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

by GS Rhodes

  He took a breath, stepping towards the door. He was about to raise his foot to kick it down when the door suddenly opened of its own accord.

  Kidd’s mouth dropped open.

  Filling the doorframe, in nothing but a grey towel, dripping wet, was a stocky white man who Kidd would put money on being Bill. He looked enough like the photo. Though Kidd hadn’t really anticipated meeting one of the lads on this case while they were dripping wet.

  “What the bloody hell is going on?” Bill growled, looking from Kidd to Zoe and back again. He pulled the towel tighter around himself, like he suddenly realised his state of undress, and tucked himself behind the door a little. “The phone was ringing, there was banging on the door, then there was shouting.” He kept his focus on Kidd. “Was all that you?”

  “Yes, all that was me,” Kidd snapped. “Where have you been?”

  Bill’s face pinched. “Who wants to know?”

  Kidd sighed and pulled out his warrant card, Sanchez followed suit. “DI Benjamin Kidd, this is DS Zoe Sanchez, we’re investigating the murder of your friends James Blythe and Stephen London. Mind if we come in for a chat? We’ve been worried sick.”

  Kidd didn’t wait to be invited inside by the soaking wet young man, instead he barged past him into the hallway, closely followed by Zoe. Bill pointed out the living room before he excused himself and went upstairs, presumably to towel off and put some clothes on.

  Maybe to come up with a story as to why he hasn’t been here for the past couple of days, Kidd thought. Of all the boys in that friendship group, Bill was definitely the prime suspect at this point. The others seemed way too shit scared to have done anything, but Bill had been off-grid. He could have been doing bloody anything, and Kidd was determined to find out exactly what.

  The living room didn’t really look like it had been lived in at all. The walls were a muted green colour, the leather sofas were cream once upon a time, but now had a slightly muddier hue. They looked like they needed a good thorough cleaning. Everything in the house did, come to think of it. The outside had seemed perfect, but the inside was far from it. Someone was obviously playing at keeping up appearances.

  The sound of Bill’s footsteps rumbling down the stairs pulled Kidd’s attention to the living room door. He appeared wearing a wrinkled white t-shirt and a pair of ripped blue jeans, bare feet slapping on the hardwood floors. His hair was still damp but had been towel-dried into a cautiously messy sort of style. He grinned at them both.

  “Sorry about that,” he said. “Can I get you anything? A drink or—?”

  “We’ll be fine, thanks,” Kidd interrupted, trying not to sound unkind but finding himself wanting to get to the bottom of all this as quickly as possible. There were too many unanswered questions. “Would you mind taking a seat? I’m sure this won’t take long.”

  Bill stepped into the living room, opening the curtains to let some light in, dust motes swirling. He perched on the edge of an armchair, Kidd and Zoe taking a seat on the sofa opposite. Kidd pulled out his notebook and stared intently at Bill. He couldn’t figure him out. He just seemed so calm.

  “First of all,” Kidd said. “I just want to say we’re very sorry for your loss. We want to get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible.”

  “I got that,” Bill said, nodding, smirking. “You were going to get in here one way or another, huh?”

  “Something like that,” Kidd said. “Can I ask where you’ve been for the past couple of days?”

  “I’ve been staying with my girlfriend,” he said. “I left my phone here because I’m an idiot but when I heard what happened with James I didn’t really want to be alone. You…” He trailed off. “I’m sorry, but you mentioned Stephen as well?”

  It hadn’t occurred to Kidd that Bill wouldn’t have known about that. He’d just blurted it out on the doorstep.

  “Yes,” Kidd said. “Unfortunately we went to Stephen’s property just yesterday and we found his body in the kitchen.”

  “Fucking hell,” Bill said, his hand flying to his mouth. He tore his gaze away from the two detectives, eyes wide. “How long had…? What had…? Fuck.”

  “It was the same cause of death as James,” Zoe said. “Looked like it happened a few days before. We’re treating both deaths as suspicious and connected.”

  “You think someone is out there killing my friends?”

  Zoe nodded. “Yes,” she said simply. “I know this must be very frightening—”

  “Do you?” Bill breathed. “I mean, fucking hell, this is a lot to take in. Sorry. I don’t mean to swear. This is just…” He trailed off, putting his head in his hands.

  “It’s okay,” Zoe said. “Take your time.”

  Bill took a few deep breaths before looking back at Ben and Zoe. His eyes looked watery, his skin a little paler than it had done a few moments ago. “I’m sorry.”

  “No need to apologise,” Kidd said. “We’d love to know what your movements have been over the past couple of days. And if we could get a contact number for your girlfriend or for anyone else who could corroborate that.”

  “Sure, sure,” Bill said, nodding. “It’s a lot to take in. After James’ parents called, I…I didn’t really know what to do. I spoke to Demi, that’s my girlfriend, and she told me to come over. I didn’t think. I just grabbed a bag and walked out the door. I didn’t think about you or the other guys or anything.”

  “Why didn’t they know your address?” Kidd asked.

  “They all moved away,” Bill said shaking his head. “They went to Uni and ended up staying in their Uni towns, it was only me, Stephen, and James who stuck around really. I moved fairly recently. My parents wanted to move to the coast, retire into an easier life so when they sold up and gave me my inheritance, I bought this place.”

  Kidd nodded. It all seemed to check out.

  “It’s a bit rough around the edges but Mum and Dad let me have some of their old furniture so…” He trailed off. “It’s not all bad I guess, I’ve got a slice of home here.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “Stephen and James knew where I lived,” he added quietly. “They used to come over even though I’d not had a chance to redecorate or anything. It’s…I’m sorry. This is really hard. I’m sort of going through all this while you’re here, that’s not great, I’m wasting your time—”

  “You’re not wasting our time,” Zoe said. “There’s a lot for you to process here. There are people you can talk to, you know. Professionals. We could send someone over to have a chat with you, to make sure you’re doing okay, that sort of thing.”

  He sat up a little straighter. “What, like a therapist or something?”

  “No, not a therapist,” Zoe said. “Though when things like this happen, sometimes speaking to a therapist can help. We just have people who are trained in this sort of thing, who would be able to talk to you about what you’re feeling and give you ways to cope.”

  Kidd’s phone buzzed against his thigh. Zoe heard it and turned to him.

  “Sorry, I should probably get this,” he said. “I won’t be a moment. Bill, thanks mate, you’ve been a big help. Zoe, could you—?”

  “Yeah, yeah, answer the phone. Jesus,” she said, rolling her eyes and laughing. It seemed to put Bill at ease too, closing the distance put between them by their profession.

  Death affected people differently, it often caused them to shut down, to not function in unusual ways, but Zoe would likely convince him to get some help. From what Kidd could tell, he didn’t really have anybody around to talk to anymore. Not with his friends gone.

  Kidd pulled his phone out of his pocket, walking across the hallway and into the kitchen so he wouldn’t be disturbed. DCI WEAVER was emblazoned across the screen and something shifted in Kidd’s chest, a nervousness he couldn’t quite place.

  “Hello?” he said as he answered the phone. What came back to him was a heavy sigh. “Boss? You alright?”

  “Far from it, actually, Kidd.” Weaver’s Scottish accent rumbled
through the phone like an approaching storm. “I’m texting you an address. I need you here now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Going to a crime scene never got easier. No matter how many times Kidd did it, the thought of turning up somewhere and knowing there was going to be a body still filled him with dread. The car ride was always unbearably silent, a tension hanging in the air that nobody dared break.

  They’d said their goodbyes to Bill, giving him the phone numbers of the people who could help him should he require it, and set off on their way. Kidd didn’t let anything slip until they were out of the house, until they were back in the car.

  “You’re joking,” Zoe breathed, shaking her head, not taking her eyes off the road. “What do we—?”

  “I don’t know,” Kidd interrupted. “We just need to stay focussed on it. Keep plugging away.”

  “You think the Simon and Campbell will have picked up anything?” she asked.

  Kidd shrugged. “I bloody hope so.”

  They pulled up outside the house, just as Kidd had done with Campbell the day before. While before, it’d had a few civilian cars dotted around the roads and driveways, now it was covered in marked police vehicles, people buzzing about, moving around from the back of the property. It wasn’t too far from Bushy Park, a beautiful part of London, but under the circumstances, everything seemed to be covered in a wash of grey and it made Kidd’s stomach turn to think of what those parents were going through right now.

  They got out of the car and headed around to the back of the property, following the instructions given to them by the gaffer. They pulled on their coveralls as they did at every crime scene, a mask, a pair of gloves, and booties, and made their way around the house to see the body.

  Kidd knew what he was going to be faced with, but that didn’t make him any more prepared for David Oliver’s body on the ground, covered by a white tent to preserve it from the elements, surrounded by Polaroids of his final moments. It made Kidd sick to his stomach.

  This was exactly what he’d been afraid of. They hadn’t been able to act quickly enough and because of that, here they were with another body on their hands. Blood on their hands.

  “What does it look like to you?” Kidd asked DCI Weaver.

  “It looks like he came out for a cigarette,” Weaver said. “He had a packet in his hand and a lighter, stepped out the back gate to smoke and…” he trailed off. The rest of it was pretty self-explanatory. Much like James Blythe, he’d been knocked on the head before having his throat slit and being stabbed. It was brutal. There were spatters of blood everywhere. Somehow this one seemed messier than James’.

  He looked up at the house. It was deathly quiet. It was likely his parents had been taken somewhere to be calmed down while the police conducted the searches, dusted for prints, tried to find anything that might give them a lead.

  “The press wants answers,” Weaver grumbled. Kidd turned to see that he was staring down at the body as it was photographed. “They want to know what’s going on, Kidd. We have to give them something.”

  “We don’t have anything to give them at this stage,” Kidd said. “We’re trying to find Robin Paige, but to put his face out there for everybody to see is only going to put him in danger if it’s not him.”

  “You think it might not be him? I thought you wanted him brought in?”

  “I want him brought in so I can speak with him,” Kidd said. “He’s a suspect, we need to figure out whether he’s the one doing it or not.”

  “But you don’t think it’s him?”

  Kidd hesitated. He didn’t know what to think anymore. All signs were pointing to Robin Paige. He had a motive, he had a history with these boys, they tortured him and his father while they were at school. There was no reason for Kidd to not believe it was him. But there was something in the back of his mind telling him to look a little bit harder. He wondered if Campbell and Powell had managed to come up with anything when they’d spoken to Tanya Green.

  “I’m not sure what to think,” Kidd admitted. “But I do know that if you’d bloody listened to me last night, then none of this would have happened.”

  Weaver looked taken aback. His face suddenly went red and his hands clenched into fists by his sides. He was a tall man, but in that moment, he seemed to become taller and broader. Not that Kidd was about to back down. He felt awful that another one of the men had been killed, he wasn’t about to let Weaver get off with this one. Misery loved company, and Kidd was throwing a pity party for the both of them.

  “Follow me,” Weaver growled, walking away from the tent, walking away from the body and the other people in coveralls. The noise of the white plastic suit hardly made for the most dramatic exit, especially given how they made Weaver look like a giant marshmallow man, but Kidd knew this wouldn’t be the time to laugh.

  “You really had to bring that up?” Sanchez said under her breath.

  “You know I’m right.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, but—”

  “But nothing,” Kidd said. “I gave him an opportunity to protect these boys and he chose not to.”

  “KIDD!” Weaver’s voice boomed from the other end of the alleyway.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Kidd pulled his mask off and pulled the hood down on the coveralls as he walked. He was already sweating and he wasn’t about to get into a shouting match with Weaver from behind a mask.

  “What the bloody hell do you think you’re playing at?”

  “Care to be a little more specific, sir?” Kidd replied.

  “How dare you speak to me like that,” he growled. “I’m your superior, I put you on this case and I can pull you from it just as bloody quick.”

  “Go on then,” Kidd said. “It might do you well to get out of the office and do some detective work instead of sitting in those four walls letting us do all the running around, just coming down when there’s a new body to look at.”

  “You’ve lost your fucking mind.”

  “Have I?” Kidd snapped. “Because I think you’re the one who’s losing your mind, Weaver. I’ve been working my arse off to get this case solved, to find out who’s been doing this, to protect those boys from harm and you let this happen.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “I told you I thought they were in danger, I told you that they needed to be protected.”

  “And I told you we didn’t have the resources,” Weaver snapped. “Let me spell this out for you, Kidd. This isn’t some cop show where you can do whatever you like and be a loose cannon and demand resources that the force doesn’t have. Believe me, if I could have done it, I would have had these boys under constant watch, but I couldn’t bloody do it, alright? The Super is breathing down my neck, he wants this solved and I am doing all I can to get it done. Now I need you on my side. We can’t be the ones fighting like this when I’m already fighting a losing battle with the higher-ups most of the time.”

  He stopped, his voice hoarse, his breathing coming out ragged like he was in pain or something. He leant against the wall of the alleyway until he got his breath back, not taking his eyes off Kidd for even a second.

  Kidd was worried he was about to have a heart attack or a stroke. Not that he would say that. He was already pissed off, no use bringing his age or his health into it.

  “I’m just pissed off,” Kidd said slowly. “This feels like it was avoidable.”

  “I get that,” Weaver replied. “Do you not think that was the first thing I thought when I got the call this morning? I thought of what more could have been done to help that boy, to stop this from happening. And now we’re here with a bloody serial killer on our hands. I don’t want to patronise you—”

  “Then don’t.”

  “I won’t,” Weaver snapped. “I respect you too much for that, I know you do a bloody good job. I just need you to know that even though I’m in that office, even though I’m talking to the Super, I’m working hard to get this case solved. You’re not alone wi
th your team. We’re all a team here.”

  Kidd nodded. He understood where he was coming from. It didn’t make the pill any easier to swallow, it didn’t make the body any easier to see. The failings of the investigation, or at the very least, the lack of speed and progress had been brought into sharp focus. He didn’t know how he was going to do it, but he needed to figure this out before the killer struck again.

  “What do we do now?” Kidd asked.

  Weaver sighed and drew himself up to his full height. “We collect all we can from the site,” he said. “Then we need to talk to the press.”

  “Fuck.”

  Weaver snorted. “My thoughts exactly.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  There was a strange hush over the Incident Room when they all made their way back to the station, something reflective in the air as they all tried to figure out their part in this, where they had gone wrong, what more they could have done, if anything, to stop this from happening.

  David Oliver’s picture was moved from suspect to victim, sitting next to the pictures of James and Stephen that had occupied the board for the last day or so. They were three days into the investigation, five days since James’ body was found. A body every couple of days didn’t bode well for Asim, Bill, and Tom.

  “Do we have officers with the other boys?” Kidd asked.

  “Yes,” Simon replied. “They’ve gone over to check in with them, tell them the news. It’s not going to be an easy job.”

  “We’ll try and keep them informed of everything that’s going on,” Kidd said. “It won’t bring their friends back, but it might bring them some peace to know that we’re doing everything we can.”

  “Sure thing, boss,” Powell replied.

  “Okay, Owen,” Kidd said. “I’d love to know what you and Simon managed to pick up from Tanya. I know that this has come as a shock to all of us, but we need to keep moving. Those boys are likely still in danger, we need to do everything we can to figure this out. Go.”