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

by GS Rhodes

  The door to the Incident Room opened, DCI Weaver shuffling inside. “Don’t mind me,” he said. “Just listening in. Carry on, carry on.”

  Kidd nodded to Owen who took out his notebook and started to tell them about the interview with Tanya. How she was almost happy to have heard about the deaths, and all the horrible things the boys had done to her while they were at school.

  “It would appear that they weren’t telling the whole story once again, boss,” Campbell said. “Though, she said that it was Stephen and David who had been the ones who attacked her. It’s possible the other boys didn’t really know they had done it. They were just party to the name calling that they talked about.”

  Kidd took a breath. “A little too convenient that David’s body was the next one to show up, don’t you think?”

  “When I got the call, I did think that, sir,” Campbell said. “We came as soon as you called so didn’t really get to finish the interview. But with everything that she was saying, it all seemed a little suspect to me.”

  “What about James?” Simon said. Kidd turned his attention to DC Powell so sharply that the boy actually flinched. “Sorry, boss, it’s just that she was friendly with James. She talked to him at the wake, she said he was the only one who wasn’t really a dickhead to her. I don’t know. Why would she kill him first?”

  “She didn’t,” Zoe said. “She killed Stephen first. Assuming it was her, of course.”

  “Okay,” Powell said. “But then why kill James at all? If she got along with him—”

  “That’s what she told us,” Campbell interrupted.

  “And if it’s true,” Simon continued unhappy with being interrupted. “Then why would she bother killing James?”

  The question hung in the air for a few moments, settling on each of their brains. They needed more from Tanya to either prove or disprove that she was responsible. Being friendly with James didn’t exactly point her out as the killer. But maybe she wanted to get closer to him, it was hard to say.

  “The only other thing we really got from her was that she’s a photographer,” Campbell said.

  Kidd’s eyes widened. “You’re bloody joking.”

  “No, boss, seriously,” Campbell said. “All over her walls are photographs that she’s taken. She studied it at University, she does it freelance which is how she makes ends meet. Apparently she was taking photographs at the wake and at the funeral for Mrs Paige.”

  “So the connection we’re sort of making here,” Weaver piped up, “is that you think, because she is a photographer and there were photos found at the crime scenes, that she’s the one who did it.”

  “It feels like a sound theory,” Campbell said.

  “It sounds like we’re clutching at straws,” Weaver said. “Though I can hardly blame you at this point, we don’t have a huge amount to go on. Anything to add?”

  “Nothing more from us,” Campbell said. “She seemed more than happy to talk to us though. I don’t know what that means.”

  “We’ve had killers in the past who’ve been more than happy to talk, even if it’s just to throw us off the trail,” Kidd said.

  “Sure, but she seems to have incriminated herself,” Zoe said. “The more she told you, the more she made it look like she was responsible, right?”

  Both Powell and Campbell nodded. Things were becoming muddier. DC Janya Ravel cleared her throat, pulling the focus of all in attendance.

  “We’ve had the pathology report back for Stephen London’s crime scene,” she said. “As we all know, we were all there, the place was an absolute mess. I think we were all counting on this being the one that could give us something to go on.”

  “And?” Kidd said, his heart quickening.

  “We’ve got a footprint,” she said, clicking a few times on her computer. She spun the monitor round to show a shoe print. It was pretty distinctive, dots towards the top of the sole, three thick lines running down one side. “It doesn’t match any of the shoes in Stephen’s closet, so it’s not his. They’re a man’s size six, looks to be a running trainer or some kind of sports footwear.” She took a breath. “It’s something.”

  “Okay,” Weaver said. “I take it you’re going to want a warrant for Robin Paige and for Tanya Green?”

  “Absolutely, sir,” Kidd said.

  “I’ll get on that straight away, should be pretty easy to come by given what we’ve got,” Weaver said. “Janya, could you get me a picture of that shoe print, and get it up on the board ASAP?”

  “Yes, boss,” she said, turning her monitor back around and clicking a few times. The printer kicked into life, practically screaming as it vomited out a picture of the print. Powell scurried over to get it on the board.

  “Is that all for now?” Kidd asked. Nods and murmurs of agreement came back to him. “Right, when those warrants come in, I want you there ASAP. Split up, go in teams, make sure nobody misses a damn thing.”

  Kidd’s phone started to ring in his pocket. He took it out and saw the WITHELD NUMBER across the front. He didn’t answer it, pocketing it again. Whatever that was about would have to wait.

  He turned his attention to DCI Weaver. “You need me, boss?”

  “Press conference,” he said. “Your audience awaits.”

  “You ready for your close-up, Mr Kidd?” Sanchez said with a smirk as he made his way to the door. He hated this part with every fibre of his being but he had to do it. So he followed DCI Weaver down the corridor, a lamb being taken to the slaughter.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  When the press conference was taking place in a conference room, you knew that it was serious. That was the level they were at here. Three bodies had been found in less than a week and they had very few leads. This was damage control at its finest.

  Kidd walked into the room, DCI Weaver at his side and joining him at a long table at the front. There was a hive of activity the second they walked in, the sound of people shuffling about in their seats, of cameras being readied, pens poised.

  As he sat down, Kidd could see Superintendent Charles standing at the back of the room, his gaze trained on Kidd. He was wearing a pristine brown suit that hugged him in all the right places, tailored to perfection. Kidd resisted the urge to make a joke or mock salute him. The fact that the Super was here, though, meant that he’d get his chance later to get on his bad side and piss him off. It was his specialty, after all.

  He narrowed his eyes at Kidd, his leathery, tanned face wrinkling as he did so. Kidd resisted the urge to sigh, instead offering him a slight incline of his head.

  Nice and professional, he thought. Well done, you.

  “Good afternoon,” DCI Weaver said, his voice booming across the crowd. “Thank you for coming. I know you’re all very interested to hear about any developments we have in this case and to get any details. Please note, that this is an ongoing investigation so there’s only so much we can disclose at this stage. I’ll now hand it over to Detective Inspector Benjamin Kidd, the lead investigating officer, to give you more details. Kidd.”

  “Good afternoon,” Kidd said, looking out across the crowd of journalists. There were many that he recognised from previous press conferences, and a couple he didn’t, who had likely come from the bigger news corporations. Buried somewhere in the crowd was Joe Warrington, his phone poised, ready to record whatever Kidd said. He wondered if Joe was still sore about not getting an exclusive.

  Kidd filled them in on the case. He told them of the young men who had been killed and how it had happened, the patterns in the murders that pointed towards it being a serial killer, and that they were doing all that they could to track the murderer down. He took a breath before he opened the floor to questions, knowing that it was going to be brutal.

  There was a man sitting near the back in an ill-fitting suit. Kidd vaguely remembered him, though certainly couldn’t put a name to the face. He had his hand in the air, so Kidd went to him first.

  “You’ve said we have a serial killer on our h
ands here,” he started, adjusting his tie as he looked down at his notes. “Should the general public be worried for their safety?”

  “Not at all,” Kidd said, which caused an eruption of activity from the awaiting journalists. They were ready to pounce on him. Everybody was feeling the pressure. “The killings seem to have a pattern to them. It isn’t random. As with most murders, the victims are known to the killer.”

  “So should they be worried about whether or not they know the killer?”

  “That’s quite enough,” Weaver grumbled. “The public has nothing to worry about unless they have a connection with the young men who were murdered. Next.”

  Kidd pointed to a mixed-race woman near the front, patiently waiting with her hand in the air. She pushed her black-rimmed glasses up from the end of her nose before clearing her throat to speak.

  “Have any arrests been made as yet? What are your leads?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t answer that question without putting the investigation in jeopardy,” Kidd said. “I’m sure you understand.”

  “So you’re clueless then?” Joe Warrington’s voice rang out from within the crowd.

  “Who said that?” Weaver barked.

  “Joe Warrington,” he said, standing up. “Warrington’s Wonderings. I would love to know why it’s taken you so long to have any leads for this case. Has this been getting your full attention?”

  Kidd’s blood simmered. “What on earth is that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, the body of Stephen London wasn’t found until just yesterday but had been rotting in his flat for a number of days,” Joe said, reading from his notebook. “Is there a reason for that? Is the team you’ve assembled to solve this murder right for the job?”

  “I’m going to move on,” Weaver growled. “My team are more than right for this job and have been working day and night to get it done. It is a complex matter, more complex than you would know, and I think to insult our officers like that is incredibly disrespectful.”

  Kidd turned his attention away from Joe Warrington, not missing the smirk on his face as the boy returned to his seat. So he was being punished now. He’d helped Kidd in their previous case when looking for Sarah Harper and now, what, felt like Kidd owed him something?

  Kidd took a few more questions, none of which quite reached the pitch of Joe’s. The rest of the press seemed to be keen to keep everything a little bit calmer after his outburst. Normally, Kidd expected them to jump on the bandwagon and tear the officers limb from limb in the name of a good story, but for once Weaver’s words had resonated.

  They were soon dismissed and Kidd felt like he could breathe again. As DCI Weaver made his way over to talk to Superintendent Charles, Kidd made his way out into the corridor to take a quick breath.

  “Rattled you a little bit in there, didn’t I?”

  Give me strength, Kidd thought as he turned to see Joe Warrington was still hanging around, press pass around his neck, face annoyingly smug.

  “What are you doing, Joe?”

  “Had to get your attention somehow,” he said. “Look, you wouldn’t talk to me a couple of days ago and I needed to speak with you. You weren’t about to let me ask a question in there anyway.”

  “After an outburst like that, can you blame me?”

  Joe sighed. “Alright, my methods are unorthodox, but you’re talking to me, aren’t you?”

  It was Kidd’s turn to sigh. “I suppose I am. I should be kicking you out of the bloody station really.”

  “And yet here we are, chatting away like old friends. Isn’t life funny?”

  “A laugh riot,” Kidd deadpanned. “My sides hurt from all the laughter.”

  “Alright, alright,” Joe said with a roll of his eyes. “Point well and truly made.”

  A silence fell between them and Kidd couldn’t help but notice that Joe wasn’t any closer to leaving than he had been a few moments ago. He wanted something and Kidd didn’t know if he had the energy to give it to him.

  “What do you want?” Kidd asked.

  “I just wanted to talk to you,” he said. “About my brother.”

  The hair on the back of Kidd’s neck bristled. It was enough to catch his attention at least. He thought Joe was going to bring up what had happened between them the other day, try and get more details out of him about the case. But this had well and truly floored the detective.

  He turned to Joe who was looking at him earnestly. In the instant where the subject had changed, Joe had gone from a ball-busting journalist to a young lad. Kidd sometimes forgot he was still at University, still studying, still growing up.

  “What about him?” Kidd replied. Anthony Warrington was the guy they’d put away for the copycat of The Grinning Murders a few months back. He’d replicated what Albert Hansen had done some twenty years ago in Bushy Park and given Kidd quite a startling return to the force. What could Joe possibly want to know?

  “I’m worried about him,” Joe replied. “I know he’s a murderer and I know I shouldn’t be in contact with him—”

  “You’re in contact with him?” Kidd interrupted. “Why?”

  “Because he’s my brother,” Joe said, his voice suddenly quiet. “I know he’s a terrible person, and what he did was unforgivable, but he sent me a letter because he’s been struggling and…I’m just worried about him.”

  Kidd didn’t know what to say. He didn’t feel a single drop of sympathy for the lad who was currently serving time. How on earth could he? But there was that tiny bit of curiosity in his head that wondered what he was struggling with, what was going on that he felt like he needed to reach out to Joe.

  The irony of Joe asking if the team were fully focussed on their task when he was now asking Kidd to think about something else, wasn’t lost on Ben.

  “What do you want me to do about it?” Kidd asked. He realised how blunt it had sounded the second it left his mouth.

  “I want some advice,” Joe said. “He’s having a hard time and I know he doesn’t deserve anybody’s sympathy but…” he trailed off. Joe sighed. “He’s my brother. It’s hard not to care about him a little bit.”

  Kidd nodded. “I understand, but I don’t know what I can say to you,” he said. “If you want my opinion, my opinion would be not to respond. I know he’s your brother and you’re almost hard-wired to care about him, but he’s still dangerous. You have to remember what he almost did to you that night.”

  Joe nodded, somewhat resigned to it. The night they had caught him, Tony Warrington had threatened to slit his own brother’s throat. Kidd hoped that wasn’t lost on Joe. But there was something that he was keeping from Kidd. He couldn’t be certain of it, but he couldn’t help but feel like there was more to this conversation than Joe was letting on. Perhaps he’d already been in contact with Tony. If he had been, Kidd couldn’t help but want to know.

  “Kidd?” A growl came from the door to the conference room. He looked up to see Weaver in the doorframe, looking every bit as exhausted as Kidd felt. “Superintendent Charles would like a word.”

  Kidd sighed, visibly, which got a smile to crack over Weaver’s face. I’m sure he would, Kidd thought. But all he’s getting is a word.

  “I’ll be there in a second, sir.” Kidd said before turning his attention back to Joe. “I’m sorry about your brother, Joe,” he said quietly, not wanting Weaver to hear if he happened to be listening. “But take care of yourself first, okay? You’ve seen what your brother is capable of, and when people show us who they are, we should believe them.”

  “Sure, okay,” Joe replied, but he didn’t look done, didn’t look like he had finished saying all he wanted to say to Kidd. Even still, he straightened from where he’d been leaning against the wall and walked towards the exit, leaving Kidd with a creeping sense of unease. He hoped he wasn’t about to do anything stupid.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Kidd walked back into the conference room to see that DCI Weaver and Superintendent Charles were standing next to the t
able that he’d vacated just a short time ago. The Super’s bald head looked a little shinier than it had done a few moments ago. Either he’d gotten a little bit worked up giving Weaver the hairdryer treatment or the light was hitting him differently now.

  “DI Kidd.” Superintendent Charles’s voice was clipped, posher than posh and it always managed to rub Kidd up the wrong way. He’d only said his name and he was already on edge. “Nice of you to join us.”

  “Sorry, sir, was just decompressing after the press conference,” Kidd said, doing his level best to stay calm. “They were out for blood today, weren’t they?”

  Charles shrugged. “Initially, yes,” he conceded. “They seemed rather docile with you once Paddy stepped in to get them all to lay off a little.”

  Kidd turned his gaze to Weaver. He seemed to cringe at being called Paddy but perhaps was a little too polite—More like under the thumb, Kidd thought—to correct him or tell him he didn’t like it.

  “What did you want to speak with me about, sir?” Kidd asked. “As well you know, I have a case to solve.”

  “Well, it’s about exactly that.” Superintendent Charles shuffled about from foot to foot, not much, but enough that Kidd noticed. There was a nervousness about the way he stood now, something that Kidd certainly didn’t associate with the man. He was bolshy at the best of times, an asshat at the worst. Whatever he was about to say, Kidd got the impression he wasn’t going to like it. He tried to keep an open mind. “You’ve been careless.”

  So much for that open mind, Kidd thought, trying not to let himself bubble over and explode at the man.

  “Why do you say that, sir?”

  “Do I really need to spell it out for you?” he said, raising an eyebrow to a high arch. “Three dead bodies on the borough in quick succession, a serial killer on the loose, it’s hardly an advert for how well the force is running, now, is it?”

  Kidd cleared his throat. “With all due respect, boss,” Kidd started, though he wasn’t really sure how much respect was due at this point, given how he was being spoken to, “we’ve been working our asses off to get this done as quickly as possible. The fact of the matter is, there wasn’t a lot of evidence to begin with. Whoever is killing these boys—”