The Detective Jake Tanner Organised Crime Thriller Series Books 1-3 (DC Jake Tanner Crime Thriller Series Boxsets)

by Jack Probyn

  Bridger slipped the car into first and roared back onto the dual carriageway.

  ‘I do,’ he said. ‘I do.’

  CHAPTER 30

  SOUR

  Liam rung off and placed the burner phone in his bottom drawer, then grabbed the new bottle of whisky he’d bought earlier in the convenience store – he fancied a different spirit today – and poured three measures into his reusable cup. After screwing the bottle lid back on, he held the cup in his hand, swirled the contents and sipped.

  The drink soothed and warmed his throat, leaving behind a slight burning sensation. Liam pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth and swallowed. His body shook. He exhaled heavily. It felt good. Tasted good. It had been long overdue. Something he’d needed for a while. Something to fight away the pain in his body and the rising sea of nausea that drowned him every waking moment of the day.

  A part of him just wanted to down the bottle in one go and pass out like he’d done last week before Drew had found him in his home. Drew had come to pick him up for their weekly football practice at the five-a-side pitch but had found Liam in a comatose state instead. But Drew hadn’t been that much better off either. When Liam eventually woke up, Drew was sniffing, rubbing his nose and bouncing off the walls. The only difference between their vices was that Liam had a genuine reason for his, whereas Drew was just a fuckwit who’d snorted a bit too much Charlie one time and realised he’d developed an instant liking for it.

  Liam sealed the drawer shut and sighed heavily. The call he’d just received was one he’d never thought he would. And now he had a task he never thought he’d have to action.

  He wandered over to his office window and tapped on the glass. Drew and Garrison’s heads rotated.

  They knew what to do.

  Returning to his desk, Liam dragged his finger along the woodwork. He woke his computer up and opened the Gmail inbox.

  He created another draft and waited until it saved on the screen.

  He tapped his leg furiously in anticipation. He needed to psych himself up.

  The cursor flashed in front of him, mocking him, teasing him to type his message.

  Eventually, he did.

  OUR GOOD EGG HAS GONE SOUR. SERVE HIM.

  CHAPTER 31

  GAME CHANGER

  Lester wiped himself clean. He’d just masturbated for the third time in the past two hours. And each time was becoming more and more painful than the last. But it was taking him longer to ejaculate. And that was what he wanted. He needed to build up his sexual stamina. He wanted to prolong the moment before ejaculation, making it last as long as was physically possible. Jessica Arnholt and Jessica Mann had been over too quickly. He’d been too excited for both of them. And now that he had second position chasing his heels, he was feeling the pressure. He was going to need more points if he were to sustain his prowess.

  The scoring system was simple: the longer you lasted, the more you got. Obviously, that was all dependent on the type of sexual act you were committing, but Lester had been at this long enough to know what he needed to do in order to gain the maximum number of points while still enjoying himself and being comfortable with the result.

  Even if it meant he couldn’t piss properly without it stinging, Lester was determined to make himself last as long as possible. His penis would heal, but his dignity and pride would never recover. Shortly after he’d joined The Community and enjoyed Communion with a few members, he’d tried to treat it like a game, a workout – a situation where he either gave it his everything or nothing at all. There was no in-between.

  Lester flushed the tissue down the toilet, washed his hands and returned to his laptop. He’d been searching all day for another Jessica. But The Community had been less than helpful. Although there were a handful of other Jessicas, their appearance was too different, too far from the original. And he wasn’t prepared to sacrifice the points – and his adoration for his newfound desires – for someone who looked completely different. No matter how close second position was behind him. No – the third Jessica needed to be tall, slim, brunette, with brown eyes. Anything other than that simply wouldn’t do. The game had now changed. So would he.

  He was slowly becoming infuriated. It was just past lunchtime, and his laptop was opened on the leader board. Live updates filtered in after the server refreshed every ten minutes. And in the past four hours, second place had managed to gain another five hundred points. The gap was closing. And time was running out.

  He needed to broaden his horizons. Go further afield. Even if it was against the rules and conditions of the league. If he was going to prove himself to S, then he would need to go rogue, find someone outside of the circle.

  He grabbed his jumper from the back of the chair and headed out, adjusting his penis against his leg. He knew exactly where to go.

  CHAPTER 32

  DIAMOND GEEZERS

  Carpenters Road bustled with life. Cars sped up and down the busy street. Oddly, the sound of tyres rolling on the tarmac soothed him. Perhaps it reminded him of when he was younger and his parents would drive them to the nearest caravan site for their family holiday where they would beat him, and his mother would sexually abuse him in the back of the van while his dad watched. Perhaps it reminded him of the time he’d burned a stray cat alive in his garden and his parents had called the police, and he’d been taken to the station in the back of the saloon. Or perhaps it reminded him of the time he’d been in the back of the car with his mum and dad on the way to the hospital, driving at double the speed limit, and he’d pulled his trousers down and pissed everywhere before both of them had ended up launched through the windscreen after crashing into a truck. All of those instances were examples of happier times, exciting times – times where, in those split seconds, he was outside the chaos of his shit life and able to enjoy of it what he could.

  Lester was standing on the side of the road with his flat cap pulled over his face and his head kept down. Twenty metres ahead of him was a phone box. He wandered up to it, opened the door and shuffled in. He reached inside his pocket and found a 50p coin.

  He’d used this place before. If ever there was an issue with his burner phone and he needed to contact S, he would come here. It was isolated, discreet, untraceable and, more importantly, unused. He was certain he hadn’t seen anyone use a phone box in over five years, but that didn’t stop him from feeling grateful that they still existed.

  Above the phone was a corkboard. Local taxi and trade business cards were pinned to it, offering discounts and loyalty schemes for frequent users. But there was always one that caught his eye – one that was different from the rest.

  He grabbed it.

  The card was a dark rouge colour, and the silhouette of a naked girl with golden stars over her crotch and nipples, standing in an evocative pose, stared back at him. The company was called ‘Diamond Geezers’ and there was a mobile number on the bottom of it.

  Lester slotted the money into the machine, dialled the number and waited. He swayed from side to side and cautioned several glances out of the windows, lest he see anyone he knew. His hand shook slightly as he held the receiver against his ear.

  ‘Hello,’ a person on the other end answered. It was a man, and he sounded rather dismissive in tone – almost disinterested.

  ‘Hi… er… I was… I was wondering what sort of services you provide?’

  ‘You got any odds you’d like to recommend?’

  Lester froze. Confused, he sheepishly said, ‘Yes?’

  ‘One moment please.’

  The line went blank, and for a moment Lester thought he’d wasted 50p. But then, after a few seconds, the line eventually returned. This time it was a different voice, gruffer than the first.

  ‘What’s your heart’s desire?’ they asked. He had a thick foreign accent that Lester placed as either Russian or Eastern European. ‘Black girls. Asian. White. Fat. Slim. Young. Old.’

  Lester was taken aback. He hadn’t expected to be able to choos
e from such a wide selection. Everything had just changed in that moment because now he could perfect his choice.

  ‘White,’ he began. ‘Tall. Slim.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Young. Brown hair.’

  ‘How young?’

  ‘Mid-twenties.’

  ‘Hmm… That’s not as young as we offer. Anything else?’

  ‘Yes!’ Lester shouted, allowing the excitement to get the better of him. ‘Her name must be Jessica.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Her name,’ Lester repeated. ‘It must be Jessica. She must be called Jessica, or I won’t have her.’

  There was a pause. Sweat permeated through his skin.

  ‘Ah, yes. I have found the perfect girl. She is one of our most popular. You will like her. But you will have to get her quick. She is very busy.’

  ‘Tonight? Can she make tonight? I’ll pay whatever you need.’

  ‘Five hundred pounds. Jessica. One night. Tonight. She will do everything.’

  ‘Everything?’ Lester repeated. He bit his lip and licked his teeth.

  ‘Everything that your heart desires.’

  ‘You’ve got yourself a deal. All cash. Tell me her address.’

  ‘No. She will come to you. All part of the s—’

  ‘Listen,’ Lester interrupted, ‘send me her address. Tell her I’ll be there at 9 p.m., and I’ll pay you a thousand pounds. If you let me do this, I guarantee you I’ll come back and I’ll buy more of your girls for one night.’

  The man on the other end hesitated. It was a long while before he spoke again.

  ‘OK. I tell you the address. One thousand pounds. All cash. One night. Everything?’

  ‘Everything.’

  CHAPTER 33

  STRATFORD KILLER

  ‘About fucking time you got here. Where’ve you been?’

  Jake was out of breath. He’d just sprinted from his car to the station, then up five flights of stairs to the press conference room.

  ‘Traffic,’ he said to Garrison as they stood in the hallway.

  The sound of muffled and distorted discussion came from the other side of the half-open door beside them. Jake peered through and saw Liam and the Assistant Commissioner sitting at the head of the room. There was an empty space next to Liam. Behind them was a large dark-blue wall with the Metropolitan Police Service emblem emblazoned upon it. Their faces flashed intermittently as the press and news outlets took rapid photo bursts of them.

  ‘They’re waiting for you,’ Garrison said, giving him a slight nudge on the shoulder.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Drew was meant to be doing it, but he got called away. Now it’s your time to shine.’

  Before Jake could register what Garrison had said, his colleague opened the door and ushered him in. At once, the cameras and photographers flashed and blinded him. Dazed, he stumbled to the table and pulled out a seat next to Liam.

  They exchanged a quick glance as Jake sat. His boss made no effort to hide the frustration in his expression.

  Liam leant behind Jake and whispered in his ear. ‘I hope you’ve got something to feed them with. They’re fucking starving.’

  Jake’s gaze flitted from left to right, at the various people in the room who were looking to him for answers he didn’t have. His body went cold, and his skin turned to gooseflesh. Out the corner of Jake’s eye, Assistant Commissioner Richard Candy raised his hand. The action commanded the attention of everyone in the room, and silence quickly fell, save for the sound of arses shuffling on seats and gentle spluttering of people clearing their throats.

  ‘Thank you,’ Candy said, lowering his hand. ‘Thank you for your patience and being here. We will now begin.’ He snorted before continuing. ‘On the seventeenth of May, Steven and Jessica Arnholt were killed in a brutal and sadistic manner. Their families have been informed and the art gallery where they were killed is still an active crime scene. Their killer remains at large, although we have several suspects and witnesses who are cooperating with the service and local authorities to assist in finding the attacker.’

  Candy took a small pause to swallow. ‘Last night, on the nineteenth, a young adult female – Jessica Mann – was killed under similar circumstances. Again, her family and friends have been informed and our Family Liaison Officer is working closely with them to help them get through this tragic and difficult time. We are almost certain that this is the same attacker.’

  Jake watched intently as AC Candy turned his head slowly, like an owl, casting his ominous gaze across the room. ‘We will now take questions.’

  Almost as soon as Candy had finished, the room erupted as the starving news reporters waved their hands and begged to be picked first. The flashes started, immediately blinding Jake. There were so many of them he didn’t know where to look. He struggled to keep his eyes open. This was the first press conference he’d attended, and he hoped that, if they were all like this, his experiences of them would be few and far between.

  ‘Assistant Commissioner – do you think the killer will strike again?’

  ‘What links these two murders? What makes you so sure they’re connected?’

  ‘Who are your main suspects? What leads do you have?’

  ‘What will—?’

  ‘Who do—?’

  ‘Why is—?’

  It was relentless. The toing and froing. The talking over one another. The constant bombardment of words and flashes and sounds from every angle. Jake struggled to hear himself think.

  A civilian press officer appeared to Jake’s left. She was smartly dressed and had her hair in a bun. In her arms, clutched tightly against her chest, she carried a tablet. She pointed her finger to the crowd. Everyone fell silent. The reporter she’d elected to speak first waited patiently until the furore died down. At least now there was some sense of decorum amidst the animosity he’d witnessed only a few moments ago.

  ‘Nina Partridge, ITV News – what leads do you have ongoing at the moment? And how close are you to finding the killer?’

  The room fell quiet as everyone waited for a response. At first, it didn’t come. And then Jake figured out why: Candy and Liam were staring at him – as, by now, was the entire room.

  Jake looked out at the sea of people, lost. And then a dizzying sense of claustrophobia washed over him, as though the four walls were closing in on him. Public speaking had never been one of his strongest suits – he’d sweated profusely during a high-school presentation once and almost fainted, and had never quite recovered socially – and every time he was in front of a large crowd, his anxiety amplified exponentially. What made this occasion worse was the fact that he knew his responses would be broadcast on national television, enabling him to persecute himself with the tiniest of mistakes. He swallowed, trying to ignore the layers of sweat now forming on his palms and the back of his neck.

  They were waiting. And they weren’t going anywhere until they had a response.

  ‘At this moment…’ He choked and cleared his throat. ‘At this moment… we are unable t-to confirm what leads we have, as these are s-sensitive to the nature of the case.’ He rubbed his fingers in his palms, and as he found the words coming out, he managed to relax a little. ‘We anticipate having the case resolved and the killer apprehended s-shortly.’

  As Jake finished, another flurry of activity came from the journalists. The woman to Jake’s left elected another candidate to speak, and the room fell silent again.

  ‘Dayna Roberts, Channel 5 News – what do you think about the killer being dubbed the Stratford Ripper? How can you be sure it is the same killer? And what links the two murders together?’

  Jake waited, hoping that either Liam or Richard would answer. They didn’t.

  He rubbed his palms together.

  ‘W-We have n-no comment regarding the nickname Stratford K-Killer. To do so would feed the killer’s ego. The murder of Jessica M-Mann has certain nuances that correlate with the deaths of Jessica and S-Steven Arnholt. For the sake o
f public discretion, I will not go into details, but there are certain c-characteristics that connect the two crimes.’

  ‘And what will you do if the killer strikes again?’ asked Dayna Roberts.

  This time, Jake didn’t even wait for the others to answer; he knew they wouldn’t.

  ‘Nothing is going to hinder our investigation. There is no knowing whether the killer will strike again. Of course, we hope they won’t, but if they do, we will be armed with more evidence and more passion to catch them.’

  ‘So are you saying that there’s a lack of passion right now?’ someone in the crowd asked. She stood up and introduced herself as Tanya Smile from BBC News. ‘Is that why you’ve not found the killer yet – you don’t “care” enough?’

  ‘N-No. That’s n-n-not what I… I didn’t… I didn’t mean…’ Jake was choking. He’d slipped up and there wasn’t a visible exit anywhere near him. ‘I believe… I feel… I know there is lots of passion—’

  ‘Too much? Is it clouding your judgement?’ Tanya continued.

  Jake could feel her words scathing him like a searing stick.

  ‘Are you the right man for the job? Are you the right team? What’s going to happen to the two Jessicas and Steven – are you going to let their murderer run free because you don’t care enough?’

  Jake blinked frantically, blocking out everyone in the room. He hoped they would go away, but they didn’t; every time he opened them, the reporters and cameras and flashes were still there, burning into his retinas. He sensed their vitriolic stares boring into him as their minds concocted tomorrow’s newspaper headlines.

  ‘Hopeless: the case, and the cops on it.’

  ‘When they don’t care, why should we?’