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

by GS Rhodes

  “Ben,” Zoe said softly. “You’ve gone all quiet, have I said the wrong thing?”

  Kidd took a breath, turning his gaze back to the perfect little slice of suburbia just outside of Twickenham. A street lamp flickered nearby, strobing a little onto the street below. On, off. On, off. He sighed.

  “No,” he said. “It’s just never easy to hear. No matter how many times you say it.”

  “And what are you going to do about it?” she asked.

  Kidd took another heaving breath. “I wish I knew.”

  ◆◆◆

  They made their way back to the police station, heading straight inside to the Incident Room to figure out their next move. It was deathly quiet, DCI Weaver having dismissed everyone some time ago. They’d been gone for a while, longer than Kidd had anticipated, but it was worth it for the information they’d gathered. He wanted this solved, and he knew the gaffer would too.

  He headed over to the evidence board and pulled out his notebook, writing the names of each of the friends on there. They would need to contact them, need to track them down and figure out exactly what happened that night. The sooner they could get a picture of the wake, the sooner they’d know his final movements.

  “We need a timeline,” Kidd said, half to himself, half to Zoe. “And I think that will be the way to go about it.”

  “You think one of the friends might have done it?” she asked, sitting on the edge of a nearby desk.

  Kidd shrugged, looking back at the board, at the five names in front of him, the friends of James Blythe and the name of the man whose wake they’d been to.

  “Possibly,” he said. “It could be one of them. It could be someone he spoke to at the wake, it could have been bloody anybody.”

  “We’ll arrange it in the morning,” Sanchez said. “We’ll split up, cover as much ground as we can, try and figure out what happened at the wake, if anything, and who these people are. Once we’ve got that picture, it will be easier to get our man.”

  Kidd nodded, looking back at the board. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out to see a message from Andrea. It opened on his lock screen.

  ANDREA: Still looking around. Some of the people we left contact numbers with think they might have seen him. Will let you know when I have more.

  He growled and put his phone back in his pocket.

  “Who was that?” Zoe asked.

  “Andrea,” Kidd said. “Craig’s sister.”

  “She find him?”

  Kidd shook his head. “She thinks she’s going to end up with more information soon. Someone in Southend reckons they’ve seen him.”

  Zoe sighed and got to her feet. “Not to sound like a broken record, but this is going to drive you mad.”

  “I know,” he replied. He could already feel it embedding itself in his brain as it had done when he was on leave. Why couldn’t he leave it behind? “I’m just worried that he’s in trouble. What if this time he actually wants to be found? Two years of absolutely nothing and now this? What if he knows we’re looking for him?”

  Zoe took a deep breath and crossed the room to Kidd. She put a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye. There was sincerity there. He could feel it radiating off her. She could see what this was doing to him, what it had done to him for all of these years.

  “If he wants to find you, he knows where you are,” she said. “You’ve not gone anywhere. If he’s going to show up, he’ll show up.”

  Kidd nodded. He knew that, at least he thought he did. But he just couldn’t let it go. Something didn’t feel right.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Even though Zoe had tried to tempt him with a pint before they headed home for the night, Kidd politely declined. The long drive back from Southend, coupled with a horrific new case had taken it out of him and the second they had decided to clock off for the day, all he really wanted was his bed. Even from this distance, he could feel it calling out to him.

  When he really thought about it, he realised he’d been working all weekend without being paid, doing a private investigator’s job on top of what he was doing at work. It was no wonder that his eyelids felt heavy as he drove back to his house.

  When he got inside, picking the mail from the past few days up off the floor and putting it on the table next to the door, he was struck by the emptiness of the place. It was something that he had grown used to over the years, though recent months had meant the addition of John in his life so it wasn’t like he came home to a lonely house every single night. That was something, at least.

  Tonight it felt worse than normal. Maybe it was the tiredness flooding his bones, maybe it was what the weekend and today had done to him, but the dark in the hallway was suddenly a few clicks more oppressive than it had been before.

  I should have gone for that pint, he thought. Though, he knew in his heart of hearts that alcohol would only make a situation like this that much worse.

  He closed the door, locking it behind him and headed straight upstairs to his bedroom. He took a quick shower, washing off the day and getting himself ready for bed. It was only as he was throwing the jeans he’d been wearing that day into the washing basket that he felt his phone in the pocket. He took it out, Andrea’s message still on the screen.

  He quickly tapped out a reply.

  KIDD: Glad to hear it. Let me know if anything comes up.

  He didn’t need to send it. He knew that she would let him know either way, but if he was feeling alone in all this, she had to be feeling something similar. He knew it was a nasty feeling, and if he got in touch with her to say he was tapping out it would upset her.

  Was he tapping out? After all this time was he finally tapping out?

  He stood immobile in the middle of his bedroom, a dirty pair of jeans in one hand, his phone in the other. Was it possible he had finally given up on Craig Peyton? He couldn’t stop the smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth—how many times had he said that?

  His phone buzzed in his hand and he half expected it to be a message from Andrea again but it was ringing, JOHN in block letters emblazoned across the top of the screen. He remembered what Zoe said. How unfair it was to John. He needed to put a stop to one of these things, or come clean. He didn’t know which.

  He answered.

  “Hey,” he said, his voice coming out strangely bright. Even he could tell that he didn’t really sound like himself. He was trying too hard. Trying to stop himself from feeling guilty.

  “Hello,” John replied. He sounded surprised. “I half expected you to be asleep, but thought I would chance it.” Kidd could hear him shuffling about down the phone, maybe he was already in bed, or just sitting on his sofa. If he’d have had the foresight to call him, Kidd could have been there with him. “How are you? How was the weekend?”

  Kidd sat down on his bed. He could tell him now. He could tell him everything that had happened over the weekend, over the past two years, spill his guts out on the phone to this man that he was growing to care about more than he wanted to admit.

  But maybe over the phone wasn’t the right way to do it. Maybe he should do it in person. They were supposed to be seeing each other tomorrow. He would do it then.

  “It was fine,” Kidd said. “You know what family is like.” A lie. He didn’t have to lie but there it was. “And I’m okay. Just exhausted. I was pulled back early.”

  “Oh,” he said. “I had no idea. Is everything okay?”

  “Work stuff,” Kidd said. “Got a call while I was away, wanted me back as soon as possible.”

  “Big one?”

  “Big enough,” Kidd replied. He swung his legs up onto the bed and lay back against the pillow. He could hear John moving about too, hear him breathing, and even though they weren’t in the same place right now it was a comfort to have him so close. “But let’s not talk about that. Tell me about your day. How was your weekend?”

  And Kidd settled back as he and John continued to talk, finding out how John’s weekend had been, sharin
g in the difficulties he’d been having at work and the triumphs too. He was comfortable in a way that he always seemed to be whenever John was near, either physically or on the other end of the phone. And as they said their goodbyes, promising to one another that they would see each other tomorrow night, Kidd was struck by that feeling of comfort, that desire to be near him.

  Maybe it is time to let go, he thought. He’d thought it so many times before but he had a good thing going with John, he could see that. Maybe the thing to do would be to tell him all about Craig, everything he had gone through. He would surely understand. Even if he couldn’t relate, he would get how Kidd had been feeling for all of these years.

  The phone rang again. Kidd half expected it to be John phoning back because he’d forgotten to say something but across the top of his screen read WITHHELD NUMBER. He swiped his thumb across the screen to answer it.

  “Hello?”

  Silence came back to him.

  A robot voice is going to start any second asking me about some accident, he thought. Any second now.

  Still nothing came back.

  “Hello?” he said again. “Is there somebody there?”

  He could feel the presence of someone else on the other end of the phone. If he listened hard, it was like he could hear them existing. Not breathing, just existing.

  “Hello?” he tried one more time. Still nothing.

  He gave it a few more seconds, waiting to see if whoever was on the other end of the line would say something, say anything.

  The line went dead, and Kidd found himself staring at his phone wondering what on earth had just happened.

  Probably a wrong number, he thought. Maybe whoever it was wasn’t expecting him to pick up. But then, why bother phoning?

  He caught sight of the time at the top of his screen. It was getting on for eleven o’clock. It wasn’t late by any means but if he wanted to be on his game tomorrow, he needed to somehow shake off the exhaustion of the weekend, of the day, and get some rest.

  Without another thought, he plugged his phone in and turned off the lights, waiting for the darkness to take him to another day.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “The information we got from the Blythe family was quite a lot to go on,” DS Sanchez was giving the team an update on what information they’d managed to get the night before. “Owen, Simon, if you can get on with finding these addresses for James’ friends, that would be a good start. As soon as we’ve got an address, we’ll split up to go and chat to them.” She looked to Kidd who was leaning on the edge of a nearby desk. “That good with you, sir?”

  “Divide and conquer,” Kidd said with a smile. “Sounds like a plan. We also need to get in touch with Mrs Paige. It was her husband’s wake that the lads were at, so Zoe, Janya, if you don’t mind heading there first thing, that would be great.”

  “Sure thing,” DC Ravel said, pulling her jacket off the back of her chair.

  “Gently does it,” Kidd said, though even as he started speaking he knew it was redundant. Zoe knew exactly what she was doing. “She’s recently lost her husband, I worry that something like this might cause her a bit of emotional damage. I assume she knew the boy too.”

  Zoe nodded before grabbing her jacket and heading out of the Incident Room. It was the kind of energy that Kidd was after this morning, and it was infectious. Having Zoe and Janya out doing interviews, Simon and Owen tracking these lads down, it gave him a buzz. It was also a welcome distraction.

  The Incident Room door flew open, DCI Weaver standing in the frame, his red hair a little wilder than usual, his cheeks a little bit pink.

  “Kidd, a word?” he grumbled, nodding out into the corridor.

  “Keep going while I’m gone,” Kidd said. “No more bloody croissants,” he shot at Campbell who didn’t have a chance to protest before Kidd was out of the room.

  “Boss?” he said, as he joined Weaver in the corridor. He had a stack of papers in his meaty hand. He shoved them at Kidd. “What’s this then?”

  “We’ve got a couple statements from people who live nearby,” Weaver said. “I’ve been through them myself and there doesn’t seem like a heck of a lot to go on.”

  “Shit.”

  “That’s what I thought,” he said, running a hand across his face. He looked knackered. “The only interesting thing is that people heard a scuffle at around ten-thirty, someone stumbling down the alleyway around the back of the house.”

  “Where the body was found?”

  “That’s it,” Weaver said. “Someone claimed to have seen a flash out of the window at around ten-forty, but didn’t go to investigate. Thought it would just be rugby fans being rugby fans.”

  “Alright,” Kidd said. He was glad they didn’t go and investigate. Given how brutal the murderer had been when killing James, if they’d been spooked who knew what could have happened. “This is good, sir. Not a lot, like you said, but gives us an idea of the timeline at least.”

  “Yup, that’s it,” Weaver replied. But there was something else, something that was enough to make Kidd feel more than a little bit nervous. “There’s something else.”

  Knew it, he thought.

  “I thought there might be,” Kidd said. “Not another body.”

  “No, Jesus Christ, not another one,” Weaver said, holding up a hand to forestall Kidd. “It’s Superintendent Charles. He’s breathing down my neck on this one—”

  “What else is new?”

  “Kidd,” Weaver snapped, his eyes burning brightly. “I’m telling you this for your own good, alright? He’s going to be coming down to the station, checking in on everything, on everyone. Times are hard, you know that, and he needs to make sure our resources are being put to good use and everything is being done by the book.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Kidd asked, eyeing his boss suspiciously. He knew exactly what it meant, but he wanted Weaver to say it in plain English.

  Weaver sighed and pulled his gaze away from Kidd. He’d not come here for a fight this morning, that much was obvious, but Kidd wasn’t about to let him get off without one.

  “It’s not me, alright? I know you do good work.”

  “So does Superintendent Charles,” Kidd replied. “I get the job done.”

  “But you don’t always going about it the right way,” Weaver said quickly. “And I know that you get things done, but you have a habit of being unorthodox and the last thing I want to happen is for you to get into deep shit with the Super on my watch, alright?”

  “Sir.”

  “It’s one thing for you to pull that shit with me, and I turn a blind eye—”

  Like hell you turn a blind eye, Kidd thought, remembering every time Weaver had bollocked him for not playing by the rules. He was out of his mind.

  “But Charles won’t,” he continued. “And it won’t be your job that’s on the line here, Kidd, it will be mine. So play by the fucking rules for once, alright? Procedure, to the letter. He’s still not happy about you going into that bloody house with Anthony Warrington.”

  “That was months ago.”

  “You could have been killed.”

  “But I wasn’t,” Kidd snapped. “It was a calculated risk. It usually is. I’m doing my job.”

  “And chasing Chris Harper to Kingston Riverside?”

  “I either chased him to Kingston Riverside or he got away with it,” Kidd barked. He couldn’t believe he was being pulled up on this right now. “And I wasn’t about to let him get away with it, not after what he did to that poor girl and if you think that’s the kind of officer I am then you’ve misunderstood me. Sir.”

  They stared at one another. Silence had fallen down the rest of the corridor. Anybody in any of the offices or Incident Rooms were obviously listening in, and anybody who happened to be in the corridor was being as quiet as they could to not pull focus.

  “Will that be all?” Kidd said, realising just how tightly he was gripping the papers that Weaver had given him, how sweaty his
palms suddenly were. He wiped his free hand on his suit jacket, smoothing out the papers.

  “Yes, DI Kidd,” Weaver said flatly. “That will be all. Keep me updated.” He continued to stare at Kidd.

  Kidd couldn’t help but notice how much older Weaver was looking. Maybe it was the long nights catching up with him, maybe he was just tired. Whatever it was, it wasn’t doing him any favours. He could see there was something else on his mind.

  The activity around them started to pick up again, people realising that the all-too public shouting match between them had ended. Weaver nodded at Kidd and turned to walk away.

  “Boss?” Kidd said when he’d made it a few steps away. “Everything alright?”

  Weaver looked nonplussed. “Excuse me?”

  “Just checking in, sir,” Kidd said, suddenly feeling like he had taken a wrong turn. Nerves took over. “You’d do the same for…well…you have done the same for me in the past and I just…I wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

  “Everything is fine,” he barked. “Where the bloody hell would you get the idea that something is wrong? Have you been talking to someone?”

  “No, sir, I just—”

  “Because everything is fine,” he roared, his voice hitting Kidd square in the face, almost knocking him back. “That will be all, Detective Inspector Kidd.”

  Kidd nodded and turned back to the Incident Room, slamming the door after he walked inside. He saw DC Powell jump in his seat, but opted to ignore it, storming back to his desk.

  He sat back, undoing the buttons on his suit jacket and leant back in the chair, flicking through the first few pages of notes, not really taking any of it in. That would be the last time he’d offer Weaver some kind of olive branch. Served him right for thinking the man had anything more than a hollow tin chest.