Fatal Promise: A totally gripping and heart-stopping serial-killer thriller

by Angela Marsons

  ‘So many stab wounds?’ Stacey asked.

  As a team, one of the first things they considered were the motivational categories. Anger, criminal enterprise, ideology, power and thrill, psychosis, sex and financial gain. The first category was a certainty given the abuse of the body after death but it didn’t automatically rule out the rest.

  ‘Frenzy,’ Kim said, following her gaze. ‘Killing him once wasn’t enough. Our killer wanted to do it all over again.’

  ‘Jeez, what did he do?’ Stacey asked.

  ‘We do know of his involvement with Heathcrest, the Spades, and illegal abortions, which is where we begin our search. Bryant and I will attend the post-mortem at nine and then speak to his family; if you can get me his—’

  ‘Got it,’ Stacey said, passing a piece of paper to Bryant.

  ‘Two addresses?’ he asked.

  ‘Yep, very nice house in Hartlebury and a one-bed flat in Dudley.’

  ‘Strange,’ Kim said.

  ‘And I’m pretty sure he dow work at Oakwood no more,’ Stacey said, tapping a few keys.

  Kim moved to stand behind her.

  ‘Because he ain’t on the who’s who family tree on the clinic’s website.’

  Hmm… Even stranger, Kim thought as a sudden notion occurred to her.

  ‘Ahem,’ she heard from the doorway.

  Three heads turned to look in the same direction.

  It took Kim just three seconds to connect the dots.

  They were all now looking at Kevin Dawson’s replacement.

  Nine

  ‘But why him?’ Kim raged, pacing in front of Woody’s desk. ‘Why fucking Penn?’

  ‘Would you like to try that again, Stone?’ Woody asked, regarding her coolly. ‘I’ll make one allowance for your shock at Dawson’s replacement and that was it. Now, I suggest you guard your tone.’

  Kim swallowed down the bitter taste in her mouth.

  ‘If you’ve calmed down enough to recall where you are, I’ll explain.’

  Kim nodded although she couldn’t imagine anything that would persuade her to agree.

  The bandana-wearing detective sergeant from West Mercia had audaciously appeared in the doorway to her squad room with his man-bag crossing his chest and a Tupperware container in his hand.

  ‘Hi, I’m the new guy and I brought home-made cakes,’ he’d said.

  As ever Bryant’s manners had won the race as he’d offered his hand and welcomed Penn to the team. Stacey had stared at him in stunned silence, and Kim had nodded cordially at him, saving her rage for her boss.

  ‘He put in a request to transfer back to West Midlands after working with the team in January. He’s moved in with his parents, so he’s back in the—’

  ‘What is he, a bloody yo-yo?’ she asked. He’d already transferred from West Mids to West Mercia and now he was back again.

  ‘Where next – South Staffs, Derbyshire? And why’s he back with his parents?’ she scoffed. He was a grown man.

  ‘His reasons are not my concern and nor should they be yours. There was no space for him with any other—’

  ‘Well, I’m so pleased we could bloody accommodate him by losing one—’

  ‘Stone,’ Woody thundered, cutting her off. ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’

  She stopped pacing and sat. He was right and that had been unfair. A cheap shot born of frustration.

  ‘It won’t work, sir,’ she said honestly.

  ‘I don’t see why not. He’s known to you all. Twice now he’s assisted the team, and he is a damn good officer.’

  She couldn’t disagree with the facts as he stated them. She had first worked with Penn when seconded to West Mercia to work alongside DI Travis on a Hate Crimes case. The sergeant had been instrumental in uncovering the group behind the attacks, which in turn had helped her to save Stacey’s life. More recently he had been seconded from West Mercia to assist on a string of murdered prostitutes, his data mining skills imperative to the case while Stacey and Dawson had been following a lead on forced migrant labour.

  But temporary assistance wasn’t permanent placement.

  ‘The dynamics are all wrong,’ she said, trying to imagine Penn fitting in with her team and failing miserably. ‘Too many sharp points,’ she said, frowning.

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘Well, it’s a new team member who immediately comes in above Stacey. He’s a sergeant and she’s a constable. It’s not fair.’

  ‘You know how I feel about that, Stone. You’ve got to start pushing her along. She needs to be considering promotion. She’s ready.’

  ‘Kick me while I’m down, why don’t you?’ she asked.

  ‘You know it.’

  ‘They’re too similar,’ she explained, changing the subject. ‘Stacey’s more experienced out in the field now but brilliant at data mining. Penn is the same.’

  ‘Well, forgive me for trying to equip you with the best team possible,’ he said. ‘And that’s about team management not team fit, which is your problem, not theirs. Just because they don’t fit into your tidy little mould doesn’t mean Penn isn’t the right person for the job.’

  ‘He’s not,’ she insisted, stubbornly.

  He considered her for a moment before a sad smile lifted his mouth.

  ‘Who would be, Kim?’ he asked, using her first name for only the second time since she’d known him.

  The name Dawson instantly sprang into her mind but she shrugged in response. Failing that, she honestly didn’t know.

  A moment of understanding passed between them.

  Woody laced his fingers beneath his chin. ‘Okay, use him on this one case. You’ve got a body and you need all the help you can get. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll move him to another unit and we’ll find someone else. Agreed?’

  Kim felt the tension begin to ease out of her. She’d felt backed into a corner by her boss, who had now taken a step to the side and given her a way out.

  That was enough. For now.

  She nodded her agreement. ‘Now about that body, sir,’ she said, returning to the thought she’d had in the squad room.

  Ten

  ‘Bloody chilly in there, guv,’ Bryant commented as he pulled off the station car park.

  ‘Spoke to him, didn’t I?’ she asked.

  ‘Barked at him is probably more accurate.’

  ‘I asked him to start looking at the footprint,’ Kim said.

  ‘Wasn’t exactly posed as a question, guv, but you’re technically right, I suppose.’

  Well, technically right would do for now. At least until she could tolerate the thought of his arrival. She wasn’t proud of the way she’d spoken to him but somehow a stranger would have been better. Perhaps, thinking of him as a temporary solution to their current manpower problem would help her mind process his presence.

  ‘Just don’t get too attached. That’s all I’m gonna say,’ she stated, as a few drops of rain landed on the screen.

  Bryant opened his mouth and closed it again.

  She watched as the raindrops fell heavier and pedestrians started fishing out cardigans to cover prematurely bare arms.

  She knew many people favoured spring as their season of choice. Warmer days, more light, rebirth, new beginnings. Personally, she hated it. To her it signalled the end of winter, her favourite time. Everything was clear in the winter. Cold, crisp days that left no doubt where you were. Spring was limbo. Neither one thing nor another.

  ‘So, what else did you say to Woody?’

  ‘I asked him to try and find out if the Spades were involved in Cordell’s murder.’

  Bryant laughed out loud.

  During their last investigation into the deaths at Heathcrest it had become increasingly clear that someone high up in the police force was connected to the secretive group.

  ‘And what, Woody’s gonna ring up Lloyd House, ask who is a Spade and then accuse them of murder?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ she replied, rubbing her shin bone.


  ‘Well, how the hell is he going to find out?’ Bryant asked.

  ‘He’s not,’ she explained, patiently. ‘All he’s going to do is call Chief Super Briggs and drop out that it’s a line of enquiry we’re following.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘See if the Spades react.’

  His head snapped around. ‘You’re trying to bait them?’

  ‘A little bit,’ she admitted. ‘Look, we both know that if they’re involved they’ll react to the fact we’re trying to link them; if not they’ll just leave us alone.’

  ‘And when you say, react, what do you mean exactly?’

  She shrugged. She really had no idea.

  ‘Guv, did you just put a whopping great target on our backs?’

  ‘Probably,’ she admitted.

  ‘Jeez,’ he said, shaking his head.

  She smiled and stretched her left leg into the footwell.

  ‘See, now wasn’t it just boring without me?’

  Eleven

  Stacey had lost count of the times Penn had irritated her already and the boss had only been gone ten minutes.

  Sitting down had been his first mistake, followed by throwing his bag haphazardly under the desk; offering her one of the weirdest-shaped cookies she’d ever seen from his Tupperware box and making a fresh pot of coffee had been the final straw.

  And now she had to look across the desk at him wearing those stupid oversize headphones. And they weren’t even playing anything, she marvelled, remembering the time she’d told him the boss wouldn’t be pleased.

  He’d been given the task of researching the footprint, and she was on CCTV duty.

  He’d donned the headphones, started tapping and hadn’t glanced her way since. He appeared impervious to the fact no one wanted him there. Either that or he didn’t care.

  ‘Why the request?’ she asked, before realising the words had come out of her mouth.

  He shrugged without pausing or looking at her.

  ‘I have my reasons,’ he said.

  ‘Cryptic,’ she offered, sarcastically.

  He stopped typing and met her gaze. ‘I could ask why you glance down at your satchel every few minutes without even realising it. But I won’t.’

  She frowned. He was right that the photo was on her mind, but she hadn’t kept looking at it. Had she? But now that he mentioned it she could visualise Jessie’s photo in there, staring up at her accusingly.

  She’d been the one who had taken the report from the concerned parents about the teenager’s whereabouts the previous day, at Sedgley. She’d been the one who had started searching the CCTV around the girl’s last known locations. She was the one who had questioned the lack of urgency or interest, to be told Jessica Ryan had run away twice already and returned safely herself within a day or two. She was the one who had asked to whom the case would be handed in the face of her repatriation to her own team. The sergeant had shrugged causing her to wonder if it would be handed over at all. The assumption had been made that Jessica Ryan would turn up when she was good and ready.

  At the last minute, she’d grabbed a copy of the photograph and stuffed it into her satchel.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she answered shortly.

  He shrugged. ‘Well, I’ve made contact with all the major shoe manufacturers before I crack on with NFRC, so if there’s something you wanna do, I can start looking at the CCTV the boss—’

  ‘I can do my job, thank you,’ she snapped, hoping that his attention to the National Footwear Reference Collection would keep him occupied indefinitely. He could play happily in the searchable library to find a sole pattern match and quit bothering her.

  A small voice whispered a reminder of the part he had played in saving her life. That he had been the one to crack the incomplete note that had led to the team finding her in the clutches of a group of despicable racist bastards. And she had been grateful. But that had been before he’d arrived to try and replace her friend.

  He returned to his screen, and she focussed on hers.

  Yeah, she knew his game. Offer to help and then take credit for doing all the work and get in with the boss.

  Over her dead body.

  Twelve

  ‘Good morning, Inspector, and how are you today?’ Keats asked, brightly.

  ‘Suddenly suspicious,’ she admitted. Keats seemed almost pleased to see her.

  ‘Well, I’ve been speaking to my friend here,’ he said, pointing to the sheet that was barely covering the generous girth of Gordon Cordell. ‘And he seems to have quite a bit to say.’

  Kim immediately understood his cheer. It was like when her interviewing technique produced a confession, or when she found a clue that gave her a fire in her belly. Keats had obviously found something of value.

  She could never enter this place without remembering her first post-mortem, carried out by Keats while she’d been closely observed by her superior officer.

  She had understood that she was facing some kind of initiation or test from her boss, as he had chosen an elderly male undiscovered in his sixth floor flat for ten days after death as her first post-mortem experience.

  She had been determined not to reveal anything as she’d watched the man before her make the Y-shaped incision from each shoulder to the lower end of the sternum and down to the pubis.

  She had stared hard as Keats used the saw to cut the ribs and remove the breastplate.

  She had deliberately moved closer to get a good look at the heart, lungs, and blood vessels in the chest and had focussed her gaze as Keats had removed, weighed, and taken tissue samples from the major organs.

  The stench as he’d examined the stomach contents had brought the bile to the back of her throat, and his collection of the ocular fluid had been touch and go, but a few deep swallows had forced the nausea back down.

  By the time Keats had made the cut from behind one ear, over the top of the head to the other ear and peeled forward the scalp to expose the skull, she had forced herself to think less of the body as a person and more as a collection of clues.

  And at the end of the whole process Kim had turned to both her sergeant and Keats and thanked them for the education but next time, she’d told them, she’d like to witness a more challenging procedure.

  Her boss had looked satisfied, and Keats had stifled a smile.

  She had told neither that the visions had given her nightmares for weeks.

  ‘Don’t tease me, Keats,’ she said. ‘Out with it.’

  ‘And where’s the fun in that?’ he said, almost flirtatiously.

  ‘Okay, now you’re just freaking me out,’ she admitted.

  He laughed out loud. ‘Then, my work here is done,’ he said, grabbing his clipboard. ‘I can confirm that our victim’s heart had maybe five good years left without a drastic change of lifestyle. Too much grease and too little exercise had started to clog his arteries. And to prove my point his last meal was sausage, egg and chips with bread and butter.’

  ‘How many slices?’ Bryant asked, cheekily.

  ‘Two,’ Keats shot back.

  Kim shook her head. Very few people understood the dark humour needed in both of their professions to get through the day.

  ‘The rest of his organs were in reasonably good shape. He wasn’t a drinker or a smoker.’

  ‘Good to know,’ she observed.

  ‘Good things come to those that can keep their impatience on the right side of their lips, Inspector.’

  ‘Keats,’ she warned.

  ‘I counted a total of twenty-six stab wounds to the torso, with a blade approximately five inches long. Surprisingly no major damage was done to the organs even though he was dead already; the surplus fat prevented deep penetration.’

  Kim found it strange to realise that without the cut throat the same thing that was killing him could also have saved his life. The fat that threatened his heart could have been a protective layer around his organs.

  ‘Defensive wounds?’ she asked.

  ‘No defensiv
e wounds but you already noted the blow to the back of the head. Two glass shards were embedded in his scalp, which I have bagged and photographed.’

  So far he’d offered nothing that she hadn’t seen for herself the night before.

  ‘Oh, Inspector, your patience is about to be rewarded,’ he said, reaching for a round, plastic specimen dish.

  ‘What is it?’ Bryant asked, looking over her shoulder. ‘It looks like a glob of blood.’

  Keats frowned. ‘Hmm… not exactly sure what you mean by a glob, sergeant, but yes it is congealed blood but there’s something else present,’ he said, sliding the dish under a microscope.

  Kim took a look and saw thin sticks protruding from the mass.

  ‘Fibres, Inspector,’ Keats offered, proudly. ‘Not sure of the type or composition until they’ve been separated and cleaned but they were present at the site of the neck wound.’

  Kim took another look. ‘Blue in colour?’

  Keats nodded. ‘Which is pretty much all I can tell you about them so far, but,’ he said, looking towards the door, ‘here comes the star of the show right now.’

  ‘Hey, Mitch,’ Kim said as the forensic investigator entered the room holding an evidence bag.

  ‘We got a hair,’ he said, holding up the evidence bag to the light.

  ‘No marks for suspense building there, Mitch,’ Keats grumbled.

  Mitch’s bearded face crumpled into a smile. ‘Sorry, I’m not given to dramatics but it’s a valuable find and I will explain why. The hair shaft is made up of three layers of keratin: the cortex, the middle layer, which is the largest portion of the shaft and contains hair pigment; under microscopic examination we use the pattern of air pockets and structures within to seek a match.

  ‘The cuticle is the outer layer of cells that cover the surface of the shaft and look like fish scales or roofing tiles. Scale patterns are used to determine if the hair is human and to match one hair to another. And then there’s the medulla, not always present in all hair types, but when it is it’s the central core of the hair that contains cells.’