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

by GS Rhodes

  “Hello? Who is this?” he growled. “I know someone’s there, I can hear you down the phone. Will you just say something?”

  Nothing.

  He sighed.

  “Stop calling me.”

  He hung up and threw the phone onto his bed.

  ◆◆◆

  Kidd arrived at the station shortly before the rest of his team. Even though he’d had a night away, the faces of the young men staring back at him from the board were so ingrained into his brain that it felt like he hadn’t left. Alcohol aside, it wasn’t a wonder that he was bone-tired simply by being here.

  No one seemed to have had any luck finding Robin Paige. He had no messages telling him as such and he hadn’t been booked in overnight. Though what they would be arresting him for wasn’t really anything to stand on. You can’t arrest someone on a hunch. And that hunch still felt tenuous at best.

  His attention once again turned to the evidence board, to the smiling face of Bill, the one friend they hadn’t managed to get a hold of yet. They had called and called and still had no answer. It was worrying him. It was worrying him that they didn’t have an address yet, that they didn’t know where to look, that Bill would end up being another body just like Stephen. He hoped that wouldn’t be the case.

  He dialled the number again.

  He listened to it ringing, as it chirped back at him.

  But it clicked off, asking him to leave a message. He hung up. Leaving a message wouldn’t help if he was dead.

  Zoe appeared through the door just before nine, closely followed by the rest of the team who said their, “Good mornings,” and immediately found their way to their desks where they started to pick up anything they might have missed overnight. Kidd was waiting with bated breath for information, for anything that they would be able to move on this morning.

  “How’d it go?” Zoe asked, perching on the edge of Kidd’s desk. It took him a moment to realise what she was talking about. She was talking about John.

  “It didn’t,” Kidd replied. “I bottled it.”

  “You what?”

  “I couldn’t do it,” he said. “And look, maybe I don’t need to.”

  “Ben—”

  “If Craig isn’t showing up, then maybe I don’t need to talk to him about it yet, maybe we can just carry on as we are for a while longer before I bring up my ex who has been haunting me for the past two years.” It sounded ridiculous even as Kidd said it, tenuous at best, and Sanchez wasn’t buying it. She raised a carefully drawn eyebrow at him and didn’t really need to say much else. Not that it stopped her.

  “You don’t need me to tell you that you need to speak to him,” she said. “But you also need to do it in your own time so I’m not about to force your hand. But, and before you interrupt me, you need to let me finish this thought.”

  “Go on then.”

  “Next time you want to go off on a wild goose chase to track down Craig,” she started. Kidd opened his mouth to speak but Zoe cut him off by raising her finger at him. “You need to sit him down and tell him what’s going on. Because he’s going to find out that Craig existed eventually. It’s probably better that it comes from you rather than him finding out by accident. Unless you want this whole thing to go up in flames.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Are you trying to sabotage this relationship with John?”

  “Zoe—”

  “What other explanation is there? You seem to be intent on letting the whole thing self-destruct,” she said matter of factly.

  “Are you my therapist now or something?” he said, trying to make light of it, trying to laugh it off, but not really succeeding.

  “Look, it might sound like pop psychology but maybe think about it a little,” she said. “You’ve got a good thing going with John but it looks like your brain will do absolutely anything to stop it from sticking for any length of time. You’re allowed to have nice things.”

  Kidd opened his mouth to speak but was quickly interrupted by DC Simon Powell standing up from his desk and promptly falling backwards over his chair and onto the floor.

  “Jesus Christ, what are we going to do with that boy?” Kidd grumbled.

  “Saved by the klutz,” Zoe said, waggling her eyebrows at him.

  “Not likely,” Kidd replied. “You alright, Si?” he called.

  Simon pulled himself to his feet and nodded, a delirious sort of smile on his face. “Fine, boss, yeah,” he said.

  “Something good?” Zoe asked.

  “Yeah. We’ve got addresses,” he said. “One for Bill, the other for Tanya.”

  They had leads. They had things to do.

  Kidd got to his feet. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Simon Powell held on for dear life as DC Owen Campbell swung them out of the car park and towards Tanya Green’s house. Like he hadn’t had enough of a stressful morning what with stumbling out of his parents’ house late just an hour prior and then falling over in the office and making an ass of himself. Now he was riding in a death trap Vauxhall with DC Campbell.

  “If we could maybe slow down just a touch—”

  “Not a chance,” Campbell snapped. “It’s under the speed limit. And we’ve got places to be. Bodies are piling up, Si, this is no time to be driving like an OAP.”

  Campbell was clearly enjoying this way too much. It was something Simon had seen a lot when he was going through the ranks to get where he was today. It was always the younger lads who seemed to get a thrill out of “fighting crime.” Of course, Simon was lumped into that same age category—he and Campbell weren’t too dissimilar in age—but he seemed to be the exception rather than the rule, and that made him nervous when he was sent out to work with Owen.

  A car honked as Owen all but ran a red light. Simon held on for dear life.

  “Calm down, Si,” Campbell said as he slowed down a little, pulling into the road that Tanya lived on. It was just off Twickenham High Street, a stone’s throw away from the river. “We’re basically there now, you can unclench.”

  “How about you let me drive back?”

  “Not a chance.”

  Tanya Green’s flat was pretty small. She, much like some of the others, had stayed in the area after attending University. She had answered the door in a pair of jeans and a fitted crop top. Her brown hair was tucked behind her ears, though looked a little wild and frayed at the ends. Simon couldn’t place why he noticed that, but maybe he was just trying to notice anything and everything in case it was a clue, in case it would help them figure out who was behind this.

  Campbell had a bit of a spring in his step as he introduced himself and was invited into the apartment along with Simon. There was something to be said for being allowed to do this interview without DI Kidd breathing down their necks. As good of a detective as he was, Campbell could do without the grief.

  “I had a feeling I might be hearing from you lot,” Tanya said as she ushered them into the living room. “Tea?”

  “Yes please,” Campbell said. “Milk, three sugars.”

  “Just milk for me,” Simon said.

  Tanya didn’t have to do too much more than turn around to get to the kitchen. Her entire flat, with the exception of her bedroom, was on display in this single room. There was a sofa, a TV, and a coffee table, and that was all. Simple life, full of simple pleasures. Or the only pleasures she could afford living this close to London.

  The walls were covered in photographs. Some of them were framed, presented in triptychs of what seemed to be friends in various states of drunkenness. Others were stuck to the wall in shapes and patterns that seemed to create other patterns from the colours within them. It was incredibly creative. Simon couldn’t help but stare at them.

  “So this is about James?” she said a little solemnly. “I was…I was really sad when I heard about what happened.”

  Simon thought that seemed like a bit of an understatement considering he’d been brutally murdered, but didn’t think i
t quite right to bring that point up just now. He let Tanya carry on pottering about the half kitchen, making the tea for them both.

  “Stephen less so,” she said.

  Now, that caught both of their attention. They shared a look, Tanya still with her back to them. Simon suddenly felt a little nervous to be in her apartment in the first place. He pulled out his notebook cautiously and took a quick note.

  “Can I ask why?” Campbell said.

  She groaned and turned around. “I take it you’ve spoken to all of the boys,” she said. “How much did they tell you?”

  Campbell sat up a little straighter. “They’ve told us a little,” he said. “Not a lot. We’d much prefer to hear your side of things, rather than their side and perhaps influencing what—”

  “I don’t think anything they could have said would influence the way I tell my story,” she interrupted. She turned her attention back to the tea, picking up two white mugs and bringing them over, placing them on the coffee table in front of the two officers. She grabbed her own tea and joined them. “They bullied me and my friends while we were at school. Was that about it?”

  “That was the long and short of it, yes,” Campbell said.

  “Did they mention the assault at all?” she added. Campbell’s ears perked up, his eyes widening a touch. Tanya laughed. “I didn’t think they would. That’s the thing, isn’t it? They choose what they remember, what they decide to remember. James had been the only one of them who was even halfway decent and look what ended up happening to him. Splattered all over an alleyway in Whitton.”

  She took a sip of her tea, wincing as it was still clearly a little too hot. She put the mug back down, her eyes on the officers.

  “Did you have any questions for me?” she said. “Or were you waiting for me to spill my guts a little more?”

  “We’d like to hear about the assault, Miss Green.”

  “Tanya is fine.”

  “Tanya,” DC Campbell said. “Unless it’s too painful a thing for you to talk about, in which case—”

  “I’ve found that it’s often easier to talk about it openly than to not,” she said matter of factly. She sat up a little straighter in her chair, tucking her brown hair behind her ears, fixing the two officers with a determined sort of stare. “It happened while we were in school. It was…” She took a moment, took a breath, cleared her throat. “As far as the school and the boys were concerned, it was just a prank that went too far. The school didn’t really want to act, didn’t want to pull the boys out, get them into any trouble, and I…” She trailed off and took another breath. This one shook somewhat.

  “I really don’t want to push you, Tanya,” DC Campbell said, his voice soft. “If it’s too much to talk about, we can move on.”

  “But I can’t move on from it, can I?” she whispered. “It’s part of my past, and it’s such a significant part of my past that it continues to this day to be a part of my future. Those boys hurt me. Stephen and David, mostly. It wasn’t just the names they called me at school, the things they threw at me, both verbally and physically, there was so much more to it than that. They attacked me one night after school.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what prompted it, what it was that made them think it was in any way the right thing to do, but they cornered me and physically attacked me. I tried to defend myself, tried to stop them, but they overpowered me. I was bleeding. I was in so much pain. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Did you go to the police?” Simon asked.

  She shook her head. “The school said they were taking care of it,” she said. “By ‘taking care of it,’ what they meant was, they were letting the boys get off and I would have to suffer the consequences of living with it forever.” She breathed in a deep breath and pushed it back out again. “So forgive me, Detective, for not having any sympathy that a boy who hurt me so greatly has been killed.”

  “Are you trying to say he deserved it?” Campbell asked.

  Tanya smiled. It was snakelike and was enough to make both Campbell and Powell’s blood run a little colder. “I would never say such a thing,” she said. “But karma has a funny way of getting back at people, doesn’t it?”

  Campbell sat back in his chair. “I suppose sometimes it does,” he said. “Occasionally it has a little bit of help along the way.”

  Tanya nodded her head. “I suppose it does.” She looked over at Simon who was furiously scribbling down notes. “Anything interesting?” she asked, nodding to his notebook.

  “Just keeping track of everything,” he said sheepishly. “We’d love to hear a little more about you though, if that’s okay.”

  Her brow furrowed. “About me? What about me?” she asked. “Are you accusing me of something?”

  “Oh goodness, no,” Simon stuttered. “We just want to get a better picture of who you are, what you do, how you know the victims and so on.”

  “I’ve told you how I know the victims,” she said bluntly.

  “Then why go to the wake?” Campbell asked, pulling her focus yet again. “You hate them, if you knew they were going to be there—”

  “I didn’t know they were going to be there,” she interrupted, the words flying from her mouth, dripping in venom. “Maybe if I’d known I wouldn’t have gone, but I wanted to pay my respects to Mr Paige. He encouraged me when no one else would, he was a fantastic teacher. I didn’t think they’d be there because they’d been so godawful to him, but when I walked in and saw them there I felt…I don’t know, a strange sort of peace. I’ve been getting help, seeing a therapist, trying to get my head in order, but it was only in seeing them that I felt a little better.”

  “You just told us you’re glad Stephen suffered.”

  “I can be getting better and still be happy to see someone who hurt me getting hurt,” she replied with a shrug. “And I wasn’t glad. I believe I said I was less sad about his death than I was about James’.”

  “You spoke to James at the wake,” Simon said. “Was he acting strangely towards you at all? Or was there anyone acting strangely towards him?”

  Tanya thought about it, reaching for her tea and having a quick swig before responding. “I spoke to him because he was the only one of them who was ever nice to me,” she said. “I had a spare moment and thought he looked lonely stood outside all alone. I thought, why not?”

  “What do you mean you had a spare moment?”

  “Mrs Paige knows what I do for a living and asked if I could capture the moment for her of the event,” Tanya said.

  “What do you do?” Simon asked.

  “I’m a photographer.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Kidd and Sanchez left the station at breakneck speed, Zoe jumping into the car and starting it before Kidd could get the passenger door closed. They knew where Bill was and they needed to make sure he was okay. Neither one of them was saying it, but there was a tension in the air that told them that they both feared the worst.

  There were too many questions hanging over everything. Why had he not contacted his friends? Why had he not picked up the phone when they’d called? It was enough to have Kidd’s heart pounding so hard in his chest that it was practically humming.

  “You okay?” Zoe asked as she sped over Kingston Bridge towards Hampton Wick.

  “I just don’t want another body,” Kidd said. “If we have another body, then we have a serial killer on our hands and…” He trailed off. He didn’t know how DCI Weaver would handle that. He already seemed like he was keyed up, close enough to the breaking point that something like this might just be the thing to tip him over the edge. If nothing else he would blow up at Kidd for not figuring this entire case out sooner.

  They pulled up outside Bill’s house. It wasn’t too far from where Robin Paige lived, something else that was putting the fear of God through Kidd. He tried to shake it off as they turned off Whitton Dene and down onto Arnold Crescent. It was the first house on the corner, so clean that it looked practically new, so quiet that it ma
de Kidd’s stomach drop.

  They got out of the car, steadily making their way towards the door. Kidd pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled Bill’s number. He could hear the ringing coming from inside the house, ringing on and on and on until it clicked off, asking him to leave a message.

  He hung up, pocketed his phone once more, and turned to Zoe.

  “It doesn’t look good,” he said.

  “Don’t count him out just yet,” she said, but even she didn’t seem all that convinced. They walked towards the front door, along the freshly jet-washed driveway. Kidd found himself looking for signs of a disturbance, signs that somebody had been there. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion.

  He rang the doorbell and took a step back, taking a few deep breaths as he watched the door, waiting to see a shadow behind it, waiting to see someone coming.

  The roads were so quiet at this time of the morning. The kids had been dropped off at school, everybody had made their way into work for the day, and it just made the wait all the more agonising.

  He rang the doorbell again and still they waited.

  He stepped up to the door one more time and started hammering on it as hard as he could. He bent down, opening the letterbox, half expecting that dead body stench to come wafting out to him, but it never came.

  “Bill?” Kidd shouted through the letter box. “This is the police, please come out. We just want to talk!” His voice echoed down the hallway, bouncing off the hardwood floors and up to the ceiling.

  He stepped away from the door once again and looked at Zoe. She shrugged back at him. Kidd shook his head. He didn’t want to have to do this, didn’t want to have to bust down the door and walk in there to find Bill’s body in the kitchen in a pool of his own blood since goodness knows when. But he was running out of options.

  Correction.

  He’d run out.

  The door didn’t look all that sturdy. It was wooden, a glass panel in the top of it, certainly not strong enough to withstand a good few kicks from DI Kidd.