About the author
Renee is a mother of two from Gold Coast, Australia.
A finance analyst by day and an aspiring author by night, Renee has a passion for reading, writing and all things true crime related. When not immersed in a new book or researching for her own, you will find her watching a movie, engrossed in a crime podcast or listening to Bowie on vinyl. The Dark Places is her debut novel.
The Dark Places
R. S. Whitfield
The Dark Places
Vanguard Press
VANGUARD KINDLE
© Copyright 2021
R. S. Whitfield
The right of R. S. Whitfield to be identified as author of
this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All Rights Reserved
No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication
may be made without written permission.
No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced,
copied or transmitted save with the written permission of the publisher, or in accordance with the provisions
of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended).
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to
this publication may be liable to criminal
prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is
available from the British Library.
ISBN (PAPERBACK)
978 1 784659 93 6
Vanguard Press is an imprint of
Pegasus Elliot MacKenzie Publishers Ltd.
www.pegasuspublishers.com
First Published in 2021
Vanguard Press
Sheraton House Castle Park
Cambridge England
Printed & Bound in Great Britain
Dedication
For my Mum,
who always told me I have a way with words.
For Jolene,
my best friend, soul sister and greatest cheerleader.
For Brad, Ethan and Lyla…
who drive me crazy, but are in fact, my everything.
Part One
1
Emma
A sliver of sunshine seeped through a tiny crack in the old brick wall, casting its lonely ray of light onto her pale face. A single tear slid down her cheek, burning her eyes as she peered through the thick, sticky veil of her lashes and tried to find the light’s source.
How long has it been, she wondered, pressing her eyes shut. She concentrated as hard as she could and imagined herself absorbing that small spot of the sun’s warmth and radiating it to her freezing, naked limbs. Images began to dance in her mind of white sandy beaches, mojitos and laughter, and for a few glorious seconds, she forgot where she really was.
An ever so slight shift in the air startled her from her daydream. Her eyes flew open, adrenalin pumping, as she tried to make some sense of the inky blackness surrounding her. The hope-filled little ray of light was now gone, replaced only by the frigid cold.
“Hello?” she stuttered, coughing uncontrollably as her dry throat seized up.
“Please,” she begged without reply. “Please, I want to go home,” she cried. Tears began to flow freely as she started to understand the finality of her predicament.
2
Parker Rhodes sat uncomfortably in an impossibly tiny chair opposite his new chief of detectives. The decision to transfer from Miami had not been an easy one, but the offer to work with a detective who had one of the highest case closure rates was too hard to turn down at this junction in his career. Also, any distance from his ex-girlfriend, Jolene, and her insane pet poodle, Yoshi, was more than welcome.
“Parker Rhodes,” the chief began with a sigh, “Detective Elliott has one of the sharpest minds I have ever encountered, yes,” he continued, raising his hands in mock surrender, “the attitude is a little hard to handle sometimes, but the results speak for themselves. Please bear that in mind,” he stated honestly.
“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Parker replied with a smile.
“No, it really is,” the chief answered, without a remote trace of humour in his voice.
Parker placed his brown archive box of belongings on the floor beside him, clasped his hands together in his lap, and waited for his new partner to arrive.
***
Detective Surin Elliott bolted towards the closing elevator doors. “Hold it, please!” she yelled, as she scooted past on the shiny floors and dived through the shrinking doorway, spilling coffee all down her white blouse. “Oh shit,” she sighed.
The man in the elevator looked at her with a cheap smile.
“Thanks for that — a real gentleman,” she countered sarcastically. He immediately looked down at the floor and shuffled his swollen feet. As the doors opened on floor four of the Baltimore Police Department, she gave him her best “asshole” stare and exited, wiping herself down with a napkin.
“Morning, Nicole,” she mumbled at the receptionist as she walked past, concentrating on her now see-through shirt stained with black coffee.
“Morning, Detective,” Nicole replied, whilst filing her nails, which were painted a ridiculous shade of fluorescent purple.
Surin walked over to her desk, put down the now empty Styrofoam coffee cup, pulled back her chair and watched as sheets of paper cascaded to the ground around her.
“Shit,” she mumbled again. “I really need to get some trays or something. This is getting just plain sloppy.”
On her hands and knees, she began to sort the papers back into some kind of order when she ran into her own muddled reflection staring back at her from a set of shiny black shoes.
“Detective?” her chief asked, clearing his throat as he stood over her.
“Yes, sir,” she replied quickly, bumping her head under the table as she struggled to sit upright.
“If you have a moment in between your” — he paused and glanced at the mess of paper surrounding her — “your filing, can you please come to my office?”
“Absolutely,” she replied hastily, forcing a smile. Standing, she quickly made an attempt at fixing up her appearance. Pockets of laughter drew her attention, and she looked over to see some fellow officers staring in her direction.
“Elliott — you have a little accident this morning?” An officer laughed from the other side of the room, holding his hands over make-believe breasts.
“Immensely observant, Dennis,” she quipped, “you should become a detective. I’m not sure you’d pass the reading test though,” she added with a smile. “There are no little pictures to help you out.”
The other men laughed, slapping Dennis on the back. He gave her the finger as she waltzed past into the chief’s office and closed the door in Dennis’s face.
She spun around, feeling mildly pleased with herself, to face the chief sitting patiently at his desk. There was another man in the opposing chair. His eyes remained forward, but Surin was sure she could see a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
“Sit, Elliott,” the chief ordered gruffly and gestured to the vacant chair.
Surin slowly sat and subconsciously tucked her hair behind her ear. “Sorry, sir, I know I’m a touch late, but that fat bastard from accounts wouldn’t hold the elevator doors open and—”
“I don’t care that you’re late,” the chief interrupted with a wave of his ruddy hands. “Frankly, it’s the first morning in a month that I haven’t had to wake you up at your desk and tell you to go home.”
“Right,” she answered sheepishly, dropping her hands into her lap. At that moment, the phone on the desk started ringing incessantly. The chief answered reluctantly.
“Nic
ole, I asked you to hold my calls for a half-hour,” he said, pressing the intercom button.
“Sorry, but it’s your wife, sir. She won’t hang up the phone,” she replied, trying to mask the humour in her voice. It was a well-known fact throughout the department that the chief’s wife was an extremely demanding woman.
“Right,” he sighed, “I have to take this, you two, I won’t be long.” He picked up the phone and turned his chair away from them in an effort to gain some privacy.
Surin used the gifted moment in time to study the man sitting next to her. He was obviously tall as his long legs were folded uncomfortably under the desk in front of him. He had sandy-blonde hair that hung over the tops of his ears, which he occasionally brushed back. A nervous gesture, she guessed. He was visibly fit but not overtly muscular; he looked like a surfer, not a cop, she silently scoffed.
There were a few minutes of uncomfortable silence between them before the chief spun back around in his chair.
“Bye, dear,” he mumbled and hung up the phone. “Sorry about that, now, where was I?” he asked and clapped his hands together.
“You wanted to see me?” Surin replied, holding her hand up questionably.
“Yes, that’s right.” He stood and gestured towards her. “Detective Surin Elliott, meet Detective Parker Rhodes.”
Parker turned to face Surin for the first time, and she was instantly taken aback by his intense blue eyes. He stared at her with his hand held out awkwardly.
“Oh, sorry,” she stammered, reaching out and giving it a firm shake.
“Nice to meet you, Detective,” Parker stated politely, with a shy smile.
“Yeah, likewise,” she replied tightly, not quite knowing what to say. She sat back down in her chair, waiting for the chief to continue.
“Surin, Detective Rhodes will be your new partner. He has just transferred here from Miami, so show him the ropes. That will be all,” he stated quickly and began shuffling papers to signal that he was done.
“Partner!” She stood involuntarily, her voice rising a few octaves in the process. The chief looked up expectantly, matching her gaze.
“Chief, I don’t really do partners,” she stammered, then realising what she had said, she immediately looked at Parker, who was grinning.
“No offence, Detective,” she managed, looking down. “Chief, I just think I work better alone.”
“Well, Elliott, here’s the thing. It’s not your choice; it’s mine. That’s why I’m the boss, and you’re not,” he replied, smiling like a Cheshire cat. “Now get out, I have things to do. Parker, you take the spare desk beside Surin’s.”
He dismissed them both with a wave of his hand and immediately picked up the phone and began making calls.
“Yes, sir,” Parker replied curtly. He stood, picked up his box, and looked at Surin for direction.
She chanced a last look at the chief, who blatantly ignored her, then sighed and walked out, closing the door behind her, a little bit sharper than intended.
“I can’t fucking believe this,” she mumbled under her breath, her hands firmly on her hips.
“No offence taken,” Parker said from behind her with a chuckle. Surin had forgotten he was following her. She turned to make a half-hearted apology just as Dennis nudged her out of the way and grabbed Parker’s hand in a firm shake.
“Welcome to Baltimore PD, Peter,” he began.
“It’s Parker,” Surin corrected, rolling her eyes.
“Yeah,” Dennis replied, taking no notice of her. “So, you’ll be partnering Elliott, huh?” He laughed loudly. “Sorry about that,” he joked, “there’s a reason she doesn’t have partners.”
“Bite me,” Surin snapped and sat down at her desk, staring at the mess she had left the day before.
“I’m sure I’ll manage, thanks,” Parker replied politely and began unpacking his things.
Surin watched closely as Parker organised his work space, waiting for the typical family photo to be placed on the desk and was surprised when nothing at all personal appeared.
“It’s beer o’clock at six on Fridays. Pub around the corner,” Dennis yelled out over his shoulder on the walk back to his desk.
“Do you go to the pub?” Parker asked Surin casually.
“Yeah, I usually go about once a month if I get a chance,” she sighed. “Look, I have a heap of paperwork to do, so if you don’t mind…” And with that, she turned her back to him and began typing her reports.
Parker watched her for a while. She typed frantically at the keyboard, flipping and scrunching paper, occasionally swearing under her breath. This will be fun, he thought.
3
Katia had always been beautiful. Ever since she was a young girl, people had stopped and looked at her, smiling and sighing at her striking appearance. She had long, silky ebony hair and snow-white skin framed by perfect cheekbones and clear blue eyes. When she and her family immigrated to America, she was finally looked at by the right people. Elite Models signed her by her sixteenth birthday, and she was now quickly approaching her thirty-second.
“Jason, I have told you before, I am not doing that stupid shoot in the desert. Get me something local, OK?” she snarled down the phone, checking her appearance in the apartment’s lobby mirror.
“Katia, now is not the fucking time to be picky,” her agent begged. “You’re no spring chicken. There are five thousand girls that would easily kill you for a chance at the desert shoot. Just do it, please.”
“No, find something else,” she snapped back, raising her voice.
“It’s for Giorgio Armani, Katia. They have never wanted you before — this could put you back on the runway,” he whined.
“Well, maybe Armani should have thought of that before rejecting me the last seventy times I have tried to get work with them.”
“Katia, please!” He swallowed before continuing. “Offers are a bit thin at the moment—” She cut him off quickly before he bought up her age again.
“Jason, I am one of the top models in this damn country, scratch that, not one of them, I am the top model, I don’t need to beg for work. I have things to do, now go and do your fucking job!” She hung up the phone, swearing under her breath.
Thirty-two or not she thought, glancing in the mirror again, I reign over these young girls. No experience, no decorum, and they get drunk just smelling a bottle of Cristal. She smiled at her reflection and noticed faint lines around her eyes. I will have to get those done soon, she thought.
“Katia, come on!” She turned into her group of three girlfriends.
“Hi, ladies, I am dying for a coffee, let’s go!” She smiled and wrapped her arm around one of the girl’s waist. They all giggled as they walked out the front door of the apartment building, with not a care in the world.
4
Her pager shook her out of a deep, satisfying sleep — the incessant vibrations rumbled deeply on the bedside table.
Still a bit dazed, she fumbled around trying to find the lamp switch, and with a flick, the room was instantly saturated with light. She covered her eyes instinctively with the back of her hand and blindly reached out for the beeper.
J6
Homicide.
She glanced over at the clock: three thirty a.m. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said loudly, flopping her head back on the pillow, then reached over and grabbed Parker’s card from her wallet.
It rang twice. “Rhodes,” he answered gruffly, his voice thick with sleep.
“It’s Elliott, we’ve got a homicide. Get to my place in ten minutes, and we can go to the scene together. I’ll have more info then. First and forty-third Street.”
She hung up, not waiting for an answer, rolled out of her comfy bed, threw the sheets aside and stumbled into the shower.
After a few minutes of delicious hot water running over her back, she was wide awake. Wrapped in a towel, she grabbed the phone and called dispatch.
“Elliott — about time,” a male voice grumbled down
the line. “You have a one-eight-seven, suite four, Serenity Towers, Breckham. Female, thirty-one. That’s all I got. No one but paramedics have been in. Local PD is on the scene and waiting for you.”
“On the way,” she replied, and jumped into a pair of dark-blue jeans, threw on her button-up blouse and heavy jacket. As she closed and locked the front door silently, she saw her new partner pull up in a black Crown Vic.
“Good morning,” he smiled politely, and a little too cheerily.
She eyed him cautiously. “Tell me you’re not a morning person?” she moaned, and as she got in, he handed her a cup of coffee.
“Oh, thanks,” she replied sincerely, taking a cautious sip. The hot liquid slid down her throat, and she immediately felt the warmth spread throughout her limbs. “God, I really needed that,” she said with a groan, and let her head fall back against the seat.
“I took a chance on white with two. Didn’t know how you took it,” he stated, as he pulled out of the street and flicked on the lights.
“It’s perfect, thanks. Any coffee is good coffee this time of day.”
“No worries,” he replied with a smile.
Surin studied him as he watched the road. He did not look like he had just woken up. He had a pair of dark jeans on, with a white shirt and grey jacket. His blue eyes were alert and focused, and his hair was almost ridiculously perfect. She tucked hers behind her ears subconsciously.
“Right, what have we got?” he asked, glancing at her quickly, noticing her stare.
“Female, thirty-one. That’s all I know. We’re heading to Breckham, Serenity Towers,” Surin stated, looking out the window at the inky blackness of the suburbs at night.
The Dark Places Page 1
