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

by Carol Wyer

  ‘It was a one-off. I wasn’t keen but he sounded desperate. He’s not been lucky with work, he has a medical condition that makes it difficult for him to find a job, and he didn’t want to lose this one.’

  The room went quiet and the credits rolled on the television show. The dog let out a whine.

  ‘His name’s Dan and he’s a doorman and porter at Bromley Hall. Be nice when you talk to him, please. I’m sure he isn’t involved in anything…’ The sentence hung in the air, and although she spoke the words, Stacey didn’t look too certain she believed them.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Turner. Can I ask one last question? Why do you have a different name to your brother?’

  ‘Different fathers. We’re half-brother and sister. My father left our mum and she remarried. Dan was born Williams and I kept Turner. Mum was a basket case. She had more men than hot dinners. She was into drugs too. We both ended up in care. She’s dead now. Life’s like that,’ she added in a flat tone.

  ‘I might need to talk to you again.’

  Stacey slumped further into the settee cushion and patted the one next to her. Alfie bounded over and jumped up. She stroked him. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Yes, for now.’

  ‘Good. Now go. Leave me in peace.’

  Stacey stared at the television. A new show was beginning. She aimed the remote control at the set and helped herself to a handful of crisps, leaving Robyn to find her own way out.

  Fifty-Five

  Adrian Bishton was welcomed by his housekeeper. He kept Flo Andrews on retainer while the house was empty, to keep it clean and prepare it for each visit. He was glad to be home after the long journey. He inhaled the familiar scent of lavender and beeswax and surveyed the entrance. The same art deco lamp on the antique table in the hallway, the same hat stand with carved feet purchased in Africa, the same grandfather clock that now chimed eleven times as if to welcome its owner, leaving Adrian smiling at the familiarity of it all, its ring resonating in his ears.

  Adrian had many happy memories in this house – the rooms filled with guests and laughter at dinner parties, family memories of his two children – precious times that had passed in the blink of an eye. He had been most fortunate in life and there wasn’t a day when he didn’t count his blessings.

  The hand-carved wooden handrail that curled up the staircase had been polished to a gleaming finish. Portraits of the Bishton family lined the walls leading to the first landing. He stared at the largest of the portraits, of him and Kate, painted in the 1980s – they had been filled with youthful confidence and pride back then. The future had stretched before them and they had felt invincible. The full-length, gilt-edged mirror hanging beside the drawing-room door revealed the man of today. He hadn’t aged too badly – a little grey at the temples, but still the same lean frame. Following years in the fitness industry, he maintained a vigorous exercise regime, and months living in the sunshine had given him a healthy complexion along with a deep suntan.

  Adrian felt a rush of pride as he strode about, reacquainting himself with his surroundings. Flo had done a good job. He must remember to give her a Christmas bonus.

  The hunt ball on Sunday evening was taking place at one of his favourite venues – Weston Hall in Stafford – a manor house built in 1550 that was now an upscale hotel. He’d been there on a few occasions and never tired of the stunning building. Now there was a property he would like to have owned. He made a call to the local chauffeur service, confirming the arrangements for Sunday evening, after which he poured a large brandy from a glass decanter and settled down in the living room in front of a roaring fire, the long journey and frustrations of the day behind him.

  Mitz sounded more like his usual self as he gave directions. ‘Ring road A601, past the Siddals Road car park, then first on your right, near the Intu shopping centre. That’ll take you into Liversage Street, opposite the Gala Bingo hall. Should be able to park on the road. Matt’s on his way.’

  Robyn followed the road over the River Derwent and got her bearings. She wasn’t far from Dan’s flat. Feeling the adrenalin coursing through her veins, she accelerated. She wanted this to be the breakthrough she so desperately needed. They’d had no luck in locating Scott, and Alan Worth was still in a critical state and unable to assist them. Her team was worn out, and morale had been fading quickly; this was the boost they needed. Mitz confirmed Dan was not due at Bromley until the following morning. She dare not hope for too much – every turn in this case had taken her to a dead end, or given her only the slightest hint of her killer’s identity. This time, she had to be right.

  Mitz’s voice contained a trace of excitement. ‘I’ve got background on Dan Williams. He and his sister were taken into care in 1985. Sister went to live with a family in Lichfield, but Dan had several foster families. Ran away from one in 1987 and was admitted to hospital with significant head and back injuries. Has since been on medication for occipital neuralgia – severe and debilitating headaches. Employment history is sketchy. Held down several part-time positions in supermarkets and factories. Never lasts more than a few months. Moved into sheltered housing accommodation in Lichfield late 2012 and to new accommodation in Derby in 2015.’

  ‘Okay, thanks. Good work.’

  ‘You will also want to know what I came across regarding his sister. She moved to Delphinium Avenue early 2013. Before that she rented a two-bedroomed flat in Shenstone House, Hobs Road, Lichfield.’

  ‘Is it near Stowe Pool?’ Robyn’s pulse raced.

  ‘It’s a twenty-minute walk.’ Mitz sounded like she felt. They had most likely found their man. She found the turning and pulled up on Liversage Street. She watched for any movement. She couldn’t lose him now. Matt would soon join her, and if all went to plan, she might just catch the Lichfield Leopard in his lair.

  Fifty-Six

  Anna waited impatiently at the station. She and Mitz had uncovered plenty of information regarding Dan Williams and Stacey Turner, and she was beginning to feel the after-effects of an adrenalin surge. She meandered into the corridor, intent on getting some air to keep her going, when she had a sudden thought.

  They’d been focusing heavily on finding whoever was guilty of killing Rory, Linda and Jakub, and since Scott’s confession they had ceased to think about Miles Ashbrook. Scott had told Robyn he had wanted to leave the sauna because it was too hot. She had a flashback to the shadow on the CCTV footage and dashed back to the office. She inserted the USB stick and fast-forwarded to the moment she thought she saw the shadow of a man. The time clock showed seven twenty. The shadow couldn’t be Scott Dawson, as he was busy taking Scotty’s Combatives at that time. This was somebody else.

  ‘Mitz, does this look like a person’s head to you?’

  ‘Sort of. It’s an odd shape though. Is that just the way the light has fallen and distorted it?’

  ‘I can’t be certain. It seems peculiar. I’m taking a few stills from the frame to put on the board with a question mark. They might have a bearing on the case, and the boss always says to leave no stone unturned.’

  The moon was large and bright, flooding the roads with silver light. Robyn inhaled the crisp air and pulled her coat tighter around her. Across the road, twinkling coloured lights, a reminder of the festive season, flashed in sequence. The roads were quiet and the cold had kept people inside. Matt drew up beside her car and got out, carrying a zipped bag. She felt her neck muscles bunching and adjusted her flak vest. The desperate need to catch this man was mounting.

  ‘Parky or what? Matt exclaimed. ‘Where are we headed? I’ve brought the big key in case we need it.’ He motioned at the bag containing an enforcer. The specially designed steel tubular battering ram was some fifty-eight centimetres long, with an angled handle at one end and a steel pad at the other. Matt was one of only two officers in her team who had completed a course on how to safely use it. He passed Robyn a pair of ear defenders.

  She pointed at the flats nearest the road. ‘Got the warrant?’

 
; ‘In my pocket.’

  ‘Come on, then.’

  ‘He’s not going to be hanging out in a tree waiting to pounce, is he?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The Lichfield Leopard. Leopards lurk in trees waiting to leap on unsuspecting victims and even drag their prey up there to eat. Good climbers,’ he added with a smirk.

  Robyn grinned in spite of herself. Matt had diffused the tension. ‘His car is parked in the next street, so he ought to be in.’

  They hugged the walls of the building and climbed the stairs to the second floor to Dan’s flat. She put an ear to the door. It was silent inside – no television, no radio, nothing. She thumped on the door. Nothing. ‘Open up, Mr Williams,’ she called. ‘This is the police. Please open the door.’ Nothing. ‘Mr Williams, for the final time, open the door.’

  This wasn’t right. Surely he had to be inside. He couldn’t possibly have got wind of their intentions and fled. She moved aside to let Matt force entry. He removed the enforcer from the holdall and positioned himself in front of the door, swung the ram back and smashed it into the door, causing it to fly open with a loud bang. Robyn waited for tenants to appear and demand to know what was happening, but no one came to see what had produced such a noise.

  Robyn and Matt walked into the bedsit. If Stacey’s house was squalid, this surpassed it. There was nothing other than a couch, a table and a small television. A blanket lay in a heap on the floor. A filthy glass stood on the table. Matt let out a low whistle. ‘Holy…’ Her eyes followed his. On the wall were hundreds and hundreds of photographs of Harriet Worth – each exactly the same photograph of her in a pink jogging top and leggings, running around an expanse of water.

  Fifty-Seven

  The lights in the office blazed brightly. Robyn sat on her desk, flak vest on the back of her chair, her head aching as she tried to fathom what to do next. They had not found Williams, even though they had waited – one inside the building, the other outside, in case he appeared. His car remained in the street. He was either somewhere else for the night or had got spooked and gone into hiding.

  She had sent her officers home. There was little more to achieve and it was past midnight. She turned her attention to the whiteboard and noticed Anna had added Dan Williams and Stacey Turner to it. There was a photograph of each of them. Anna had also added Miles Ashbrook and a picture taken from the CCTV footage of a man’s head. She studied it hard, then shook her head to clear it. Her thoughts were no longer coherent. She had a potential victim on the run and a killer on the loose.

  One thing was certain. She was going to be too busy to take Amélie out for the day. She had to let her know. It was only fair. She logged onto her Skype account and noted that the girl was still showing as ‘active’ even though it was late by now. She rang and within seconds Amélie’s avatar was replaced by the girl herself, wearing a cream, long-sleeved vest, her long dark hair tied up in a red ribbon. As always, she reminded Robyn of Davies.

  She grinned. A light above her revealed the sprinkling of freckles across her nose. ‘Hey.’

  ‘Hi. How’s it going?’

  The girl shrugged. ‘You know, same old.’

  ‘Look, I’m really sorry but I’ve got a difficult case at the moment.’

  ‘I know what you’re going to say. We can’t go out together this weekend.’

  ‘As soon as I get some leave, I’ll call you and we’ll rearrange it.’

  Amélie threw her a smile. ‘I knew you’d call. I heard you’re trying to solve a big case.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘I overheard Mum and Richard. I think they’d been talking to Ross. Are you after a murderer?’

  ‘Can’t discuss it, young lady.’

  She grinned again. ‘You’re so cool. I think I’d like to be a detective when I get through school. I love mysteries and puzzles.’

  ‘You’d be a cracking detective. How’s school?’

  ‘Same old,’ she repeated, and then laughed.

  ‘How’s Florence? I was thinking, when we go out you might like to invite her too?’

  A small shake of the head. Amélie suddenly looked disheartened. ‘No. She’s starting acting weirdly. I’ve tried to talk to her but she doesn’t want to, not even on the phone.’

  The girl’s face was full of misery. Robyn couldn’t remember how she dealt with relationships when she was that age, but she recalled it was a turbulent time for some, what with changes in hormones.

  Robyn dragged up some old Latin from her own schooldays. ‘Gradatim – it means take it gradually, step by step. How about you look at it the same way I do when I’m working through a case?’

  ‘She’s been weird ever since she went to a big race meeting. She was excited about it cos a boy she fancies called Andy was also going, but she hasn’t mentioned it since.’

  Robyn rubbed her chin. ‘I think that’s the key. Something occurred then.’

  Amélie stared at the screen. ‘You think so? It makes sense. Is this what it’s like being a detective?’

  ‘Pretty much. You keep picking up pieces of a puzzle, deciding if they’re important and putting them in place. Sometimes they fit together. If I were you I’d either ask Florence what happened when she went to the races, or speak to Andy.’

  ‘Cool. I’ll do that. Thanks.’

  ‘So, I’ll talk to you again soon?’

  Amélie stuck up a thumb. ‘You bet. Better go. It’s late and Mum will be on the warpath if she hears I’m still up.’

  Robyn disconnected and stared at the board once more. Davies had been the best puzzle-solver. She wasn’t as quick as him, and relied more on instinct and feeling than logical deduction. She wished he were here to advise Amélie or to help her work through her own problems. But he wasn’t, and no amount of wishing was going to bring him back to her.

  Lord Bishton’s name was on the board with a question mark beside it. He must have received her message by now. She sank onto her chair with a lengthy sigh and spun around, head tilted back, berating herself for making a mess of this case. She ought to have checked to see if Bishton had caught the flight from Thailand. He could be in the UK. That was a bad error on her part. If he was here, he could be in danger. She dialled his number but the phone was still switched off. She needed somebody to keep a watch on Bishton’s place in case Williams decided to go after him. David Marker lived the closest to the Hall. It was late but she had no choice. She rang her officer.

  Once she’d ended her call, she attempted to create a profile of Dan Williams in her head: an unhappy childhood, farmed out to foster families and separated from his sister; a history of ill health; apparently no serious relationships, and an unhealthy interest in Harriet Worth. What had triggered that? She would have to interview Stacey again. Her thoughts turned to Stacey and her squalid home, devoid of love or family, the only photograph one of her and her brother with their mother. She couldn’t help noticing that Stacey had resembled Harriet – similar eyes, and if Robyn remembered correctly, a wisp of blonde hair much the same colour as Harriet’s. Maybe that had been the catalyst. She would never know unless she unearthed Dan.

  Although she had seen Dan at Bromley Hall, she had not paid much attention to him. Mitz had interviewed most of the staff, while she had tried to figure out how Miles Ashbrook had met his end. Dan had seemed a quiet, polite individual. He was tall and skinny, about six foot three, with long arms that didn’t fit his porter’s outfit and black hair that reached his shoulders, concealing some of his sharp features. More interested in the members of staff who had worked at the Hall when Harriet had died, Robyn had let him slip under her radar, and no doubt Mulholland would hang her out to dry for that. She stared at the photograph of him and, shutting her eyes, tilted her head back and let her mind wander. Dan was not a leopard. He was a chameleon.

  Mitz found Robyn dead to the world, head on the desk. He shook her shoulder gently. ‘Guv, wake up.’ She sat up with a start, her mouth dry, her breath sour, and with a dr
eadful crick in her neck.

  ‘Coffee?’ he asked, pushing a cup in her direction. She gave him a grateful look. She checked her mobile. It was almost 6 a.m. ‘What are you doing in so early?’

  ‘Figured you’d want to swing past Miss Turner’s house and have another chat with her. Thought you might like support. Didn’t you say she was on day shifts? She’ll be leaving for work soon.’

  She downed the coffee and headed to the bathroom to spruce up. She kept a wash bag in her locker along with her gym kit, so she was able to make herself presentable in a short time before hustling out of the station towards Delphinium Avenue.

  They found Stacey standing outside, watching Alfie do his business. She grimaced when she saw the squad car pull up.

  ‘Stacey, we need your help. Dan has disappeared and I have to ask you a few more questions.’

  ‘He’s not here,’ the woman replied, folding her arms across her gargantuan chest so they rested on top of her breasts.

  ‘Can we come in for a moment?’ Mitz gave her a genuine smile. She wavered, and calling for her dog, she showed them inside.

  The drinks can from the night before was still on the table and in the daylight the house was even more squalid. Stacey plonked herself on a chair. ‘What now?’ she asked.

  ‘Can you think of any place Dan might have gone? Was there somewhere that was special to him? Or has he any friends that might put him up for a few days?’

  Stacey snorted. ‘You’re joking. Dan’s never had any friends. He doesn’t like people much. He doesn’t like me much. We put up with each other cos there’s no one else. I had friends when I was younger, but it’s different when you’re older. I only know people at the warehouse where I work, and half of them don’t speak English. They’re nice, like, though they’re not the sort to invite you round for a drink or a meal, and people here, they keep themselves to themselves. If you haven’t got any family it can feel lonely at times. That’s why I got Alfie. He keeps me company. I’ve got online friends. I chat to them, but Dan, he’s never liked anyone. He doesn’t trust anyone at all. He didn’t have it easy as a kid, or an adult.’