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

by GS Rhodes

  “It’s pretty strange, huh?” Kidd said. “I wasn’t expecting it to be so empty.”

  “Me either,” she said. “Where do we start?”

  “Divide and conquer?” DC Ravel said.

  Kidd smiled. “Sounds good to me.”

  They pulled on some gloves before they split off. Janya headed towards the bed, getting down on her knees and pulling out a couple of storage boxes. Zoe went for the wardrobe. Kidd started over to the drawers.

  They were fit to bursting with simple clothes, blacks and whites, basics, nothing particularly flamboyant or that would mark you out in a crowd. Hardly something that points someone out as a serial killer but worth noting either way. He made it through the underwear, through the mismatched socks, through the t-shirts and loungewear until he got to the bottom of the drawer.

  As he made his way through the jumpers his hand landed on something hard, solid. Kidd froze. He seemed to stop breathing for a moment. He pulled the drawer out and took out the jumpers, leaving them on the floor, uncovering a grey, plastic box. As he pulled it out he saw the viewfinder, saw the lens, saw a gap at the bottom of the box where, once the flash on the front had gone off, a photo would appear.

  “Shit,” he said. “Janya?”

  He turned around to see Janya surrounded by stacks of papers and folders, what looked like old school books. She looked up at him sharply, her eyes widening when she saw what was in his hand.

  “Right,” she said. “That looks—”

  “Is this it?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself, instead getting to her feet and walking over to him. She took the camera from his hand and examined it a little closer, “Hmm”-ing to herself as she did.

  “I think this is what we’re looking for,” she said, turning her gaze back to Kidd. “The model I found online was light blue, but I didn’t think for a second he’d be running around with a camera that looked like it was made for a child.”

  Kidd bagged it up, his heart beating double in his chest. He didn’t like this, he didn’t like this one bit. It was progress, it put Robin firmly in the frame, but they didn’t know where he was, and they had no idea where they were supposed to start looking. The next step would be to get the fingerprints off it, make sure it matched the prints that were found at the scene. Inch by inch they were getting there, but it just didn’t feel quick enough.

  “Ben?” Zoe said, her head poking around the cupboard door. “You might want to see this.”

  She pulled out a single shoe, a trainer, black with reflective strips on the front and side. It was when she lifted them up to show the bottom of the shoe, the pattern that looked all too familiar, that Kidd’s jaw practically hit the floor.

  “Where?”

  “Back of the wardrobe,” she said. “Looked like they’d been tucked back there behind some old belongings. They’re a bit damp…” she trailed off, brought them closer to her face and gave them a sniff. “Washing powder.”

  It pointed the finger pretty much squarely at Robin, and that maybe Mrs Paige was involved in some kind of cover up. Maybe she knew everything that was going on and she was just trying to help her son. Or maybe Robin had come back here last night, threw the shoes in the machine and then to the back of his closet. There was only one person who could answer these questions, and right now he was on the run, possibly with the blood of three different victims on his hands.

  They needed to move.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  There was nothing to be relaxed about. Even as he stood at the bar of the William Webb Ellis Wetherspoons in Twickenham, Asim felt jittery. There was no sign of Robin anywhere, no real progress on the investigation that he could see, and now three of their friends were dead.

  He shook his head. He shouldn’t even have been out of the house. The only reason he bothered to come out was because Tom, Bill, and Bill’s girlfriend were coming too. They travelled in a group, safety in numbers and all that. It still didn’t fill him with much hope. He still felt like there was a target on his back, even though there were plenty of people around, plenty of witnesses.

  “Don’t be such a pussy,” Bill had said down the phone.

  “I’m not being a pussy,” Asim protested. “I just don’t want to end up stabbed up in some back street because Robin Paige wants to collect all six of us for some perverted revenge.”

  Bill sighed so heavily it had distorted the phone line. “Look, we’re coming to get you, alright?” he said. “We’re all here, nothing’s going to happen, it’s a drink.”

  He’d hung up the phone, giving Asim the option of either getting himself ready to go out with his mates, or hiding up in his bedroom while his parents sat quietly and watched Corrie downstairs. He’d told himself he would be fine with all of them together, that nothing could possibly go wrong. But that was before.

  Now he was at the bar, people crushing in on him from either side because apparently even on a Wednesday night, this particular Wetherspoons was the place to be. He waited while his pints were poured, heart beating ten to the dozen, and tried not to panic.

  “Gotcha!” Bill appeared behind him, grabbing his shoulders.

  Asim screamed girlishly, pulling the focus of at least half the bar over towards him. He turned and punched Bill in the chest, half playful, half hoping he’d leave a bruise.

  “What the fuck are you playing at?” he grumbled. “You nearly gave me a fucking heart attack. Fuck.”

  “Alright, alright, calm down,” Bill replied, rolling his eyes and squeezing in to join Asim at the bar. “I just thought you might need a hand bringing the drinks over, but you’re more than welcome to struggle with four pints by yourself.”

  “You’re more than welcome to help, mate,” Asim said pointedly. “But maybe don’t frighten me out of my wits first.”

  “Christ, you’re so on edge,” Bill said. “Lighten up. It’s fine.”

  “How can you say it’s fine?” Asim protested as the bartender came back, putting four golden pints in front of him. Asim’s mouth watered. He paid and picked up two of the drinks, Bill following suit. They walked over to the table, squeezing by and around people waiting to get to the bar to make it to the booth they’d managed to grab in the furthest corner. If nothing else, being out of sight of a lot of the punters made Asim feel a little calmer. But only a little.

  “I can say it’s fine because nothing’s going to happen,” Bill said. “We’re all together, what’s the—?”

  “Don’t say that,” Tom interrupted. “Don’t even think it.” He took his pint and sipped it deep. “This is what I need to calm my nerves.”

  “Why are you both so on edge?” Bill groaned, sitting back in his chair, leaning into his girlfriend Demi who had joined them for the evening. She was big, blonde, and had Bill wrapped around her little finger. He put his arm around her and she settled into her chair a little more. “We’re all together. And I’m going to say it before you try and interrupt me, we’re going to be fine. Let’s just enjoy ourselves before you two have to go home, eh? Let’s celebrate their lives instead of fearing for our own.”

  Asim was about to protest again, bring up the same argument about how they could get killed and how three of their friends had been murdered in less than a week, but he knew where Bill was coming from. They’d been told by DI Kidd and his team to be careful, and they were…sort of. It’s not like they were out all by themselves getting into trouble, they were all in a group. That was safer. They couldn’t just stay inside and fear for their lives. Who could do that?

  They started to reminisce; talking about their fondest memories of the six of them together, the in-jokes that they clung onto for maybe a little bit too long, the people that they used to see who they no longer knew a thing about apart from what they posted on social media. As much as Asim didn’t want to admit it, it was actually nice. It was relaxing. And there was something about talking about his friends that warmed his heart. Or maybe that was the second pint he’d cons
umed. He wasn’t about to start relying on it or anything, but the alcohol was doing wonders for his nerves.

  They drank for a little longer, Asim joining Tom at the bar when it was Tom’s round, not wanting to be left with Demi and Bill, who were getting a little bit too handsy for Asim’s comfort.

  The two stood at the bar in comfortable silence, two friends who had known each other since they were eleven years old not needing to fill the quiet with inane chatter. Also, Asim wasn’t sure how well he would be able to get his words out right now. He was already a little unsteady on his feet.

  He caught sight of himself in the mirror behind the bar. His shirt was a little bit open, his chest hair a little bit on show. He didn’t know quite when he had done that, but he felt suddenly embarrassed to be showing off his skin. He did the buttons up, eyes fixed on the mirror to make sure he was doing it right, to make sure he wasn’t missing buttons.

  And then his eyes fell on a familiar face.

  He turned sharply, almost falling off his feet. He grabbed the bar to stabilise himself. And there he was.

  Robin Paige.

  He caught sight of Asim at the bar, his pale face stretching into a smile that made Asim feel cold. He had nowhere to go, nowhere to run, and the guy who DI Kidd had seemed pretty convinced had killed his friends was coming towards him. He didn’t have the strength to run away, he just watched as he got closer, opening his mouth to speak.

  “Alright, Asim?” he said in that baritone that Asim remembered from when they were in school together. “Didn’t expect to see you out, you alright?”

  Tom turned from the bar, also seeming to freeze to the spot when he saw Robin. His eyes widened, his jaw slackened, his fear a mirror of Asim’s.

  “Robin, what are you…?” Tom stopped himself. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Robin shrugged. “I come here sometimes,” he said. “It’s nice to get out of the house, nice not to be around Mum, you know? She can be a lot.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get that,” Asim said. Though he didn’t really get that. His parents were perfectly lovely to him. But then again, maybe he wouldn’t be so nice to his child if he was wanted on suspicion of murder.

  Asim felt like he was about to throw up. This was what he’d been afraid of. Well, not this exactly. He hadn’t thought that Robin would wander so willingly into the middle of a pub and address him, not if he was about to kill him. But he’d done the same to James, hadn’t he? He’d come right over to them at the wake and talked to them, chimed in on their conversation, and now he was doing the same to Asim, the same to Tom. Was this what he did? Was it a sick game of cat and mouse? He wanted the chase as well as the kill?

  Their drinks were put on the bar in front of them. Tom turned around and paid, quickly turning his attention back to Robin, like having his back to him for too long was a bad idea. It certainly felt like one.

  “Well, we’d best get back to our table,” Tom said, grabbing two drinks. Asim followed suit, his hands shaking, splashing a little of one of the pints over his hand. “Have a good night.”

  “Where are you sitting?” Robin asked.

  “Just in the corner,” Asim said, instantly regretting it when he did. “Tiny booth, just big enough for four,” he added.

  “Shame, I could have joined you,” Robin said with a smile. “Would have been good to catch up properly. Feel like I’ve not had a chance to talk to you all with everything that’s been happening.”

  “Yeah,” Asim said slowly. Everything that you’ve been doing, surprised you’ve even got time for a drink, he thought. “Maybe some other time.”

  The two lads scurried over to the table at an unreasonable speed. They dumped the drinks on the table and slid back into the booth, sweating, out of breath, panic embedding itself deep into both of their bodies. Neither one seemed to know what to do. Bill looked confused.

  “What the bloody hell is wrong with you two? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Not a ghost,” Asim breathed. “Robin is here.”

  Bill’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding.”

  “Not something I’d kid about, Bill,” Asim snapped. “What the fuck were you thinking getting us to come out?”

  “I didn’t force you.”

  “You bloody well did!” Asim shouted, quickly realising he was drawing attention to himself, attention to their table, and with Robin in the vicinity, that was the last thing he wanted to do. “He knows we’re here, we’ve talked to him. What the bloody hell do we do?”

  “Do you have that DI’s number?” Bill asked, his face ghostly white.

  Asim nodded.

  “Give him a call,” he said. “He’ll know what to do.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  On their way back to the station, Kidd put a call in to DCI Weaver. He was hesitant at first, unsure that what Kidd and the team had managed to uncover would be enough, but the second they mentioned a shoe that seemed to match the print of the one found at Stephen London’s property he put out a call to track down Robin Paige, using force if necessary.

  They made it back to the Incident Room, Janya getting the camera to forensics to get it checked for prints and sending the shoes along too in case there was anything that could be picked up from them.

  Powell and Campbell were already back, looking through photographs that Tanya had taken at the wake, photos that continuously showed Robin Paige lurking in the background, watching the lads intently. It was disturbing and while a picture wouldn’t get them a conviction, it was worth well over a thousand words to see him spending an entire evening with his eyes fixed on them.

  “One other thing,” Powell said as Kidd was about to leave them to continue leafing through the photos. “I wondered if, maybe, there was a possibility that someone else was involved.”

  “Like an accomplice?” Sanchez asked.

  “Maybe,” Campbell said. “Like Simon said, there are a lot of people with motives in this. You even said it yourself, boss, everyone is a suspect. What if there’s more than one? Robin could be working with one of the guys who bullied him, or maybe even with Tanya.”

  “You think Tanya would be so open with you if she was involved?” Sanchez asked.

  “Could be trying to throw us off,” Kidd said. “You never know.” Kidd nodded. “Good work, guys, it’s something to keep in mind as we carry on.”

  The thought of Robin working with somebody else made this all the more complicated. Suddenly just catching one person might not be enough and even if they did manage to find Robin, whoever he could be working with might still be out there doing some serious damage.

  Kidd was worried. And even he knew that was an understatement.

  “We need to find Robin as quickly as possible,” he said. “So long as he’s still out there, those lads are in danger.”

  “And if there’s someone else?” Zoe asked.

  Kidd shrugged. “If there’s somebody else, we find them too,” he said. “We’re almost there. We have to be.”

  “Weaver is doing all he can,” Zoe said. “All we can do is wait for something, a text, a call—”

  Kidd’s phone started to vibrate in his pocket. He took it out, half expecting it to say WITHELD NUMBER across the front of it again, but it was an actual phone number. Maybe that person had forgotten to withhold their number this time.

  Cautiously, he accepted the call.

  “Hello?”

  The sound that came through the receiver was loud, a burst of noise that sounded like it was in a bar or a club. Kidd immediately pulled the phone away from his head, wincing.

  “Hello?” a voice called down the phone. “Is someone there?”

  “Yes, hello? Who is this?”

  “It’s Asim!” the voice said. Kidd’s eyes immediately went to the board and to Asim’s picture, his smiling face a stark contrast to the panic that was coming through the phone. “It’s Asim, can you hear me? Do I need to go somewhere else?”

  “Where are you?�
� Kidd said, trying to be heard over the din. “I can barely hear you.”

  “Hang on!”

  Kidd could hear Asim moving.

  “What’s happening?” Zoe asked. “Who is it?”

  Kidd pressed the phone to his chest. “It’s Asim.”

  “What the bloody hell is he doing out? Is he out of his fucking mind?”

  “Oh, don’t you worry, I’m sure we’ll get to that,” Kidd said, pulling the phone back to his ear. “Asim?”

  “Hey, DI Kidd,” Asim said, a little out of breath. Wherever he’d gone, it was a heck of a lot quieter than where he’d been before. “I didn’t know whether calling was the right thing to do, but the other guys said that I should. Is this a bad time?’

  He was slurring, stumbling over his words. “It’s a fine time, Asim,” he said. “Where are you?”

  “I just went out for the night with Bill and Demi and Tom, I know I shouldn’t have but I just…I don’t know, he made me feel bad, you know? Made me feel like I had to be here.”

  “Who did?”

  “Bill,” Asim said, impatient, like Kidd should have been listening harder. “He just made it seem like I had to come or I was a massive pussy hiding from a murderer. Which I guess I am because that’s what I’m doing right now, hiding from a bloody murderer to give you a call.”

  Asim’s mouth was moving faster than Kidd’s brain could follow. He needed him to slow down, really needed him to spell out what exactly was going on here.

  “Asim, I need you to take a deep breath for me and tell me what’s happening,” Kidd said, trying not to sound frustrated, trying not to provoke him while he was clearly under the influence. “Slowly now.”