Nowhere to Run

by Rachel Amphlett

  Nowhere to Run

  A Detective Kay Hunter short story

  Rachel Amphlett

  Copyright © 2020 by Rachel Amphlett

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. While the locations in this book are a mixture of real and imagined, the characters are totally fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Reading Order & Checklist

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  About the Author

  Missed a book? Download the FREE Official Reading Order and Checklist to Rachel Amphlett’s books here

  Audiobook format also available

  Foreword

  The Detective Kay Hunter series is enthralling murder mystery readers with its fast-paced and entertaining storylines that provide a modern twist to the police procedural genre.

  The full-length novels are available through all major retailers and local libraries in eBook, print and audiobook.

  These short stories follow Kay Hunter’s early years as a probationary detective constable and can be read in any order. The stories form part of the new Case Files series of pocket-sized murder mysteries from USA Today bestselling author Rachel Amphlett.

  For more information about this series and more, visit www.rachelamphlett.com.

  Chapter One

  ‘You’re not going to puke, are you?’

  Probationary Detective Constable Kay Hunter clenched her takeaway coffee cup between her fingers and looked at the pitiful sight that lay spreadeagled on the bike path.

  A biting early April chill cut across the council-managed park, trees see-sawing back and forth as she peered at the outer cordon of blue-and-white crime scene tape and narrowed her eyes at a cluster of onlookers craning their necks, hungry for details.

  A dozen uniformed police officers with grim expressions patrolled the perimeter and demanded formal statements from those who hovered at the fringes despite the early hour.

  Kay gritted her teeth and resisted the overwhelming urge to kick the senior detective crouching next to the body at her feet.

  Ex-military police, Detective Sergeant Devon Sharp’s reputation and no-nonsense approach to his casework sometimes jarred with the younger officers assigned to him, and Kay had no wish to start her investigative career with Kent Police on the wrong foot.

  ‘No, Sarge,’ she managed. ‘I’m not. I’ve seen plenty of dead bodies before. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect me though.’

  Weak sunlight broke through the boughs of the beech trees lining the concrete path and cast a tattoo of shadows over the victim’s bare legs, one running shoe lying sideways underneath a nearby wooden bench.

  The flies were already gathering, their incessant buzzing a white noise beneath the murmured voices of Kay’s colleagues.

  She concentrated on inhaling the rich aromatic fumes of caffeine laced with two sugars and glared at the older constable who stood opposite her, an ill-disguised smirk across his lips. He coughed and looked away, but not before she saw a grin crease his mouth.

  Kay swore under her breath and imagined how satisfying it’d be to dump her coffee over the smug—

  ‘Hunter, take a look at this.’

  Her gaze returned to the dead female jogger.

  The Acting Senior Investigating Officer, Detective Sergeant Devon Sharp, lifted the dead woman’s arm, turning it gently between his gloved hands.

  Kay placed her coffee cup on the concrete path and then donned gloves and protective overalls before lifting the crime scene tape and squatting next to him.

  The victim was dressed in calf-length running tights and a singlet vest top.

  Kay had found a baseball cap under a nearby shrub and carefully placed it in a plastic evidence bag.

  The baseball cap had likely tumbled from the victim’s head the moment her skull had caved in with the force of the blow that had ultimately killed her, according to the forensic pathologist who now hovered beside Sharp, head bowed.

  Kay reckoned he was right.

  That was how the last victim had been killed.

  Sharp pointed to the empty cotton smartphone holder strapped to the woman’s upper left arm.

  ‘Just like the last one, Sarge,’ she said.

  ‘Indeed.’

  He stood and began barking orders to the team, sending the junior constable and his colleagues to walk a perimeter to see if they could find the missing phone.

  Kay knew it would be a fruitless task.

  The killer had been too clever for that.

  The pathologist, Lucas Anderson, nodded to her as he passed, snapping latex gloves from his fingers. ‘I’ll be in touch once I have a day and time confirmed for the post mortem, Hunter.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  As Kay dealt with the questions fired at her by the team and made sure she followed procedure at the crime scene, she noticed a blue van being driven across the park towards them.

  It slowed as it neared, and then the engine died and the doors opened.

  Two figures in white paper suits climbed from the vehicle, hurried to the back doors, and extracted four metal cases before slamming the doors and making their way up the small incline to where she stood next to the victim.

  The crime scene investigators.

  Specifically, Hugh Hughes and Amber Holstein.

  Hugh managed to look like a geek no matter what he wore, due to his shaggy, brown fringe hanging over his glasses. His height meant that he always appeared to be looking down his nose at people, a trait that had the unfortunate tendency to be confirmed once he opened his mouth.

  Amber’s long blonde hair was tied back and bagged under a paper hat, but the trainee pathologist still managed to wear her work clothes as if she was walking down a catwalk.

  Kay peered down at her own crumpled protective clothing and bit back a sigh.

  ‘Morning!’ Hugh chirped as they reached the bike path.

  Amber set her case down on the floor next to the victim, rubbed her gloved palms together, then turned her back to Kay. ‘The killer’s left another one for us then, Devon?’

  Kay exhaled slowly as the DS brought the pair up to speed.

  ‘Right, right,’ the pathologist nodded. ‘Well, okay then. Let’s take a look at her.’

  Kay turned her back and walked a few discreet paces away while the team worked and contemplated the investigation to date – one that had now been made more complicated by the discovery of a second victim.

  The first murder had been discovered seven days previously, in a park only four miles away.

  The second murder was only six days before the town’s charity run. Constant pressure would come from both Headquarters and the local district council as she and her colleagues tried to assure the public that the town remained safe, while the media would go wild with speculation.

  Kay glanced over her shoulder to see Amber working beside the dead woman, and scowled.

  She needed more coffee.

  Chapter Two

  Kay bit back a yawn a
nd glared at the whiteboard.

  A sickly sheen covered its surface, the poor lighting in the incident room lending a green tinge to the black markings on the board.

  The clack of fingertips on keyboards, shouted requests for urgent reports and muted telephone conversations created a cacophony within the low-ceilinged space, and she wrinkled her nose at the hours-old stench of instant noodles and energy drinks that lingered in the air.

  Her gaze flickered over the map that Sharp had pinned to a corkboard, the two victims’ places of work and their homes circled with a red felt-tip pen.

  Various points of interest had been identified across the map, including where the two victims had been known to shop regularly, attend a gym, and socialise with friends.

  ‘Let’s get on with this, and then you can get yourselves home.’

  She turned at the sound of Sharp’s familiar ex-military bark, then scurried to find a seat near the front of the gathering officers and turned to a new page in her notebook as he began the briefing.

  ‘We have a positive identification for our victim from this morning. Laura Scott, thirty-two – worked as a dental hygienist at a practice in Bearsted. Her pink top was recognised by another runner who went past the crime scene at a distance and who then spoke to one of the officers on duty at the cordon. Apparently, Tanya Green attends the same gym Laura went to and says that they used to meet for coffee after a Sunday morning Pilates class.’ Sharp waited while the assembled officers caught up with their note-taking. ‘Understandably, Miss Green was shaken up by Laura’s murder but has given us some useful information to get us started.’

  ‘Did she know our other victim, Sarah Anderson, Sarge?’

  The words were past Kay’s lips before she could stop them, and she felt heat rise to her cheeks as all her colleagues turned to her. ‘Sorry, Sarge.’

  ‘Not a problem – I’d rather hear your questions as we go along rather than have you forget something at the end.’ Sharp gave a faint smile. ‘But I’d prefer it if you gave me a chance to get going first.’

  Laughter rippled through the incident room, and Kay lowered her gaze to her notebook.

  ‘In answer to Kay’s question, no – Miss Green couldn’t confirm if Laura knew Sarah, and hadn’t heard of Sarah’s name beyond last week’s news reports.’ Sharp glanced down at his notes before continuing. ‘Who’s currently going through Sarah Anderson’s social media accounts?’

  ‘Me, Sarge.’ A detective constable by the name of Bradley Thomas raised his hand. ‘Do you want me to take a look at Laura’s accounts as well?’

  ‘Please – and let me know if you find anything that suggests they knew each other. Kay, I want you to head over to the gym that Tanya Green mentioned and speak to the manager there. In particular, find out whether Sarah was a member as well. In any event, I want to know if he’s received any complaints of harassment from his female clientele from other members of the gym.’

  ‘Will do, Sarge,’ said Kay, scribbling a note.

  ‘Uniform have spent the morning interviewing Laura’s neighbours and immediate family,’ Sharp continued. ‘I want a review of those statements, as well as those of her friends and work colleagues – see if there is anything that gives you cause for concern, or whether there’s anyone who links her to Sarah Anderson. We’ll reconvene tomorrow after the post mortem results are received. Dismissed.’

  As the team dispersed back to their desks, PC Simon Higgins wandered over to Kay and handed her another sheaf of paperwork still warm from the photocopier.

  ‘That’s the last of the witness statements to add to the ones you’ve already got,’ he said. He glanced over his shoulder to where Sharp was speaking with two more experienced detectives, then turned back to her and lowered his voice. ‘Do you think it’s a serial killer?’

  Kay wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s a bit too soon to say that.’

  ‘Two women, both joggers, both bashed over the head with a blunt instrument? Got to be connected, haven’t they?’

  She shrugged, unwilling to concede that the same thought had occurred to her during the briefing. ‘Best get the evidence to suggest that before we start assuming anything, Simon. Always safer that way, in case we overlook anything, right?’

  ‘I suppose so. Do you want me to come with you to do that interview at the gym in the morning?’

  ‘That’d be good, thanks.’ She smiled, recognising the same eagerness to be involved in an active investigation that she had felt before passing her detective’s exams earlier that year. ‘Meet in the car park at eight?’

  ‘Okay, great.’

  Higgins walked away with a bounce in his step.

  Kay turned her attention to the pile of witness statements on the desk beside her, a sad collection of stories and memories of happier times.

  ‘Have you eaten anything today?’

  Kay jumped in her seat at the sound of Sharp’s voice, knocking the witness statements to the floor, then turned to face him, her face aflame.

  ‘I-I, no. No, I haven’t, Sarge.’

  Kay bent down and began pulling the paperwork across the worn carpet, gathered it all together, and placed the documents back on the desk.

  When she looked up, Sharp was smiling, not unkindly.

  ‘It’s been a long day,’ he said. ‘And we’re going to be busy tomorrow. Go home.’

  ‘Thanks, Sarge.’

  Chapter Three

  Kay unlocked the communal door to the block of flats and stepped into a narrow hallway, the aroma of freshly cooked food wafting under the door to the ground-floor flat.

  As she climbed the staircase, a television played in her neighbour’s home on the next floor, the sound of a car chase and automatic weapons following her along the landing.

  After she turned her key in the new lock she’d had fitted the day after moving in a year ago, she flicked on lights as she moved through her flat, threw her bag onto a threadbare sofa that was too comfortable to replace, and kicked off her shoes under an occasional table in front of it. Stretching her arms above her head and letting out an enormous yawn, Kay wandered into the bedroom and eyed the running shoes beside the wardrobe door.

  The walls shook with another movie explosion.

  It was all the motivation she needed.

  Throwing her suit trousers and shirt into the washing basket next to the door, she pulled on her running kit before heading back into the living room, placed her phone into the armband around her left bicep and tucked her keys into her sweatshirt pocket.

  In two minutes, she was outside and easing into her training route around Tonbridge’s northern suburbs, some of the frustration from the investigation disappearing as she broke into long strides.

  Following Higham Lane, she headed towards the Hadlow Road and the sound of diminishing commuter traffic. She fell into an easy pace, following the training regime she’d set herself.

  The Maidstone charity run was one she had been looking forward to, a means to ease herself into running longer distances after a knee injury had put her out of action for most of the early part of the year.

  It had been painful enough hobbling around at work, let alone trying to exercise when she got home.

  Now though, she approached the T-junction and set her sights on the busy main road ahead, pausing a moment to check for oncoming traffic before hightailing it across to the pavement on the opposite side.

  Her lungs were tightening now, and she forced herself to slow a little, to relax into a rhythm and breathe easily. This was a regular route for her, a shortened one compared to the elongated run she’d undertaken two nights ago.

  Several of her colleagues were planning to run in the charity event, and she had no wish to embarrass herself in front of them.

  Especially Amber Holstein.

  A truck rumbled past her in the opposite direction, a motorbike following in its wake. In the distance, a police siren rang out from the other side of town and sent a shiver down her spine.

  An uneasi
ness had gripped her since leaving the housing estate where she lived, and now she realised what had been bothering her.

  Where she would normally see one or two familiar faces on her route, there was no-one out exercising.

  She passed a solitary dog-walker with a black Labrador, the animal being gently berated as it took a distinct interest in a hedgerow, but that was it.

  There were no other joggers in sight.

  Not a single runner passed her.

  A prickle of fear crept across her shoulders, and she picked up her pace as she reached the next junction.

  She entered the winding road that snaked through the suburb and headed for home, her trainers pounding the pavement in a steady beat that matched her heart rate.

  How were they going to stop a killer who was terrorising the community and had people fearing for their lives?

  Ten minutes later, out of breath, she paused at the bottom of the staircase as the door to the ground floor flat opened and a woman in her early twenties peered out, dark eyes sparkling.

  'I thought it might be you. Mum sent over too much food as usual – do you want some?'

  Kay let out a relieved sigh. ‘You’re a star, Jasmina. I wouldn’t say no, thanks. I haven’t had a chance to get to the supermarket this week yet.’

  Her neighbour’s face clouded before she stood to one side to let Kay in, then closed the door. ‘Are you working on that murder investigation? The two joggers?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She raised her gaze to the ceiling as loud footfalls crossed the flat above before a door slammed. ‘Thank God he works night shifts.’