Not wanting to drive off before she was ready and, perhaps, give suggestion to the frustration he was feeling, he waited to hear the rumble of her car starting, accompanied by the activation of her daytime running lights. Waving for her to go in front of him at the gates he saw her bow theatrically before mouthing the words, thank you, kind sir.
Wistfully observing the red sports car accelerate up the road McNeil failed to notice that the tired-looking Vauxhall Astra parked on the other side of the road wasn’t unoccupied.
Chapter Fifty-seven
Perhaps this time, thought Brandt as he watched the solid metal gate retracting once more. He knew it was only mid-afternoon but sometimes fortune favours the brave. Having already filled two bottles with urine, and nibbled a few bits of his lunch, he was ready for some action. The nagging, doubting voice in his head had gone away and all he felt now was a calm serenity.
It’s red. The gate’s slow movement had revealed the car’s flank. It looks small and sporty. He could feel the excitement swelling. He could now see the front grill; four interlocked rings. It’s an Audi!
Go, go, go! He reached for the ignition. Hold on, is it her? The voice had returned; that pernicious cunt. But Brandt did look up again and the person he saw in the driver’s seat was unmistakably DCI Stella Johnson. He could feel goose bumps break out on his arms. Just seeing her in the flesh was thrilling. Franklin, you old bastard, you were right!
The spell was soon broken, with her car pulling out as soon as there was a gap large enough for it to squeeze through. Go, go, go!
‘Not now, you fucker,’ Brandt shouted as the ignition turned over but failed to fire the engine. ‘Come on!’ A panicked glance up saw that she was already halfway down the road and another car was now pulling out of the police station.
Don’t flood the engine, the voice warned. Perhaps it was on his side after all. He turned the key back to the original position and took a long deep breath. Trying again was only met by the same whining sound but then, suddenly, the motor roared into life. It was lumpy and irregular, and Brandt was sure that any second it would conk out. Give it some beans. He prodded the accelerator harder than intended and caused a sudden flare of revs. Shocked by the noise, Brandt unconsciously pulled his foot away and the car settled down. It still sounded rough but no longer at risk of cutting out. Next time maybe start it up as the gate retracts. Brandt could sense the mocking tone.
‘Fuck you,’ he muttered and slammed the gearstick into first. The engine roared again as he failed to remember how high he needed to raise the clutch before it would engage. Moments later, and accompanied by the screech of wheel spin, Brandt set off in pursuit, now cursing Franklin for being able to tell him little more about Johnson than that she had a flashy red Audi. A fucking fast Audi he should have said.
He lost sight of her, but he knew that Radford Road was long and, if he could make up some of the gap, particularly with her car being so distinctive, he should be able to spot her again. Sure enough, as the traffic queued for the major intersection with Gregory Boulevard, he saw she was three vehicles in front of him, indicating right. With the traffic lights having turned green he was pleased to see that, in advance of the junction, his lane split into two and both of the cars between him and Johnson were moving into the left hand one. However, the blue Fiesta was slow to complete the manoeuvre and, stuck behind it, and with Johnson already making her turn, Brandt felt a moment of panic as he saw the lights flick to amber. With nothing else for it, he lurched into the oncoming traffic to round the obstructing vehicle and, although the lights were on red by the time he reached the junction, he made it before the other lanes of cars were released.
Johnson already had a lead of a couple of hundred yards but, with nothing else between them, Brandt selected a pace that would gradually close the gap. This was still resulting him exceeding the speed limit by a good 10mph but, in his anonymous car, he wasn’t concerned by the prospect of speed cameras.
The rest of the journey passed without incident and, with her finally turning into a residential street, he was relieved that she seemed to be going straight home. Franklin had told him that she wasn’t married because he claimed to have checked to see if she was wearing a ring as soon as she had come over to discuss the Milton Keynes case. Brandt had forced a laugh and told him that he was a sly old bugger, which, in his drunken state Franklin had taken as a compliment. Naturally that didn’t mean she didn’t have a boyfriend, but she didn’t look the type to be supporting some freeloader so, at this time of day, he assumed that any partner would still be at work somewhere.
She stopped in front of a property and Brandt quickly pulled into a space of his own, a few houses down. There were plenty to choose from. He opened his door ajar whilst waiting for her to get out of the car. He wanted to make as little noise as possible and wouldn’t fully close it when exiting. He doubted anyone would notice it wasn’t shut, much less be interested in a shitty old banger, given how nice the area was.
After what seemed an age, he finally saw her legs swing out and then stand up. As she stretched wearily, he slipped out of his vehicle and started walking slowly down the pavement. If she was aware that she wasn’t alone, she didn’t show it, and made her way to her front door without turning to look back. He waited patiently whilst she found her keys, observing that the house was detached. We can afford a little noise, he smiled to himself.
‘DCI Johnson,’ he said in an official voice as soon as she pushed open the door. She started turning and he closed the gap. Whilst peering at him with a vague look of recognition crossing her face, Brandt punched her squarely in the jaw.
Chapter Fifty-eight
McNeil knew it was largely down to tiredness but, all the same, he felt miserable. The day had been such a disappointment. From thinking they might have solved the case, not least the opportunity it might have given him to make his move on Johnson, he was now on his way home to his grotty shared house. Rather than focus on all the positive things she had said confirming her feelings for him, all he could think about was her appeal for him to be patient. Patience had never been a strong point of his and he didn’t see how he could be expected to be patient now, when faced with the prospect of something he wanted so desperately. He would try and respect her request, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.
His mood wasn’t helped by some idiot nearly going into the back of him when jumping the lights. Rather than give him the finger, which was his usual response to poor driving, he had called up the road, ‘Why so impatient?’ His poor attempt at ironic humour had given him little satisfaction.
The house was thankfully empty, and McNeil guessed that if he went to bed now, the way he was feeling meant he would most likely sleep until morning. But with his pizza long digested, he made his way to the fridge. The last thing he wanted was to wake up hungry in the middle of the night and then find he couldn’t get back to sleep with all the thoughts whirling around in his head. He would eat the left-over takeaway he had from a couple of nights before.
On the middle shelf was the large Tupperware box with his name clearly written on in permanent marker. However, as soon as he felt the weight as he lifted it up, he knew that something was wrong. Opening the lid revealed that the pork balls were gone, as was the half portion of the chow mein he had put in there. All that was left were the sticks from his chicken satay. ‘Greedy bastards,’ he cursed loudly as he threw the box into the sink.
Momentarily consumed with thoughts of retribution, he frantically searched for something; anything he could eat from the remaining contents of the fridge. He didn’t care whether it was the wrong housemate’s food but all he could find were various dubious looking jars of pickles and gone-off packets of pasta sauce. They each had a cupboard allocated to their dry and tinned foods but, revenge or not, the last thing McNeil wanted to do at that moment was start cooking.
Muttering various swearwords under his breath, he grabbed his keys and stomped out of the house. Tomorrow night
, when everyone was in, he would call a meeting. The first thing on the agenda would be finding out the identity of the thoughtless, disrespectful, and selfish thief. The next thing would be the re-establishment of clear ground rules. These would go beyond just food and would address all the other things that irritated McNeil. As he started reeling off lists in his mind, that included replacing the toilet roll after using the last piece, remembering to double bolt the door when last to leave, and not running a bath without checking whether anyone needed some hot water left for a shower, he realised he was already at the small parade of shops.
No sooner had he walked through the door of the kebab shop, he was asked by the owner what he would like to order. Just give me a fucking moment to have a look at the menu, will you? McNeil had wanted to reply. ‘Oh, I’m not sure yet,’ he said, in as polite a tone as he could muster. Nodding, the man went back to chopping lettuce.
Whilst staring up at the various options, a thought entered his mind. Why not get something for both you and Johnson. He supposed he could phone and ask her. But she might already be asleep. You could take it round as a surprise. But she might be asleep. You could knock quietly so as not to wake her if she is. And what if she isn’t asleep, what then? She doesn’t even like kebabs, she told me so in Canterbury. So why not…
McNeil’s thoughts were interrupted by the ring of the bell above the door announcing the arrival of another customer. ‘Are you in the queue?’ the woman asked.
‘Oh, er, yeah,’ McNeil said, turning back to the kebab shop owner who was now looking at him again. ‘Small doner and chips please.’
Chapter Fifty-nine
Brandt just sat there looking at her, enjoying the blissful discomfort of his erection being strained by his trousers. You could just take them off, it doesn’t mean you have to touch it, the voice inside his head teased. But Brandt knew the truth. He was so aroused at this moment that he feared even the slightest movement of the material on his shaft may cause him to orgasm.
Still unconscious, Johnson was tied to her bed in just her underwear. Brandt had conducted a quick scout of the house whilst she lay in the hallway, knocked out cold. Her house was minimalist and with neutral colours. There was a feminine quality to it, but Brandt had quickly checked the drawers and wardrobes upstairs to make sure that no man stayed there. What he had found in the main bedroom had caused him to let out a little squeal of delight. She had a wrought iron bed. Brandt had known he had wanted to tie her up, bringing the twine to do so, but thought he may have to settle for just binding her to render her immobile. His discovery meant he could arrange her in a far more inviting pose, tying each limb to its own corner of the bed.
In his haste he had completed the knots with her still fully dressed but, rather than go to the effort of untying them, he used the steak knife to clumsily hack away at her outer garments.
She was beautiful; far more so than he had believed her to be from the images on the television. Her black matching underwear was a delicious contrast to her smooth white skin. The only thing Brandt had found slightly off-putting was the smell of cigarette smoke that clung to her hair. He had rummaged in her bedside cabinet to find some perfume and had been shocked but, on reflection, not surprised to find some more intimate items. ‘Perhaps once I’m finished,’ he promised her, shutting the drawer.
In the days following those despicable newspaper comments, Brandt had contemplated exactly what he would do with Johnson. His thoughts had ranged from a quick death all the way through to an entire night filled with pleasure for him, and pain for her. Sitting there, watching her motionless body, he realised that he needed her awake. He wanted her to know who he was and why he was doing it. Most of all, he wanted her to tell him how it felt, both emotionally and physically. He would only use a gag if necessary, and render her unconscious again as a last resort.
A few minutes later Johnson started to stir. Brandt remained sat next to the bed wondering what would unfold. She let out a small moan as she tried to change position and found she couldn’t. Gradually opening her eyes, she squinted against the light and the pain in her head. Rocking her jaw from side to side she attempted to bring her hand across to where Brandt had punched her. Finding her movement restricted, her eyes opened wide in panic. Suddenly she was shaking the bed as she attempted to move all her limbs at once. Unsuccessful, she raised her head to try and see what was preventing her. She stopped.
Brandt could tell she had spotted him out of the corner of her eye and he reached across to put his hand over her mouth before she could scream. ‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ he said, speaking over her muted cries. ‘You’re safe now,’ he chuckled.
Her noises stopped. He removed his hand. ‘Good, I want you nice and calm. Now, let’s get the ground rules out of the way. You scream? I knock you out. Clear?’
‘Fuck you,’ Johnson spat at him.
Brandt leaned forward, holding up his blood-stained knife. ‘Recognise this?’ But her eyes didn’t leave his and he could feel them defiantly boring into him again, like they had at that first press conference.
He didn’t like it and was about to punch her again when her expression suddenly changed to one of recognition. ‘It’s you!’
‘Yes, I thought the knife…’
‘No,’ she interrupted. ‘Your face. We were right!’
‘What?’ He didn’t like this. She was the one who was supposed to be confused, not him.
‘We found you… on the cameras. You sick...’
Before she could finish Brandt saw her expression change once more, as she began to fully comprehend the situation she was in. He smiled and relaxed back into his chair. He’d find out what she meant later, much later, but for now it was time to get the conversation back on track. ‘Do you know why I’m here?’
‘How… how do you know where…?’ Johnson stammered.
‘Shh,’ he said, soothingly. ‘All in good time. The reason I am here is because you have been spreading lies. Nasty little lies. You have gone way beyond police protocol and if I were your guv’nor, I would have disciplined you long before now. I didn’t mind that you were chasing me; of course that was to be expected, but you haven’t played fair. Spreading vicious rumours...’
He paused, noticing that the defiance had returned to her eyes. ‘We know about St. Albans…’
‘Bollocks! I’ve never even been to St. Albans.’
To his surprise, she laughed. A loud, fulsome hoot that reverberated around the room. ‘Now who’s telling lies?’
‘Stop!’ he shouted, waiting for the anxiety to envelop him. But it didn’t. And nor did he feel any rage. Instead he realised that he had maintained his erection throughout their exchange. He felt calm. Ready. He stood up and smiled at the flinching reaction. Reaching down to unbuckle his belt he whispered, ‘No more talking…’
Chapter Sixty
McNeil switched off the engine and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. ‘This is stupid,’ he muttered. Well, you’re here now so you might as well. He shook his head. He needed to wait; he needed to think about what he was doing. Rather than exacerbate his hunger, the combined smell of the kebab and the Chinese takeaway was conspiring to make him feel nauseous. You can’t eat all that by yourself, so what are you going to do, put the leftovers in the fridge for those greedy bastards to steal again?
Still wracked with indecision he looked towards Johnson’s house. Having only been there once before, he was worried he might struggle to find it, but the presence of her car confirmed it to be the correct place. It was too early for lights to be on in the house, but the curtains were drawn. He guessed she could easily be asleep by now but decided to send her a text anyway, hoping that, if she was, it wouldn’t wake her.
He didn’t know what to write. In the minutes that followed he must have typed, deleted and retyped the message half a dozen times. In the end, it rather pointlessly asked: Are you asleep?
As he waited for a response he gazed up at the window. At one stage h
e thought he could see the flicker of a shadow but, when no message followed, he assumed he must have imagined it. A further five minutes passed with no reply and he put the key back into the ignition and started the engine. Selecting first gear he checked his rear-view mirror to see if there was any traffic behind him and reached for the indicator. He stopped. ‘This is stupid,’ he repeated.
He got out the car this time, taking the Chinese but leaving the kebab, and made his way gingerly through the front garden. McNeil promised himself he wouldn’t use the doorbell and would give a slight knock instead. One that would only be perceptible by Johnson if she were awake and alert. It also meant she could choose to ignore it if she guessed it was him and thought his visit inappropriate. With his hand pulled back just a couple of inches from the wood, he thought he heard a noise. He put his ear to the door to listen. It was her. She was laughing. He wasn’t sure whether that was a good or a bad thing. She was awake, which was good, but she might also be on the phone.
His heart sank as he considered a further option. What if she has company? He heard a deeper voice, a man’s voice.
McNeil was devastated, he couldn’t believe he had been so stupid. All that bullshit about waiting for the right moment, when all she had been doing was stringing him along. Just something to keep her entertained through the boredom of the case.
He turned to walk down the path back to his car.
Chapter Sixty-one
This felt amazing. He was on top of her, ripping away her bra whilst his penis, now free, was poking at the material of her knickers. He didn’t care if he ejaculated straight away; he had all night and could have as many goes as he wished, but was pleased to find he had a little more self-control than he expected.
ONE STEP AHEAD: detectives hunt a serial killer who knows all their moves (The DCI Jeffrey Brandt Murders Trilogy Book 1) Page 21
