by Jay Gill
Walk in the Park
Book 2 - A Short Thriller
Chapter One
He stood and watched as the final moments of her life slipped away.
She was very pretty; much prettier than the last one. He stared at her smooth white legs. He considered covering her naked lower half but decided he no longer wanted to touch her.
You can be like that when they find you, he thought.
The hammer would need to be cleaned again. He’d need to burn his sweater and jeans. His trainers he could put in the washing machine. They were too expensive to simply throw away. And, anyway, he hated new trainers; they were ridiculously bright white when you first got them.
She was still now. No more gasping for breath. The spasms, jolts and twitches had stopped. He stared at her lifelessness for a few seconds. Fascinated.
He wondered where she might have been going. Had she been on her way home? Going to work? Or simply enjoying a walk in the park?
He stopped himself. Don’t think about it. The bitch is dead. It’s over. Move on.
Over his shoulder he could hear ducks, their wings violently flapping and pounding the water. They were fighting and making a godawful row. Eventually one of them gave up and flew away in noisy protest.
Time to go, he thought.
He walked across the grass to his bike, which lay next to the path where he’d dumped it. Lifting the bike, he leaned it against himself. He opened the pannier and dropped the hammer inside.
Without looking back, he set off for home. The challenge of getting to his room without being stopped by Mum lay ahead. She always had questions. “Where have you been? Do anything nice today? Do you need any laundry doing? What would you like for dinner?”
He’d stay in for the rest of the day. Sit with Mum, eat snacks and watch the quiz shows – she loved quiz shows. He might be on the news later.
The warm breeze felt good on his face as he picked up speed. The smell of summer filled his nostrils. The park was his favourite place; it felt like freedom.
The woman flashed across his mind. He tried to remember whether she’d said anything. With each woman it had been the same: he’d heard their noise but never precisely their words. He could guess what they were saying, but it was strange how the words became nothing more than background noise. In some ways he felt that was fortunate; he didn’t need their words rattling around in his head. He wanted to remember only how each accomplishment felt.
He felt good, and he knew he’d walk with a bit of a swagger for a few days. He hoped the good feelings would last longer than last time. He wouldn’t do this again. He definitely wouldn’t do this again.
With a smile, he pressed on. He was feeling so energised that the pedalling was easy. Life felt good again.
He turned his face away and looked at the trees as he approached an old man walking his small copper-coloured dog.
“Come on, Sheeran, my friend,” said the old man. “Forget the squirrel. Do your business and let’s get home. I don’t want to be out here all day; your mother will begin to worry about us.”
The dog ignored him and continued to pull on his lead towards his furry nemesis.
The old man tugged the little dog, and they continued along the path they walked every day.
Chapter Two
I was sitting at my favourite table in Rosie’s Tea Shop. It wasn’t the fanciest place in London to get breakfast, but in my opinion it was the best.
I’d been visiting Rosie’s for as long as I can remember. Rosie was a close friend. Over the years we’d shared a lot. I was there for her during the dark days when she got ill and was told she needed treatment, then an operation, then more treatment. Then, a few years back, I was of comfort, I hoped, when her marriage ended.
We’d shared a lot of good times too. I’d seen her daughter, Rowena, get great exam results; get into her preferred university; fly the nest; graduate with a first-class honours degree; get a great job and move to Scotland; fall in love and marry a Scot. Most recently Rosie was giddy with the news she would soon be a grandmother.
Rosie was a friendly ear for me when my wife, Helena, was murdered. I was on my knees with heartbreak and angry with the world, but Rosie was always there for me. She probably never fully understood how much that meant to me.
To me, Rosie’s Tea Shop was more than just somewhere I went to get fabulous food. It was a place I often brought my family to and meet friends at.
“I think we were lucky to get a table. It’s really busy this morning,” said Monica.
Monica was my wife’s best friend, and when her violent marriage had forced her to leave her home, my late wife insisted she stay with us. She still had a room with us.
“Shall I make sure they haven’t forgotten us?” We could see the girls were getting irritable.
“I’m hungry,” said Faith for what felt like the hundredth time. “We’ve been waiting ages. Mr Puppy’s hungry too. He hardly ever says that, so he must be really hungry.” Faith started spinning her favourite toy, Mr Puppy, around and around on the table.
“You’re such a moaner,” said Alice. “And Mr Puppy doesn’t have a mouth or an appetite or any kind of digestive system. He’s not real.”
Faith swept up Mr Puppy and held him close. “Daddy, can you tell her? Did you hear what Alice said? Tell her.”
I looked at Alice, my eldest daughter, in a way that showed my disapproval.
“Here comes Rosie with our breakfasts now,” I said with more than a little relief.
“Here we are – two orders of pancakes with summer fruits and chocolate sauce for my two favourite girls.” Rosie slid the plates in front of Alice and Faith. Their eyes widened on seeing the mountains of pancakes. Rosie then disappeared for a moment before returning with two more plates. “And two full English breakfasts.”
“Thank you, Rosie. I think you just saved two little girls from starvation. These two have been acting like they haven’t eaten in a week.”
Faith scrunched her nose at me, and Alice gave me one of the scathing looks she’d been perfecting. I pulled a face straight back at her.
“We were just saying how busy it is this morning,” said Monica. “I guess we’re not the only ones who love your weekend specials.”
“I know. It’s great, isn’t it?” Rosie sighed and looked around. “This was not the morning for my precious goddaughter to decide to skip work.”
I noted more than a hint of frustration.
“Where is Ceri?” asked Alice. “She always makes us laugh.”
Faith looked up at Rosie now, her mouth bulging with pancake.
“I don’t know where she is, sweetheart. I guess she stayed with a friend last night. A sort of sleepover,” said Rosie. She looked at Monica and me and continued. “I’m cross because she didn’t call to let me know. Also disappointed she’s left me short-staffed this morning. Let’s just say she and I will be having some serious words when she shows her face. She’s a sweet girl, but she’s a bit of handful.” Rosie winked at Faith.
“I don’t envy you,” said Monica. “I remember what I was like at nineteen.”
“Cover your ears girls,” I joked. Monica gave me a playful dig in the ribs.
“Don’t even go there,” said Rosie. “Attitudes have changed a lot since I was her age. I’m wondering if I’ve taken on more than I can handle. I am worried. I feel so responsible for her.”
“Bit of a party girl?” said Monica.
“You can say that again. She’s confident enough, but I think she’s perhaps a little naive. Coming from such a small hometown, she’s just not that streetwise.”
“I’m sure James will have a word with her.”
I nearly choked on my toast. Monica gave me a couple of slaps on the back. After a sip of coffee, I said, “Of course. Better than that, I’d be happy to take her out in a patrol car on a Friday night to see all the scumbags causing misery. That’d be a reality check for her.”
Rosie laughed. “I’m not s
ure it’s come to that, but if I can’t talk sense into her I’ll let you know.”
“I’m serious. Just give me the word,” I said.
“Thank you, James. I’ll leave you to your breakfast. If there’s anything else I can get you, just let me or one of the waitresses know.”
“Thank you, and good luck,” said Monica with a chuckle.
Rosie winked at Alice and Faith then went back to helping her waiting staff.
Faith swallowed a mouthful of pancake. “Daddy, can I come with you to see the scumbags?”
Alice groaned, and Monica covered her mouth in an effort to stifle her laughter.
“Maybe when you’re a little older, sweetheart,” I suggested.
“What are scumbags?” added Faith.
“Okay, Faith, how about you finish up those pancakes before they get cold?”
I looked at Monica, who was now wiping away tears of laughter.
“You’re not helping. You’re supposed to be an adult,” I said with a grin.
Chapter Three
After breakfast the girls wanted to look around the shops. I was keen to walk off some of the calories and agreed to join them.
We arrived at a large Marks & Spencer store and, rather than do lots of walking, my role became one of giving my opinion on a range of different outfits.
Alice and Faith were growing so fast, and it had been a while since they’d been shopping with me. This was a good opportunity to get them some new outfits. I did my best to help, but when it came to clothes for the girls, Monica really came into her own.
“What do you think?” said Alice. “This would be good for Brianna’s party.”
“Do you like these shoes?” said Faith. “I like the sequins on the front of this sweater. Can you see it’s a kitten? Can I get it?” She started marching in some high heels Monica had tried on.
“You know, I like them all,” I said, feeling more than a little out of my depth. “Let’s see what Monica thinks.”
Monica opened the door to her changing room and stepped out. She had on a long tight-fitting summer dress. She looked in the tall mirror and held up her hair. She looked stunning. My heart started working overtime, and I swallowed hard.
She looked over and I looked away, pretending I’d been looking elsewhere. We’re friends, nothing more, and that’s how it has to be.
I tried to stay casual. I cleared my throat. “That’s nice. That really suits you. You’ll knock ’em dead in that. You should get it. My treat.”
“I don’t know. I think it’s a little tight under the arms.” She turned her attention to Alice and Faith, who were looking on with curiosity. “Well, look at you two. I love that kitten top, Faith. Not the shoes so much. And Alice, that is so pretty. Perfect for the party. You know, I’ve seen some nice slip-ons that’ll go really well with that.”
Watching the girls enjoying themselves, I couldn’t help thinking that, in spite of everything we’d been through, I was one hell of a lucky guy.
My phone rang. I reached inside my jacket and pulled it out. It was my boss, Chief Webster. Everyone knew it was my day off and, guessing it wouldn’t be anything important, I went ahead and answered it.
I should have known better. When would I ever learn?
Chapter Four
“James, I’m sorry to bother you on your day off.”
“Unless someone’s dead, I’m sure it can wait until Monday.” Webster’s tone of voice told me he was under pressure, but I was annoyed at him for intruding on my family time and even more annoyed with myself for answering the phone in the first place.
“Someone is dead. Another young woman in Regent’s Park,” he said.
I felt the excitement of the day drain away. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Monica’s disappointment at realising the family day had ended.
I wanted to hang up. I wanted to turn back time and not answer the phone. The other part of me, the police officer, took over. “When did it happen?”
“She was murdered yesterday. Member of the public found her this morning. This is the second young woman found in the park in two weeks. You know what this means.”
He didn’t need to spell it out. Officially, a serial killer commits three or more murders, but two women turning up dead, two weeks apart in the same park, meant the chances were high there would be a third, and soon. By calling me, he was letting me know he was taking the threat seriously and felt another death was now only a matter of time. Webster wanted me on the case sooner rather than later.
“How can I help?”
“I want you to support the two lead detectives. Offer insight. Work with them. Do what you do. Stop this bastard before he does it again.”
“Where’s the body now?” I shuddered. The thought of another innocent life, violently snatched away, made me go cold.
“She’s on her way to the morgue. Heidi Hamilton is on scene. She’ll head up the post mortem.”
Hamilton was the department’s forensic pathologist. “Good. Okay. I’ll finish up here. I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”
“Sooner the better. I just got off the phone with the mayor. It’s the height of the holiday season – I don’t need to tell you how many tourists visit the park. This is giving him all sorts of headaches – all sorts of headaches he’s all too keen to lay at my door.”
“Jerk,” I said. Webster made no comment. “Who are the lead detectives?”
“DI Fuller and DS Jensen. Good homicide detectives, but neither has handled a serial killer investigation before. Work with them, help them.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I’d almost forgotten I was with my family. I glanced across and watched them holding up various pieces of clothing and asking one another’s opinion. Monica had noticed me turn my head and looked back at me, concern on her face.
“And Hardy?”
I was about to hang up. My mind was racing, preparing itself for the myriad of questions that lay ahead.
“This killer is a particularly vicious piece of work.”
Chapter Five
Detective Inspector Fuller was loud and energetic. He was a short, slightly overweight man whose narrow eyes, balding hairline and ill-fitting suit made him look older than his fifty-six years. He scratched inside his nostril with his little finger then passed me a coffee.
“Here she is. This is DS Jensen. The sergeant here will go through the files with you.” Jensen stood a few inches taller than Fuller and her attractive appearance, engaging smile and relaxed demeanour were a welcome contrast to Fuller’s intensity.
“Nice to meet you, sir. I’ve heard a lot about you and read even more.” She blushed a little and was clearly kicking herself for sounding like a fan. I pretended not to notice.
“Let’s go through what you know so far; bring me up to speed.”
Jensen opened the thickest file and started describing the first case while I listened and studied the photos.
“The first victim is Julia Moore. Newly married and worked part-time as a junior accountant. She was attacked while out walking her baby. Baby had difficulty sleeping during the day, so either she or her husband would take it out in the pram. Baby’s crying is what attracted a passerby to the scene of the attack.”
The photos were tough to look at. Moore was partially clothed, and the number of repeated blows to right side of her head made her facial features barely recognisable.
“When did this attack occur?” I asked.
“Two weeks ago. Friday the seventh. We’re pretty certain the attack took place between nine thirty and ten a.m.”
“Where?”
“Regent’s Park. Next to the boating lake. He somehow got her off the path. We think he must have threatened her or threatened to harm the baby. Either that or he grabbed her and dragged her.”
Jensen’s face reddened. She said, “I know it’s all sounding less than conclusive.”
“You’re doing great. Keep going,” I said.
Jensen nodded and con
tinued. “I have a theory she knew she was going to be raped and led him away from her baby. Her instincts would have told her to get him as far away from the child as possible.”
“She just never expected him to then beat her death,” added Fuller. “She took a gamble.”
There was a lot of uncertainty. I would have expected them to have answers after two weeks, but I said nothing. I hadn’t been there at the outset of this investigation, so I couldn’t pass judgement. It didn’t stop me feeling frustration, though.
Jensen passed me what little they had on the most recent murder.
“Can you get me a copy of both case files?” I asked her, keeping my voice even. “Everything you have. Everything. I want to get up to speed as quickly as possible, and that’ll mean going over everything again. Some of which I’ll do at home.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Thank you. And please, you can stop calling me ‘sir.’ Call me Hardy.”
“Yes, sir.” Jensen looked at Fuller, who shrugged. Jensen pointed to the second file now. “This is the second victim. This took place yesterday, in all likelihood, mid-morning. We’re waiting to get the pathologist’s report to confirm that. But it means the attacks are roughly two weeks apart,” said Jensen
Fuller took over. “Regent’s Park again. Not far from the first attack. This time right next to the bandstand. Same MO. Raped and beaten to death. Looks like the same weapon was used, probably a claw hammer.”
Jensen pulled out the crime scene photos and started placing them down one at a time in front of me.
“We’re waiting for a formal identification. Her family are on their way from Wales,” said Jensen. “However, she did have some identification, and so we think her name is—”
“Cerise Williams,” I whispered. The words came out, but I couldn’t believe I was saying them.
