The Note (Unsolved Mysteries Book 1)

by Kim Knight

  Whack.

  Sandip slapped his dad in the face with the back of his hand so hard, blood flew across the garage and splattered against the cold, concrete floor. Sandip pulled out his phone, then clicked on the video recording he had made.

  “What’s this then?”

  He held the phone up in front of his dad’s face. “You will give me that money. Otherwise, I’ll tell Mum about your little girlfriend.” Sandip pushed his face up against his dad’s.

  “I’m living my best life, Son.” Tony watched the video of him and Chelsea having sex in the back of his restaurant. “I’ll be gone soon. We’re separated. Tell her what the fuck you want.”

  Sandip saw red, dropped his phone, and then grabbed his dad by the collar. “You little, tight-fisted cunt. You gave all that money to Sanita for her wedding, packed her off to Australia to start a new life with her husband, and you can’t even help me out?” He shouted so close to his dad’s face, that spittle landed in Tony’s eyes.

  “Your sister doesn’t have a drug habit or blow all her money on on-line poker. Get a grip boy, you don’t deserve it,” mumbled Tony through the blood that dripped from his mouth.

  “Fuck you!”

  Sandip saw red again, maybe it was the cocaine that took over, maybe it was his disdain for his dad, either way, he didn’t care. He let go of his collar and dropped him back in the chair.

  Helpless, with his arms and legs bounded, Sandip grabbed the rusty screwdriver on the floor beside a box of tools. He raised it above his head, then plunged it into his dad’s eyes, neck, cheeks, and chest multiple times with no remorse.

  Blood splatter jumped out on him and flew around the room. Several minutes later, he stopped, grunted, wiped his nose, and then grabbed his dad’s hair, to get a good look at his face.

  “Don’t judge me, old man,” he screamed. “I see it in your eyes.”

  Without a second thought, he gauged out his dad’s eyes with the screwdriver, one at a time, then dropped them on the floor.

  He stepped back and looked at the unrecognisable body slumped in the chair. The head of his dad was bowed. Thick liquid gushed from his face and stab wounds in his chest. There was no chance of survival against the rageful attack, especially with his legs and hands bounded with rope.

  “Shit. Shit. Shit.” He paced the floor.

  He ran over to the garage door to check he had locked it. His high was coming down, and reality set in. Slowly, he turned around to face his dad’s body.

  “I’ve fucked him up.” A small laugh escaped him.

  Looking down at his blood splattered hands and clothing, he doubled over in laughter. A deep-seated ache stabbed through his abdomen, and then he spewed his guts out.

  The contents of his dinner covered the floor. He breathed deeply and felt slightly dizzy.

  “Shit, come on, man. Get it together.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

  Squatting, he dug around in his sock, then removed a plastic wrap with white powder. He moved over to the car and cut up a small line of cocaine with a credit card. With a rolled-up note, he sucked it up his nose from the car’s bonnet.

  Laughing again, he turned to his dad. “Finally, fucking rich!”

  Sandip sighed, then ran a hand over his beard in deep thought.

  “What the fuck am I gonna do with you now?”

  In the corner of the room, the heavy-duty plastic he used to cover his car during the winter, caught his eye along with a box of latex gloves. He slipped on a pair to stop any of his DNA from transferring to the body, then he dragged his dad off the chair.

  Thud.

  His body hit the ground and bled out more.

  Sandip stepped over the blood, headed over to the corner, grabbed the plastic, walked over to his dad and looked down at him. He kicked the lifeless body in the ribs, lowered himself to the ground, and then laughed in his face. “That’ll teach you, ya cheating bastard. You’ve no right to lecture me.”

  He pulled himself to his full height. With a smile on his face, he unwrapped the plastic, then placed it over his dad’s bloody, mangled mass.

  From inside the toolbox, he dug out some tape and wrapped his dad up like a Christmas present fit for the tree, dragged him to the car, slid him into the boot, then drove over to the common.

  Once there, he turned off the headlights and drove through the open space at a snail’s pace. It was still dark. Dusk hadn’t broken yet, and his dark car camouflaged nicely into the inky darkness of the early hours of the morning.

  After finding the perfect spot to park his car, he quietly and quickly dumped his dad’s body without a second thought, then made his way back to his garage.

  Sandip brought his mind back to the present and made a metal note to clear the garage one more time. Just in case. Sure, they’ve convicted Lance, but you never know. He pondered that situation as he watched the cars rush by from behind the wheel.

  “I’ll get onto that today.” He pulled out his phone to set a reminder on his calendar.

  His thoughts went back to the night of the murder, so what happens next? He asked himself, oh yeah! The old man. He chuckled and went back down memory lane.

  By the time he arrived back at the garage after dumping his dad’s body, his cocaine high had long since left him, and he started to panic. With a newfound sense of urgency, he cleaned up the blood and vomit, using the household bleach he had in the garage. In a large metal drum, he burned his clothing and the plastic he used to wrap Tony up. The smell and smoke wafted from the garage in the early hours, and he hoped that the smell and smoke wouldn’t cause suspicion.

  Once done he looked around. The garage and his car were spotless. His watch read five in the morning. He had to get home before anyone noticed he was out. So, he put on an extra pair of overalls he had in the garage, then sat for a moment.

  “Shit, what now?”

  Am I a cold-blooded murder, he wondered?

  His dad was dead, but on the other hand, he was now an heir to the old man’s estate. The thought of a handsome sum of money comforted him.

  I did him a solid. He was gonna die soon anyway. Cancer would’ve eaten him up, Sandip reasoned with himself. He climbed into his car.

  Yeah, I done him a favour and put him out of his misery. And it was the truth, as far as he was concerned.

  Twenty minutes later, he creaked open the door and snuck into his house. Everyone was still asleep.

  His wife and kids were in bed on the top level of the house.

  Sandip headed to the kitchen, grabbed a pair of pyjamas from the tumble dryer full of clothes waiting to be folded and put away. He changed quickly and dumped the overalls in the shed in the back garden.

  Silently, he tiptoed back into the house and up to bed.

  When he slid under the covers, he glanced at the clock. It was now five-forty-five.

  His wife stirred in her sleep, but soon began to snore again.

  Sandip glanced at her, then wrinkled his nose in disgust.

  Rushika wasn’t his pick for a wife. His father had arranged the marriage, placed them together as part of their Asian-Indian culture.

  He loved who he was, and his heritage, but he was born and bred in south London. And in all honesty, he had longed to date and marry whoever he wanted, there were so many different cultures in the city—so many choices to choose from.

  His friends were an array of the rainbow. He had even wanted to date and marry outside of his race. But his dad wouldn’t have it, ‘not my son,’ the old man had said.

  Sandip pictured Chelsea, then smirked. She was a far cry from Asian-Indian with her long, dark hair, green eyes, and Eastern European looks.

  Fuckin’ hypocrite.

  He thought about his dad’s choice of woman to have an affair with. She looked every part the Russian doll, even if she removed her links to Russia by changing her name. Sandip had studied Chelsea well, as soon as he found out about the affair, he knew who she was and where she had come from.


  As dawn broke, Sandip tossed and turned in bed. With the birds chirping outside and odd car engines passing by the house, he could hardly sleep.

  Adrenaline pumped through him. He had an urge to do another line of cocaine. But he behaved himself and moved his mind off the drugs and focused. He started to form a plan.

  Sandip turned his attention to Chelsea months ago. He had started to follow her movements, and when he learned of his dad’s affair, it was him who made the recording of her having sex with Lance, and then installed a camera in the restaurant to catch her and his dad’s affair. He knew exactly what to do.

  Sleeping dogs can lie for now, he thought. Hell, the police have no reason to suspect me of Tony’s murder, not as his son.

  He had covered his tracks. The garage and car were spotless. So, he decided to wait for the news of his father’s unfortunate stabbing to surface—confident nothing would lead back to him.

  Weeks later, after the funeral, when his dad’s Last Will in Testament was read--when he and his family had learned that not only were they cut out of his dad’s will, but he also had an affair, that’s when he became a walking time bomb. Not over the latter, he was already clued up on the affair.

  When he threated to tell his mum about the affair, the old man laughed in his face. And now, he knew exactly what to do with the video tape of Chelsea and Lance, now that the little bitch had taken what was his.

  He listened to the recorded conversation between Chelsea and Lance, where she boasted about his dad changing the will. At the time, he didn’t believe it and assumed Chelsea was bull shitting Lance—living in hope that Tony would change it. But now, he had a plan to carry out to fix the mess. He and his sister had to encourage his mum to contest the will, and he needed a Plan B in case that fell through—and it did, fall through that is, or at least, the first contest had.

  Sandip already had copies of the keys for each of the properties his dad owned—he thanked God for that, and even remembered how he cursed his dad for the help he was forced to give in managing the properties.

  After all that, and he still wouldn’t give me the money that I needed, that I deserved.

  He needed to get his debts down and get things straight, before his wife found out.

  No one was aware of this which was the beauty of it. Month’s before, he had promised his dad he’d check in on the tenants, and organise the ones whose leases had ended, all while his dad focused on the restaurant. At this point, no one was aware he was ill with cancer.

  Sandip also had no idea months down the line that the old man would refuse his demands for help, or that he would be diagnosed with cancer.

  Pissed off about Chelsea and armed with access to his dad’s properties—including the one Chelsea was living in, along with a murder weapon and the secret recordings of Chelsea and Lance, he’d roll out his plan.

  Suddenly Sandip chuckled to himself as he remembered the plan, he laughed so hard his shoulders bounced. He looked around to check no one was watching him in the car. Surely, they’d think he was a mad man sitting there laughing to himself. Hmm, little do they know, he mused. Bat-shit crazy I am. Well, when I want something anyway.

  “Good ol’ Detective Dunne,” he said to himself. “Yeap he’d soon receive a heads up, and a nod in the direction of Chelsea and Lance’s motives.”

  33

  Just Dessert

  Sandip, Present Day

  Sandip glanced around the parking lot outside the solicitor’s office, there was no sign of his mum. His mind moved back to more recent events. Chelsea had been an easy problem to solve. His mind moved to the night his mum had gone to bed early.

  Technically, the alibi she gave the police the night of Chelsea’s murder was true. They were together—he and his Mum, but after she went to bed, he snuck out and let himself into Chelsea’s flat with the extra set of keys.

  Little bitch wasn’t there, he mused, made me wait. Not knowing how long she’d be gone, but that she’d return, he waited, patiently. He thought back the most recent kill of his.

  When she arrived that night, he placed his hands around Chelsea’s throat, and chocked her—watch the life leave from her eyes.

  Chelsea put up a good fight as he admired her pretty, but surprised face, and her screams that turned silent. Her warm flesh under his fingers—turning pink, then red. Aroused, he hardened, straining against his pants.

  “That was almost too easy,” he said to himself and drummed the car wheel. He felt himself harden again, his manhood strained again his jeans, as he thought about the pleasure he had felt outing Chelsea.

  Pulling up a live feed on his phone—of the secret camera he had placed in her home months before, he hoped to catch more footage of her and his dad’s affair. He sat back in the car seat and flipped through footage of his little ‘Russian doll’ on the screen.

  As he flicked from clip to clip, he saw her and his dad engaging in sexual acts. Hell, he’d even pleasured himself a few times at night, watching Chelsea undressed, take showers, or walk around with little to no clothing on, unaware of the recorder.

  Even after his father’s murder, the cameras remained. It was all part of his plan to keep tabs on Chelsea’s movements. He stopped at a clip of Chelsea on her own, she was about to get into the shower. Sandip looked over his shoulder to check for his mum, she was nowhere to be seen. He fast forwarded the clip to the juicy part, where Chelsea peeled off her bra and panties, then and fiddled with the pipes. He assumed she was trying to set the correct temperature for the water before she jumped in. He smiled, his eyes moved over his phone screen and paused the clip when Chelsea bent over.

  Her ass was in the air. “Ahh, damn,” Sandip said.

  He couldn’t help himself he stroked his cock over his jeans, then zoomed in on his camara. He imagined what it would have been like to bend her over the sink and enter her from behind. He pressed play and paused the clip again when she turned around and her breasts were clearly on show.

  “Shit,” he said as he pleasured himself over his jeans. He looked down and noticed the damp pre-come patch show up on the denim.

  “Shit,” he cursed. Then wondered how much of a creep he was for masturbating in his car, over a dead girl. For distraction he moved his mind back to the night of her murder.

  He didn’t remove the cameras until the night he had killed her, keeping Dunne and his annoying sidekick in the dark over who had murdered her. He was careful not to leave any prints, DNA, or clues that he had been in her flat that night, as well.

  Dumb forensic team, he mused, then he celebrated his win. There’s nothing to link me to the crime scene—neither one.

  Laughter erupted from his lips once more.

  A rap on the window made him jump, and Sandip’s mind came back to the present.

  The car door swung open, and his mum wore a sombre expression, brightened by freshly applied lipstick and red-rimmed eyes.

  Sandip adjusted himself, hiding his erection from his mother.

  “You took ya time.” Sandip turned to meet her gaze, then helped her snap the seatbelt in place.

  “Yeah, just needed a bit of time that’s all, Son. We’ve had some good news, but I’m still missing your father.” Manisha took out a tissue to wipe her tears.

  Sandip studied her, taking in every line, wrinkle, and bag. Was it a figure of his imagination or his greed taking over? He was still in debt up to his eyeballs. His cocaine habit hadn’t curbed itself—if anything, his body demanded more of the powdery snow. Not to mention, he and his family were on the verge of losing their mortgaged home if he didn’t get his shit together.

  As he watched his mother cry, his stomach turned, making him wonder if he’d lose his breakfast.

  I hate the bastard. He kept the words to himself. I’m glad he’s dead.

  He took a deep breath, then pondered his next move, leaving his mother to sob in the seat next to him.

  How easy it would be to bump her off also, that’s if she decided not to play nice a
nd give him the money he needed.

  The solicitor had said, when she passed, he and Sanita would then receive their inheritance. As far as he knew, his mum was in good health.

  He side-glanced over at her.

  Hmm, your kill won’t be so easy, he thought. He calculated the different ways that she could have a ‘freak’ accident. From a slip on the stairs, a tumble in the bath, maybe even some kind of electric shock.

  Only one thought lingered in his mind . . . will Mum play nice, now that she’s a rich lady, and her only son needs money? If not, it’d be a shame if she had a freak accident.

  He pasted on a false smile and turned to her. “Here, Mum.” He handed her a tissue.

  Sandip washed the smirk from his face, entertaining the thought of her death some more. His gaze drew in his Mum’s sobbing form next to him, and he started the car’s engine.

  “You still have Dad’s tools in the garage?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “The furnace was making a knocking sound the other night.” A smile spread across his lips. “Think I’ll check it out.”

  “You’re such a good son.” She patted his arm and looked at him with motherly eyes. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

  “Ahh, Mum,” Sandip said, then fixed his mother with a serious expression. “Trust me, the feeling is mutual. Right now, I need you more than ever.”

  The pun behind his words went over her head, he could tell. He forced a sinister smile, in response.

  His mother nodded slowly, then dabbed her teary eyes..

  THE END

  A Note for the Author

  Thank you for reading The Note. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you have time, I’d love it if you left a review on Amazon, Goodreads, or Bookbub. In the meantime, here’s a few chapters of the next Unsolved Mystery–The Red Light Girls, based in Amsterdam, Europe.

  Sneak Peek of The Red Light Girls