Your Best Shot: An Electrifying British Crime Thriller (DI Benjamin Kidd Crime Thrillers Book 3)

by GS Rhodes

  He walked over to his desk, putting his coat over the back of his chair and firing up his computer. He took his phone out of his pocket, seeing there was already a message from Andrea on his screen.

  ANDREA: Sorry we didn’t pick anything up. Maybe we’ll have better luck next time.

  Next time, he thought. He didn’t know if there would even be a next time. Again he was faced with the fact that Craig didn’t want to be found. How much longer could he keep chasing him?

  Another message came through, one from John.

  JOHN: Excited to see you tomorrow. Hope your family is well.

  He cringed as he remembered the lie he’d told John that he had gone to visit his family. He really was finding brand new ways to screw up his life here. He was about to tap out a response to John telling him he’d come back early when DC Ravel slammed the phone down and let out a heavy sigh.

  “Good news?” Kidd asked.

  “Pathology report,” she said.

  “What have we got?” Kidd asked, perching on the edge of his desk. All eyes turned to Jayna Ravel as she clicked a few times on her mouse and brought up the report. She took a breath before she started.

  “It’s not great.”

  “But enough to get us going, right?” Kidd said.

  Ravel looked unsure. “It looks like the victim bled out. There was a heck of a lot of blood, whoever did this knew what part of him to go for to get maximum impact. Likelihood is they bashed him across the side of the head, then went for the neck, hence all the blood, and that would stop him from screaming.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Kidd growled. So whoever was doing this knew their way around a body, knew exactly what they were doing. That made him worry. “What else?”

  “The victim fought against the attacker, DNA deposits were found under the fingernails, they’re checking them out but so far no matches on the national database,” she said. “Basically the takeaway is that this person knows exactly what they’re doing. Once he was down, they went for the neck to keep him quiet, multiple stab wounds to finish him off.”

  “What about the Polaroids?”

  DC Ravel sighed. “Again, DNA deposits were found on the Polaroids but with no match, there’s no way of knowing who it belongs to.”

  “Can we trace the camera? Make, model, it’s not a lot but it’s something if we can narrow down a list of suspects.”

  “I’ll get on it,” Ravel said.

  “Anything else?”

  Ravel shook her head gravely. Not a damn thing else. Kidd considered this and took a breath before standing up and heading towards the front of the room. The eyes of his team followed him. He needed to motivate them somehow.

  “So we don’t have a lot to go on right now,” he started. Understatement of the century, surely. “But that doesn’t mean we’re chasing a lost cause here. We’ve managed to do a lot more with a lot less in the past. We’ve got a job to do and we need to get going on it. I want the details of the PCs who knocked on doors as soon as possible, if anyone saw a flash, saw someone running, I want to know about it. I want to figure out a timeline for this as best we can so we need to find out where Mr Blythe was before he was attacked. Do we have his phone?”

  “Yes, sir,” Campbell said, which at least proved he’d been doing something.

  Kidd looked to Sanchez. “I want to talk to the family, have they been informed?”

  “FLO is already there taking care of everything, sir,” Powell said.

  “Thanks, Si,” he said. “Okay, everybody. Let’s catch this bastard.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  James Blythe's family lived near Kneller Hall, a couple of roads away, just off Whitton High Street. It didn’t take them long to get there, the evening rush hour traffic had long-since faded, the street lights flickering on as dusk turned into night.

  Zoe drove them comfortably from Kingston Police Station, pulling up outside the Blythe residence less than thirty minutes later.

  It was on a road of very similar-looking properties, white with black wood across the fronts of them, as if they had all been cut from the same mould. Front gardens had mostly been paved over with driveways, and every single door was the same plastic white.

  “What have we just driven into?” Kidd asked as he got out of the car. “It looks like a bloody toy town.”

  “Maybe they’re not allowed to change the way the houses look,” Sanchez suggested. “I mean, there’s not a drop of originality among them.”

  Kidd shook his head. “Which one do they live at?”

  “Thirty-two,” she said, pointing at the door. He could see figures moving behind the net curtains in the living room, the lights silhouetting them. He imagined the number of curtain twitches there would be from all the surrounding houses, watching a mysterious car show up. The officers that had come down in marked cars over the last few days probably would have been ambushed with questions from a multitude of nosy neighbours. They headed for the front door and Kidd could feel his heart beating a mile a minute in his chest.

  Even though the family already knew everything—they would have had to identify his body, after all–it didn’t make him feel any better. It was always difficult looking into the faces of a family whose child had been killed. He did it far too often and it never got any easier.

  But it was part of his job. He needed to talk to them, to figure out James’ last movements otherwise they wouldn’t have anywhere to turn to. He knocked, stepping back and joining DS Sanchez partway down the driveway.

  The door opened to reveal a short, curvy woman with bottle-blonde hair stood in the door frame. She’d caught the sun a little on her cheeks and the tip of her nose, and her eyes were a little sunken, grey bags hanging lightly beneath them. They were a little bloodshot too. Kidd would put money on this being Mrs Blythe.

  “Hello,” she said, her voice soft, cautious. “Can I—?” She coughed a little as if to steady herself. “Can I help you at all?” She couldn’t keep the shake out of her voice no matter how hard she tried. How many people had been knocking on her door over the past couple of days to offer condolences and ask questions?

  Kidd cleared his throat. “My name is Detective Inspector Benjamin Kidd, this is Detective Sergeant Zoe Sanchez,” he started. “Are you Mrs Blythe?”

  “Sharon Blythe, yes,” she said.

  “We are investigating the death of your son, James, would you mind if we came in?”

  She took a deep breath. This would be the second time in the space of a few days that police officers would have come to her house to talk about her son, the first time would have been to tell them he’d been killed. The shock of that was still written all over her.

  “Of course,” she said. “My husband is just in the living room. Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?”

  “Tea would be lovely,” Kidd said.

  “Yes, tea,” Sanchez added.

  “How do you take it?” she asked, stepping back into the house, beckoning the two of them to follow.

  “Just a splash of milk,” Kidd said.

  “Same for me.”

  Mrs Blythe disappeared through a door up ahead and into the kitchen. It was all lit up in white fluorescent lights, a little bit oppressive, it reminded him of the lights in the interview rooms back at the station.

  “The living room is the first door on the right,” she called back, grabbing the kettle off the countertop and heading over to the sink. “I won’t be a moment.” There was that unmistakable quake in her voice again. She was rattled. And why wouldn’t she be? Her son had just been brutally murdered and now, here they were to dredge up his final moments, go over them all over again.

  They headed into the living room where a thin man was sat on a cream leather sofa, though it looked like it was consuming him the way he was slouched into it. He looked over at them as they walked in. His eyes also looked a little sunken, his hair a little greasy and unkempt. Kidd couldn’t imagine either of them were getting a lot of sleep at the moment.

/>   “Mr Blythe?” Sanchez said.

  “William,” he said, sitting up a little straighter. “Is this about James?” he added, his eyes widening in alarm. “Have you found the fucker who did it yet?”

  “Will!” Sharon scolded from somewhere behind them. “They’re only just starting.” She appeared in the doorway behind them. “Isn’t that right? You need to ask us questions to assist with your investigation.”

  Kidd smiled. “That’s correct, Mrs Blythe,” he said.

  “I watch all the programmes,” she said, a little pink tingeing her cheeks like she was revealing a dirty secret. “I know you’re just doing your jobs. I…I never thought I’d be one of the people answering the questions. It all seems so…I don’t know…it seems so abstract, so otherworldly. You never think it’s going to be you.”

  That was always the case. More often than not the people they spoke to knew all about police dramas and documentaries but it all feels like fiction until it’s happening in your life, until officers are standing in your living room trying to piece together what feels like an impossible puzzle.

  She made a small sound before turning on her heel and heading back out to the kitchen, presumably to get the tea.

  “Have a seat,” William said. “I’m…sorry for what I said, I—”

  “Perfectly understandable, Mr Blythe,” Sanchez said. “This isn’t usual, I know. And we don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

  Sharon Blythe reappeared with two mugs of tea. They both took one and sat next to one another on the sofa. Sharon headed out to grab two more mugs before taking herself over to the armchair that seemed to be swallowing her husband and sat on the arm. She took a deep breath and locked eyes with Kidd.

  “Whenever you’re ready, DI Kidd,” she said.

  Zoe took out her notebook and Kidd sat forward in his chair, mug in one hand, his eyes on the pair of them.

  “I would love to know a little bit more about your son,” he said. “Anything that you think might be helpful to us, that might help us to find out who killed him. Don’t leave anything out that you think might be even the tiniest bit relevant.”

  Sharon sat up a little straighter. “Well, on the day he was…when he…” She took a deep breath, looking towards the fireplace. Kidd followed her gaze and saw a picture of a younger-looking James in his school uniform on the mantel. There were a few other pictures there too, one he couldn’t quite make out of a sea of students that looked like it had been taken for some kind of anniversary. A pained smile barely lifted the corners of her mouth, before she turned back to Kidd, steeling herself. “He’d gone to a wake.”

  “A wake?” Kidd repeated. “For whom?”

  “One of his old teachers had passed away, Mr Paige,” she said. “Apparently, a lot of his class had been invited, his favourite students, ones he remembered.” She smiled longingly, like she could still see James in his school uniform, like he’d walk through that door at any moment and all of this would be a dream. “His friends had been invited and, well, he didn’t really want to go.”

  “Why’s that?” Kidd asked.

  “Funerals aren’t exactly how a young man wants to spend his Saturday night,” she said softly. “I didn’t blame him for not wanting to go. They can be very depressing.”

  “Plus, it was for a teacher,” Mr Blythe chimed in. “I never really had him down as a swot at school or anything, didn’t think he’d go to something like that.”

  “But,” Sharon piped up, interrupting her husband and silencing him with a hard look. “I said he should go. I thought it was the right thing to do for him to pay his respects. He might not have liked school all that much but…it’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?” She looked to the two detectives for confirmation. “Maybe if I hadn’t—”

  “Now, now,” Sanchez interrupted. “You can’t start thinking like that, Mrs Blythe, it won’t help you. It’s not your fault.”

  Tears filled Sharon Blythe’s eyes, quickly rolling down her face. She didn’t make a noise, holding her mouth closed tight and nodding to them. She was trying to stay strong and Kidd couldn’t help but feel for her. She had no reason to be strong in front of them. They had seen it all before. But he understood.

  “That’s what I’ve told her,” William said, finding his voice once again. “There’s no use dwelling on it. You’ll drive yourself mad.”

  “I feel mad,” she says. “I can’t fathom it, can’t understand why someone would want to hurt my boy.” Her hand flew to her mouth, silencing a cry. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

  “You don’t need to apologise,” Kidd said. “I know it’s not easy to talk about, please take your time.” He cleared his throat. “I’d love to know the names of his friends, if you have them.”

  Sharon Blythe nodded. “Anything we can do,” she breathed. “Honestly, DI Kidd, anything.”

  Kidd smiled a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you. And anything else you can think of that might help?”

  They talked for a little while longer. They took the names of the group of friends James hung around with, his place of work, details of anyone he’d been in contact with in the days leading up to his murder. The latter half of things his parents weren’t so sure of. Apparently, he was quite a private person, kept himself to himself. But Kidd knew what they needed to do next.

  He wrote down the name of the teacher, Mr Paige, and underlined it twice, getting the address of the wake from the funeral invitation. That, along with his group of friends, gave them a couple of places to start. He looked once more to the mantel, where the clock was now striking nine pm. He didn’t want to take up any more of their time for now, didn’t want to cause any more emotional upheaval. His eyes fell on the young James Blythe’s face once more. He would figure out what happened to him. He just had to.

  CHAPTER SIX

  After saying their goodbyes and thanking Mr and Mrs Blythe, Kidd and Zoe headed back out to the car. It was late, and the intensity of the day following the weekend he’d had was finally catching up to Kidd. What he wanted right now was his bed.

  Zoe didn’t turn on the engine once she was seated in the Focus, the unmarked car she had brought them here in. Her hands made their way to the steering wheel but Kidd could sense her hesitation. He had a feeling she had something to say. He decided to head her off.

  “Lots to go on there,” he said, sitting back in the passenger seat, pulling his seat belt across himself, and clipping it in. “Plenty of people to talk to, places to go. I’m feeling good about it. We can split off tomorrow and figure out the best course of action to get this solved as quickly as possible. Anything to add?”

  “How was the weekend?”

  Kidd stopped himself from sighing at her. She was only asking because she was his friend, because she was interested. He half wished she wouldn’t. “I meant about the case.”

  “I know you did,” she said. “But we’ve not had a moment alone yet and I wanted to make sure you’re okay. You seem…”

  Kidd eyed her carefully. “I seem what?”

  “You seem very focussed on this case.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not a criticism, Ben, it’s a comment,” she said, turning to him. “You’ve thrown yourself into this one at great speed.” She paused. “How are you?”

  He took a deep breath. He didn’t want to get into this right now, but if he couldn’t talk to Zoe, who could he talk to? It was hardly the kind of thing he could bring up with John. They were in a relationship of sorts, you can’t really tell your current boyfriend—if that’s what he was, they’d not really talked about labels—that you’re searching for your ex who had gone missing. The fact that they haven’t even talked about Craig was something he should rectify sooner rather than later, but…it was hard.

  “I’m surviving,” he said.

  Zoe hissed through her teeth. “That’s not good.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Was it
that bad?”

  Kidd tore his gaze away from Zoe and looked out to the empty, darkened street. “It was fine,” he said. “We travelled down there, staying near where he’d been seen. We took his picture and asked around the shops, went to all of the places where we’d been together before, anywhere that I thought might have seen him. It was…I don’t know. It felt a little bit pathetic.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m chasing a ghost that’s been missing for the past two years,” Kidd barked. “I don’t know what I expected when we decided to go, really.”

  “You expected to find him.”

  “Well, yes,” he admitted. “I expected we’d find him and then…then what? I have no idea what I would even say to him if he showed up on my doorstep. I wouldn’t know whether to yell at him, to punch him, to kiss him…” He trailed off. “I don’t know what I want from him. And in a strange way, that makes it even harder when I look for him and come up with nothing, you know?”

  “I know.”

  “It’s infuriating,” Kidd said. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Zoe took a breath, keeping her eyes trained on Kidd. He could feel her gaze burning into the side of his head. “You’re not going to want to hear this.”

  “When has that ever stopped you?” Kidd said with a smirk.

  “You need to stop looking,” she said bluntly. “I’ve said it before but it doesn’t seem to land, or you find something else and you’re off after him again. But you’ve got a good thing going with John, you know you do, and you’re going to drive yourself out of work again if you keep looking for him. I can see it getting to you, Ben, and I know it’s not my place to say any of this but I’m only saying it because I care about you.”

  It was a conversation they’d had many times before and Kidd, as ever, knew that she was right. But it was the unfinished business of it all that kept him looking. Whenever he was on a case, he always found himself determined to figure it out, to find out exactly what had happened to their victim. In life, it turned out, he was the same. There were so many unanswered questions around Craig’s disappearance, questions that Kidd felt like he needed the answers to. Whether he deserved them or would ever get them was a different matter entirely.