by BL Pearce
Righteous Anger
A DCI Rob Miller MYSTERY
B.L. Pearce
Contents
DCI Rob Miller Series
Prologue
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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Untitled
What’s Next for DCI Rob Miller?
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright © B.L.Pearce 2020
The right of B.L.Pearce to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without prior written permission of the author, except in cases of brief quotations embodied in reviews or articles. It may not be edited, amended, lent, resold, hired out, distributed or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s written permission.
Permission can be obtained from [email protected]
All characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. All references to real people are to add colour and are the product of the author’s imagination and have absolutely no basis in real life.
DCI Rob Miller Series
The Surrey Stalker
The Revenge Killer
Righteous Anger
Prologue
The Shepherd carried the body of the young girl into the clearing.
It was a beautiful afternoon, the sun-dappled leaves cast flickering shadows on the ground, tall trees stretched up into the clear blue sky as if standing to attention, and as he walked, he inhaled the heady scent of wildflowers, underscored by the earthy smell of decomposing leaves.
The only sounds breaking the idyllic silence were his own boots crunching on broken twigs and pine needles, and the odd squirrel rustling in the branches above.
It was a perfect day for the burial.
He laid his young victim down on the leaf-strewn ground, her dark hair haloing out around her like an avenging angel. Standing up, he admired her for a moment. Her skin was so pale, almost alabaster in the muted sunlight. The faint blush that had once stained her cheeks was long gone, but so was the pain and fear that had scarred her eyes. She was at peace now. No one would ever harm her again.
A surge of something close to happiness rose in his chest and he gasped with the suddenness and intensity of it. It was the feeling he’d got when he’d helped his dear friend find peace, so many years ago. He’d forgotten how good it felt, like he’d done something noble, something righteous. How he’d righted a wrong and ended someone’s suffering.
Shaking with adrenaline, he picked up the spade and began to dig. He’d found the perfect spot to lay her to rest. Under an ancient oak tree, surrounded by nature, rimmed by cornflowers and meadowsweet that would soon cover the gravesite, their pretty flowers her only marker.
It was hard, backbreaking work. He hadn’t done anything so manual in a long time. Still, it was worth it. For her.
An hour later, he stopped and wiped the sweat from his brow. Was it deep enough? He didn’t want the foxes to get at her. She would decompose naturally, become one with the earth, like God intended.
He dug on, just a little more, to make sure. Then he smoothed over the bottom, patting it down with his hands. Gathering some leaves, he spread them over the flattened earth, creating a verdant mattress on which she would lie.
Then, ever so gently, he lowered her into the grave.
“Sleep well, my love,” he whispered, placing her hands onto her chest as if in prayer. A leaf fell off an overhead branch and swept down onto her chest. The woods were already claiming her as their own.
He removed it, then took a fold-up comb out of his trouser pocket and arranged her hair over her shoulders, brushing it to a high gloss. Then he secured it at her temples with two sparkling blue clips. They had glitter on them, just like she’d had. Leaning forward, he kissed her cool forehead for the last time, then climbed out of the grave.
In his backpack, he had a linen sheet. He shook it out and watched it billow above her, before lowering it over the body. He blinked at the sudden loss of her image, then, bent down and tucked it around her.
Covering her up again didn’t take long. As the first crumbs of dirt fell on the sheet, he began to pray.
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside quiet waters. He restores my soul.
He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”
He finished reciting the Psalm as he filled in the grave. He tried to make it look natural, even throwing some more leaves and twigs on top. It wouldn’t fool anyone looking for a grave, but then no one knew she’d be buried here, less than a mile from where she’d been taken a fortnight ago.
He’d waited until the furore had quietened down, keeping her safe in the shed on his allotment. No one had thought to ask him. Why would they? He was nobody. Most people walked past him on the street without batting an eyelid. He was the grey man.
But inside, he was a seething, red-hot mass of righteous anger. A saviour. The Shepherd. That’s what he called himself when the darkness threatened to overwhelm him. He led the little children into the light. Delivered them at the right hand of the Lord.
He packed up his backpack and swung it onto his back, carrying the shovel in his hand. His car wasn’t far away. Glancing back, he made sure he hadn’t left anything behind, nothing that would point the authorities to the grave site.
It was clear.
Whistling a tune, he strolled back to the car.
There was one more thing he needed to do. He drove the two miles into Bisley, the closest village to where she was buried and pulled over outside the parish church. The sun had begun its descent, but it was still very warm, and he was sticky from the hard work. It would have been preferable to go home
first and change, but this couldn’t wait.
Crossing the road, he entered the tranquil confines of the proud, stone church. A recent refurb had seen the scratched wooden floors replaced with shiny new beams and new lighting installations meant it wasn’t as dark as it used to be. He preferred it the old way.
He made his way quickly down the side of the church hall to the pews at the front. Here he veered to the right and knelt down in the front row. He prayed feverishly for about ten minutes, then feeling rather light-headed, stood up and moved, unnoticed, to the side aisle where he lit a candle in remembrance.
There.
He watched it flicker for a moment, before turning away. Then he walked quietly up the aisle to the front door and exited the church.
1
Lisa Wells slumped down at the kitchen table and stared into her cup of tea. Was it only Tuesday? She’d overslept and it had been a mad rush to get Katie off for school. The poor tyke had just had time to scoff down a slice of toast before Lisa had kissed her on the forehead, handed her her pink rucksack and shoved her out the door. Her little friend, Candy, met her at the corner and would be waiting. They walked to school together.
Her neighbour, Margo, said she was too young to walk to school by herself. Was eleven too young? In her day, she’d caught the local bus to school from age ten. Besides, she had a friend with her. The two girls were besties and hung out together all the time. That reminded her, she must phone Candy’s mother, Nelly and invite them round for an early supper on Friday. Frozen was showing and the girls could watch while she and Nelly had a glass of wine and a natter in the kitchen.
She wrapped her hands around the mug and forced her brain into gear. She was still groggy from the sleeping tablet she’d taken last night. Bloody Brian. How could one man cause her so much anxiety? Imagine calling her a bad mother, just because she’d moved on and he hadn’t. Prick. It wasn’t her fault he didn’t have a life.
A rush of sadness swept over her. They had been his whole life. Her and Katie. He’d told her that once, soon after Katie was born. Now they were at loggerheads, screaming at each other whenever they met. They hadn’t had a civil conversation in months. How had it all gone so terribly wrong?
She shook her head and gulped down her tea. Twenty minutes until she had to leave for work. God, she was tired.
The tea helped, and she put the cup in the sink and went upstairs to get changed. Luckily, her job was nearby in Barnes Village. She enjoyed the walk, especially on days like today with the sun already up and the blue sky smiling down promises of a warm June day.
She pulled on her skirt and blouse, freshly pressed the night before, and ran a brush through her hair. It was still luscious and thick, although grey strands were starting to show. That was Brian’s fault. They’d only popped up in the last year since he’d moved out.
She sprayed a touch of perfume on her wrists and checked her appearance. Not great, but it would do. The old-age charity where she worked didn’t require her to be immaculate. She wasn’t client-facing, after all. Her jurisdiction was the office at the back where she did the accounts.
It wasn’t where she’d seen herself five years ago, but it was a decent, steady job and the hours suited her. She worked from nine to three, which meant she was able to pick Katie up after school. Not many working parents could say the same. And it was close by.
She was about to leave the house when the telephone rang.
She frowned. Hardly anyone called her on the home phone these days. Only the doctor, the electrical company and the school. They always tried her landline first, then reverted to mobile if there was no answer.
“Hello?”
She put the keys back down on the side cabinet and slid her handbag over her shoulder.
“Mrs Wells? This is Bianca, the receptionist at Bromley Prep. I’m just phoning to find out if Katie is sick today?”
“What?”
There was a moment when time stopped. All she could hear was her heart pounding in her ears. “No, she’s not. She left for school over half an hour ago.”
A pause. “Oh, I see. Well, she hasn’t arrived.”
“There must be some mistake. I saw her off myself. Is Candy there?” She held her breath.
“Yes, Candice is here.”
Thank God. “Well, Katie must be there. They always walk together.”
“I know they usually do, but Candy arrived by herself this morning. I know because the teacher at the gate was surprised to see her by herself.”
The pounding grew louder.
“She arrived alone?”
“Yes.”
There was an awkward pause. Lisa dropped her handbag to the floor and leaned against the wall. She felt sick.
“Mrs Wells, might I suggest you inform the police. I don’t want to alarm you, but she’s definitely not here. She may have got lost, but the police should be informed.”
“Oh, God,” Lisa whispered. “I’ve got to go.”
She hung up and immediately dialled Brian’s number. It rang for ages before he eventually picked up. “Brian, is she with you?”
“What? Who?”
“Katie. Is she with you?”
“No, why would she be with me? Isn’t it a school day?”
A sob escaped her. “She isn’t there.”
“Lisa, what do you mean she isn’t there?” But Lisa couldn’t speak. Great gasps wracked her body as she tried not to panic. It didn’t work.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Please, let her be okay.
“Lisa, what’s going on!” he demanded, his voice rising.
“She’s gone missing,” Lisa croaked out. “She left here but didn’t arrive at school. They’ve just rung me.”
“What?” He was shouting now. It was too much. Lisa burst into tears and slid down the wall, all the energy draining out of her.
“Where is she, Brian? If she’s not at school and she’s not with you… Where is she?”
“I’m coming over.”
The line went dead.
2
When DCI Rob Miller arrived at the house in Barnes, west London, he was confronted by a scene of utter chaos. Lisa Wells, the child’s mother, was inconsolable. Her cheeks were bright red, she was panting like she’d run a marathon, while simultaneously screaming at a man he assumed was her husband.
He grimaced. Only a husband and wife could fight like that.
“It’s not my fault,” she cried. “She always walks to school with Candy.”
“You should have checked.” He had his hands on his hips, his shoulders forwards in a classic intimidation stance. “You let her leave the house alone. She’s eleven, for Christ’s sake. What were you thinking?”
Lisa shook her head. “You’re not listening to me. She was meeting Candy.”
“Up late with the construction worker, were you? Is that why you couldn’t be bothered to take your own daughter to school.”
“Fuck you, Brian. I didn’t see Sergio last night.”
“Liar.” His face twisted with rage. “I know he was here. I saw his car.”
“Oh, so you’re spying on me now. Is that it?”
“Someone’s got to make sure Katie is safe, because it isn’t going to be you, clearly.”
Lisa’s hands balled into fists.
Rob glanced at Mallory, who gave a brief nod. They had to find out who Candy and Sergio were, and dissolve this situation before these two went for each other.
“Good morning. I’m DCI Miller and this is DI Mallory. You reported your daughter missing?”
His presence acted like a bucket of cold water and the feuding parents recoiled from each other and turned to face him. Lisa’s eyes were glazed and zombie-like, while her husband’s were hot and accusatory. It was clear he blamed his wife for their daughter’s disappearance.
The two coppers who’d arrived earlier had walked the route Katie would have taken to school, just to check she hadn’t got lost or distracted – there was a small park on the way – but ther
e was no sign of her. He’d heard their report on the radio on the way here. It was starting to look like an abduction.
Mallory took the father aside, while Rob led the distraught mother into the house. “Let’s sit down and you can tell me what happened.”
She sniffed and rubbed her hands on her skirt. Dirt smudged across the material, and he noticed several rips where it had been tugged at by twigs and branches. Her blouse was damp under the armpits and she smelled of sweat and fear. She’d obviously gone looking for her daughter too.
“Right, let’s start at the beginning.” He moved a pile of charcoal sketches aside and took out his phone, placing it on the table. Unlike Mallory, he couldn't remember every little detail. “Do you mind if I record this conversation? I don’t want to miss anything.”
She nodded, her hands clenched together. Her whole body was taut with strain and she kept gnawing on her lower lip. This woman was barely holding it together.
“Okay, what time did Katie leave for school?”
“Eight forty,” she replied immediately. “I remember because we were running late.”
“Does she have a mobile phone?”
