words ‘Best Dad’. She didn’t need to look at him for long. She heaved a sigh and moved away. Chris lifted the tent flap and signalled for the undertaker, who had been waiting in his van, to remove the body. She stared at the sheet covering the man she had hoped to interview. It was too late to find out what he had known about the night Harriet had died.

  She couldn’t be sure whether Jakub had met an untimely end unconnected to her cases, but the note in his pocket would surely be the clue she needed.

  ‘Where’s the note?’ she asked.

  Chris extracted three evidence bags from a box by the tent flap and handed one to her. Her mouth went dry. She held the transparent bag up to the beam from one of the lights and recognised it to be an invoice like those she had found on the bodies of Rory Wallis and Linda Upton.

  ‘Chris, can you give me everything you get or have on this? It’s definitely connected to my investigations.’

  Chris gave her a genial smile. ‘I’m glad about that. It’s Chelsea versus Spurs in the Premier League this weekend and I promised my lad I’d take him. Thanks – now I won’t have to miss out.’

  Robyn phoned Mitz to fill him in on the latest development.

  ‘Stay with Dawson until I can get someone to keep a proper watch on him, or get him into protection. I’m going to talk to Mulholland as soon as I can. Make sure he stays at the Hall until we arrange everything.’

  She now had three invoices. So far, they totalled three quarters of a million pounds. That still left a shortfall of the same amount. If the killer was keeping the value at £250,000 per invoice, there could be three more victims in his sights. She had to ensure he didn’t get to them. The trouble was, the killer was one step ahead of them and they had no idea who he was.

  Forty

  Tricia turned over the USB stick in her hand for the umpteenth time. It wasn’t for her to nosy at it even if the stick contained information that would be useful in determining how Miles Ashbrook had died. More importantly, the receipt she held in her hand was evidence that Miles had kept secrets, and secrets were, as Tricia knew, never a good thing.

  She swiped her contact list, tapped a number and was transferred to Robyn’s answering service. ‘It’s Tricia. I’ve found a USB stick among Miles’s personal effects and a receipt from a hotel in London – the Hideaway – for a night’s stay in a double room with dinner and breakfast for two people. No one, not even his mother, was aware Miles was involved with anyone. He’s been keeping this quiet. I don’t know if it’s significant, but wondered if it might be a clue or, oh I don’t know…’ She rubbed her stiff neck, pressing on a muscle for a minute, easing the tension there.

  ‘I hoped it might lead to something. Also, we found a pay-as-you-go mobile phone in a jacket pocket. It isn’t his usual phone. I can’t get it to work – the battery’s dead and my charger won’t fit it. I could take it to a phone shop, but then I thought I’d tell you first before taking any action. Anyway, call me when you get this. I want to hand it all over to you.’

  Robyn took another look at her Post-it notes scattered on her desk. She needed to put together a cohesive argument for Louisa Mulholland. It was nearly nine o’clock on Thursday morning, and she’d barely slept. Her head had swum with images of the killer’s victims – Rory, Linda and Jakub. She owed it to them and their families to find their murderer.

  Mulholland’s door was ajar. She tapped lightly on it and was called in. An untouched mug of coffee was on her desk. She motioned for Robyn to sit while she finished a phone call. No sooner had she finished her conversation than Robyn got straight to the point.

  ‘There was another murder yesterday afternoon – Jakub Woźniak. Like the other victims, he had an invoice on his body. I now have reason to believe there’s a tie between the victims and Harriet Worth, the woman who fell into the pool at Bromley Hall in 2012 and drowned. Jakub was at Bromley Hall the evening Harriet Worth died. He was asked to repair a shower. He didn’t have the part to fix it and it continued to leak. Harriet slipped in the water that leaked from the shower.’ Robyn paused for a second. ‘The spa door should have been locked but Scott Dawson, who was the duty manager, left early that night in the belief Jakub would lock up. Jakub either didn’t hear or understand, or forgot, and the door remained unlocked. As a consequence, Harriet was able to enter the spa and pool area. I’m now convinced certain members of staff who were at Bromley Hall in July 2012 are in danger. I think our killer believes they were in some w
ay responsible for the death of Harriet Worth. And I think he’ll try to kill Scott Dawson. As duty manager that night, it was Scott’s responsibility to lock that spa. I want to arrange protection for him.’

  Louisa Mulholland had a coughing fit that prevented her from speaking. After a few minutes, she wiped at her watering eyes. Her voice was croaky. ‘This is dangerously close to getting out of hand. I understand why you want to protect these people, but how many are we talking about? I can’t spare officers to babysit members of the public when they have other duties to perform. Have you a list of people you think are likely to become targets?’

  ‘We’re trying to narrow it down. There are seventeen on our list. We’ve already eliminated one of them. We’ll have the numbers down to a more manageable size soon. Most of them were chambermaids or beauticians. I doubt they played any part in Harriet Worth’s death or even met her.’

  Louisa shook her head. ‘Sorry. No. You’ll have to use your team to cover those you feel are in imminent danger. We can’t use any other officers. Most are currently working on the spate of gang wars we seem to be having. Tom Shearer is heading a team and they are currently deployed throughout East Staffordshire, in Burton-on-Trent, Uttoxeter and Branston, where we’re experiencing the most trouble. I can’t drag them away from their duties.’

  Robyn felt aggrieved. She could do with some support from her superior.

  ‘Yes, ma’am. I’ll use my officers, but if someone else gets murdered because we couldn’t provide adequate protection, I want it noted that I saw you and requested extra assistance.’

  Louisa pulled at a tissue from a box on her table and blew her nose. ‘Duly noted, Robyn. I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want, but you’re resourceful.’

  The hairs on Robyn’s arm rose. She wanted to protest, but respect for her superior won the argument and she bit her lip.