Kill Chase (A Detective Ryan Chase Thriller Book 1)

by M K Farrar

  “It’s not far now,” she said.

  She slowed as they approached a turnoff. It wasn’t a main road—could barely be described as a road at all, more a dirt track. A metal gate blocked the way, a sign declaring ‘private property’ and ‘trespassers will be prosecuted’ attached to the front. Clara stopped the car and climbed out, then used a key to unlock the padlock keeping it shut and pulled off the chain. She went back to the car, got back in, and drove through the gates, then stopped again to go back and hook the chain back over the metal post and click the padlock shut again.

  The lane was all bumps and ruts, and the old car bounced and jolted across them. He wondered if it would still have any suspension by the time they got to their destination. The surrounding trees and bushes were all overgrown, and grass and weeds had sprung up down the middle of the lane.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  They kept going and rounded a bend. A small clearing revealed itself. A tiny one-storey house—if it could even be called that, it was more like cabin—made from wood, with a garage or workshop attached to the side, nestled in the middle of the clearing.

  “This is your home,” he said in surprise. “Your family home?”

  “That’s right. Do you like it?”

  She stopped the car out the front, and they opened the doors and climbed out.

  He didn’t really know how to answer that honestly. The place looked like it needed some serious money spent on it to make it habitable. If he’d come across the cabin on his own, he’d have wondered if someone even lived there. The windows were all intact but were single glazed and grimy on the outside.

  “Come on.” She flashed him a bright smile. “I’ll give you the tour.”

  She unlocked the front door and showed him inside. The interior of the cabin was dark and cool, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust.

  Joe paused to take in his surroundings. “I hadn’t been expecting this.”

  Where the outside of the property had seemed tired and worn, the inside had clearly been taken care of. A sofa with pretty patterned cushions was pushed up against the back wall. A compact but neat kitchen was in the corner. To the left were a couple of doors, which he assumed led to bedrooms or a bathroom. Though he already knew she didn’t live here because he’d followed her home yesterday, it would seem as though she did.

  “Does your family still live here?” he asked.

  “No, I don’t have any family. I told you that.”

  “The place appears lived in, that’s all.”

  “I come up here and keep the place tidy. It wouldn’t feel right to let it end up dilapidated. It would feel disrespectful.”

  He wondered why she’d live in a crappy little flat when she could be out here, rent free. “You wouldn’t want to live here full time?”

  “No, it’s too isolated for me. I wouldn’t feel safe being all the way out here on my own with no one else around.”

  “You brought me all the way out here.”

  She smiled at him. “I guess I must feel safe with you then. Anyway, I prefer to be in the city. And I wouldn’t be able to do my volunteer work if I had to make the drive in and out of the city every day. It wouldn’t be worth the petrol money.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  She flattened her body up against his. They were about the same height, and her breasts pressed to his chest.

  “Clara, I—”

  But she silenced him with a finger to his lips, and then replaced the finger with her mouth. The kiss stung his cut lip, but he ignored the pain. Instinctively, his hands went to her narrow waist, and he felt himself respond to her. How long had it been since he’d had a woman? Too long.

  She slipped her hand down to the front of his jeans and gave him a squeeze, and he lengthened and hardened at her touch. Her tongue pushed into his mouth, tangling with his own. She was warm and soft and tasted amazing. He groaned with pleasure, forgetting everything else, forgetting his time on the street and his long search for his sister.

  Clara broke the kiss, and with a smile, took his hand and led him to the bedroom.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ryan had finished off the previous day without his sergeant at his side. He’d checked up on her on his way home, offering his help with the clean-up, but she said she’d employed some professional cleaners to come in the following day.

  Just as Ryan pulled up outside the office the following morning, his phone rang. It was the bar manager they’d spoken to the previous day.

  “I found the drinks receipt that tallied with the card number you gave me,” he said. “Took me half the bloody night.”

  Ryan ignored his complaint. “I appreciate you putting in the time. What were the drinks?”

  “A pint of San Miguel and a glass of Pinot Grigio.”

  “Okay, thanks for letting me know.”

  He hung up. That wasn’t the drinks order of someone who was either buying two drinks for themselves, or who’d decided to have a chaser with his beer. He might be making assumptions, but that sounded like the order of a man buying for himself and a woman. So, Matthew Gordon might not have been on his own on the night he’d died. He could have been meeting someone.

  They needed that CCTV from the streets near the bar.

  He was surprised to see Mallory in before he was. He’d half expected her to bail for the day.

  “You’re in early,” he greeted her.

  “Yeah, couldn’t sleep, and the house is kind of depressing, especially without Ollie there. He’s such a big personality, you know. It’s too quiet without him. Plus, everything stinks of smoke. I figured I’d rather be here.”

  “How is Oliver?”

  “Doing better, thanks. The hospital discharged him, but he’s gone to stay with Mum and Dad until the house has been fixed back up.”

  Ryan grimaced. “Is it really bad?”

  “It’s only the kitchen, and I think the firemen caused more damage with the water than the actual fire did, but we’re insured, so it’ll get done.”

  “Well, I know we’re busy, but if you need any more time off to get things sorted, just say so.”

  She smiled. “Thanks, boss.”

  Ryan changed the subject. “How are we getting on with the social media campaign?”

  “Lots of phone calls, but nothing that’s really convinced us that they’re either one of the people from the footage, or that they know anything that can help. You know what these things are like. A thousand time wasters for every one person who might actually know something.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s like a blind man firing a pellet gun at a target, though; one of them is bound to hit. Oh, and I got a call from the bar manager. Matthew Gordon ordered a beer and a glass of wine.”

  “Those sound like the sort of drinks you’d order on a date,” she said.

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  They were interrupted by DC Dev Kharral approaching his desk.

  “Boss, I finally narrowed down some of the cars that have made regular visits to the park over the past weeks and months. Sorry it took so long. There were a lot of them. I kept an eye out for people carrying things as well, but other than the dog walkers, everyone seemed to have backpacks or fishing gear or picnic stuff. I cross-referenced the owner’s details with anyone who comes up on our records as having a criminal past, particularly anyone charged with violent offences. I didn’t find anything in particular, but I did come across this.” He pushed the printout of a driver’s license over to Ryan. “Recognise that person?”

  He frowned down at the picture. “Looks familiar. What’s the connection?”

  He pushed a second sheet of paper. “What about now?”

  Ryan brought the two photographs together. One was a grainy CCTV image of one of the potential witnesses they were searching for. “It’s the same woman. Several years apart, but definitely her.”

  “That’s what I thought, too.”

  “Who is
she?”

  “Clara Reed. Her more recent address is here in Bristol. I’ve checked her criminal history, but it’s come back clean.”

  “This is really excellent work, Dev. Well done. That’s not far from here. Think I’ll go and pay her a visit.” He glanced up at Mallory. “You fancy a drive? Looks like we got a hit on the CCTV footage.”

  CLARA REED’S FLAT WAS only fifteen minutes from their city centre office. It was located in one of the rougher areas of Bristol, the houses squashed in together, stacked row after row, the roads narrow. Items appeared in the tiny front gardens or were piled out on the street, like the whole place was one big jumble sale.

  “Should be just down here, boss,” Mallory said, nodding to the left.

  Ryan found an empty parking spot and pulled up next to the kerb. They climbed out of the car. He sensed eyes on them, neighbours peering out of windows at the new arrivals. He straightened his jacket, aware of how much they stood out. Even though they were in a pool car and didn’t have anything indicating they were police, they might as well have had a neon sign flashing over their heads.

  Ryan rounded the vehicle and approached the address they had registered for Clara Reed. The houses were all terraced, and many had been converted into flats. He found the doorbell that had Clara’s name beside it, pressed the buzzer, and stepped back.

  He glanced back to Mallory. “Doesn’t look like anyone is in.”

  “Try again,” she said.

  He did, but they still didn’t get an answer. “Guess we’ve had a wasted journey.”

  “We’ll have to come back.”

  The door of the house next door opened, and an older woman in her sixties poked her head out. “Who are you after?”

  “Clara Reed. She lives in the downstairs flat.”

  “Tall girl? Curly hair?”

  Ryan remembered the details from the driver’s license. “That sounds like her.”

  “She volunteers at the soup kitchen on the high street. I haven’t seen her today, though.”

  “Okay, thanks. We’ll try her there.”

  They went back to the car.

  “That was handy,” Mallory commented.

  Ryan raised his eyebrows. “Nosy neighbours aren’t always a bad thing in our job.”

  They located the soup kitchen on the high street and parked once more. It wasn’t lunchtime yet, but people were already lined up, waiting to get in. Ryan rapped on the door.

  “Hope you’re not pushing in,” someone called out good-naturedly.

  “I’ll make sure I save you some,” Ryan replied with a grin.

  “We’re not open yet!” a female voice came from inside. “You’re going to have to wait.”

  Ryan cocked his head closer. “It’s the police. Open up, please.”

  The clunk of a lock opening sounded, and a round, worried face peered out.

  “DI Chase and DS Lawson,” Ryan said, holding up his ID. “Can we have a word.”

  “Oh, right, of course.” She backed away, allowing them in. The woman was almost as wide as she was tall, and she turned away to lead them down the corridor and into a large hall with an open kitchen at the back. The hall was busy with people; metal clanging, boiling water steaming, women calling out to one another.

  “How can I help?” she asked.

  “We’re looking for Clara Reed, and her neighbour said she volunteers here.”

  Worry crossed the woman’s face. “Yes, she does, but she hasn’t shown up today. I tried her mobile, but she didn’t answer.”

  “Is that unusual for her, not to show up?”

  “Yes, very. She’s normally reliable.” She paused for a moment and then added, “though she was late the other day, too, but again, it was unlike her.”

  Ryan frowned. “Have you noticed a change in her behaviour recently?”

  “I don’t know her all that well. She tends to keep herself to herself. I think she may have had a bit of a troubled past.” Her eyes brightened as she remembered something. “I thought I’d seen a photograph of her the other day on the news, but, when I pointed it out to her, she got really defensive. I thought most people would have just laughed it off if someone said they looked like someone else, or would have agreed they did and then said that it wasn’t them, but she seemed angry that I’d even implied it. It was all rather odd. I remember being a little shaken by it afterwards.”

  Ryan held out the printout of the CCTV image. “Was this the photograph you saw on the news?”

  “Yes, that’s the one. Is it her, then? Is it Clara? Is she wanted in connection to that young man’s murder all those years ago?”

  “At this point, we believe she might be able to help us with our enquiries, that’s all. I don’t believe I got your name.”

  “It’s Wendy,” she said, “Wendy Lasseter.”

  He took out a card from his jacket pocket. “If she comes into work, or you hear from her at all, can you let me know?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  He went to turn away and then thought again. “Oh, and one more thing. You said you’d been trying to call her. Would I be able to get that number from you?”

  She chewed her lip anxiously. “It’s not going to get her in any trouble, is it?”

  “I’ll make sure she never knows it came from you.”

  She nodded and scribbled it down on a piece of paper.

  “Actually, Detective, there is something else.”

  “Yes?”

  “There was a man here a couple of days ago, when she was working. I hadn’t seen him before this week. I don’t know what it was about him, but something seemed a bit off, and he was also paying a bit too much attention to Clara, staring at her and stuff. At the time, I didn’t really worry about it, but now she’s not turned up for work, and you’re here asking questions, and I’m starting to wonder.”

  “Wonder what exactly?” he prompted.

  She bit her lower lip, her forehead crumpling in a frown. “If he might have done something to harm her?”

  “There are people lined up outside. Can you take a look and let me know if he’s there?”

  “Of course.”

  They waited for a minute while she popped her head out of the door. She came back in, shaking her head. “No, he’s not there either.”

  Ryan glanced to the corners of the hall. “Do you have CCTV here?”

  “Yes, we do. Not inside, but we have it on the outside of the building. We had a few too many break-ins.”

  “Can we get access to it? See if it caught this man on the cameras?”

  “Yes, of course. This way.” She led them through into a small office at the rear of the building.

  A knock came at the door, and an older woman with short grey hair stuck her head around the corner. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’re running late now, Wendy, and the masses outside are getting irritable. Shall I open up?”

  “Do you think you can manage without me, Anna?”

  The woman nodded. “Yes, for a bit.”

  “Okay, I’ll be with you when I can.”

  Wendy started the computer and brought up a file.

  “What kind of background checks did you do on Clara before she started work here?” Mallory asked.

  Wendy wrinkled her nose. “Not many, really. It’s not like it’s a paying position, and we’re working with adults, so I didn’t ask for references or anything like that. She seemed like a nice girl, a bit shy, but hardworking. I was happy to have the extra help. We always need more hands on deck.”

  Wendy pulled up the footage and frowned at the screen. “That’s him, there.” She jabbed a finger. “That’s the one who seemed to notice Clara a little too much.”

  The man on-screen was in his mid-to-late twenties, around six foot with an average height and build. He stood in line, a black bag over his shoulder.

  Mallory frowned and leaned in closer to the screen. “He would appear to have an injury, like he’s been beaten up.”

  “That’s not unusu
al here,” Wendy said. “Unfortunately, a lot of them, both men and women, find themselves in sticky situations.”

  “Would he have gone to hospital to get checked out?” Ryan asked. If there was a hospital record of it, they might be able to find out a name that way.

  “I highly doubt it.”

  Ryan twisted towards Mallory. “We should still make some enquiries, just in case.”

  She nodded in acknowledgment.

  “What about the people who are here now? Do you think any of them might know who he is?”

  “Possibly. Might be worth asking.”

  “Can you print out that image for us, please?”

  Wendy clicked the mouse, and within seconds a printer in the corner of the office came to life and spat out a couple of printouts of the grainy image of the man.

  “I’d appreciate it if you could send that footage to the email address on my card as well.” He accepted the pictures from her.

  “I’ll do it now.”

  Ryan turned to Mallory and handed her one of the sheets of paper. “Can you get the names and addresses of the volunteers, while I go and have a chat with some of the guests here.”

  “Of course.”

  Ryan thanked Wendy for her help and then made his way out into the hall. It was filled with people of all ages now, but noticeably more men than women. Some still waited in line for their meals, while others had been served and were sitting at the tables. Ryan moved between those who were sitting, showing the image and asking if anyone recognised the man.

  Some didn’t want to talk to him at all and barely glanced at the picture, preferring to focus on their meals, while others wanted to chat, and even though they didn’t know the man in the picture, were happy to tell Ryan about their whole life stories. He glanced up and saw that Mallory must have finished what he’d asked her to do and was now talking to those still in the queue. He caught her eye and noted that she was having the same issue. He made his excuses to the man who’d been talking his ear off and moved to the next one, hoping they weren’t wasting their time.