“I’ll text you,” was the only reply she got.
Chapter 20
His work was done now; the killer felt neither remorse, nor satisfaction.
This isn’t the way I wanted to feel
, he seethed.
Spittle dripped from his mouth, he sat on the end of his bed, his hands nervously wringing in his lap. His body bent forward, swaying gently back and forth as he clutched the black hoodie close to his chest. The cold and emptiness of the room matched in equal measure how he felt inside. His eyes were fixed wide on the pictures that lay scattered around him on the floor.
The room was filled with the overpowering odour of stale urine that emanated from the bundle of black clothes that lay in a messy heap in the corner of the room.
The curtains were drawn letting in just a few shards of light. He was being careful; he didn’t want anyone peering in even though he was on the first floor. He didn’t want anyone to see the maps of Brighton blue tacked to the walls. Nor the photos he’d taken of his victims as he stalked them or the drawings he etched of each murder, drawn heavy handed in thick black pencils.
To anyone else they’d think a ten year old child had etched them. Each one had a two stick men, one lying on the floor, the other standing triumphantly over the dead man like a hunter standing over his latest kill in the African bush. The dimensions of the knife exaggerated in each picture to look as big as each of the characters, big red drops of red drawn on the floor to confirm the kill.
Despite the savagery in the pictures, he’d still had time to draw flowers, cars and houses the way children would draw them in pre-school. If only life was that simple.
The chill that gripped him was still as strong, it had worked its way into every sinew of his being. A parasite feeding off its host, getting stronger by the day as the host grew weaker, draining him of all energy and immunity to ward off this invading alien.
The sadness he felt was buried deep within the pit of his stomach. Its tentacles had firmly secured themselves to him, like grappling hooks that had found firm crevices on a cliff face. Each spike penetrated, holding firm.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this. He wanted to feel euphoric, that justice had prevailed, an eye for an eye and all that. But it wasn’t. It didn’t replace what he’d lost.
As he stared into the emptiness, he questioned,
Where can I, should I go?
He was still vengeful, there were others that still need to be held accountable, but getting access to them would be harder. He had tried and failed; they were surrounded by people in uniforms who drove cars with flashing blue lights.
His attention was drawn to the knife that lay on the floor, sparkling clean, its history lost forever down the sink.
Using that would mean me getting close,
he concluded scrunching up his face, tugging aggressively at the small patches of eyebrow that he still had left.
The killer played out various scenarios in his head.
Maybe I should just wait here for them, they’ll come and find me and then I’ll finish the job
. He liked that idea a lot. The excitement raced through his veins once again.
He fell back onto the bed, and closed his eyes; he wanted to imagine exactly how he’d kill them when they found him…
Chapter 21
After holding back from texting Cara all day, he’d finally sent her a message last night suggesting a bite to eat after work today to which she willingly accepted.
The team were back in the briefing room at 7 a.m. watching Scott make a poor attempt at drawing a spider diagram from his notebook onto the whiteboard.
It was met with sarcastic comments like “Is it a plane? Is it a movie?” And “How many syllables?” from those gathered, but in particular from Raj. Abby just bit the lip of her coffee cup to stop herself from laughing, but her shaking shoulders gave her away.
Scott shrugged and turned to face Raj and replied, “Fancy a stint back in uniform?” which promptly wiped the pathetic grin of Raj’s face and was met with even more laughter from Abby, Sian and Mike.
“Mike and Abby what are your updates from yesterday?”
“I drew a blank at Roedean, I spoke to the principal and caretaker, they were of course concerned about the pupils seeing us there, but this was limited due its distance from the scene.”
“I didn’t get much further, Guv” added Abby. “I spoke to the residents, most were in, and I left messages for those not answering. There was one resident who has her artist studio set up in a front room to take advantage of the sea views. She saw the 4x4 there about 6.30 a.m. when she got up, but wasn’t back at the window till about 7.45 a.m. By then she saw the police presence.” Abby concluded by dropping her pen back on the table.
Scott blew out a deep sigh. ”This is a fucking nightmare.” As if mysteriously sensing the bind Scott was in, the door opened and the DCI walked in.
“Thought I’d see what updates we have after yesterday, Scott.”
Could this day start any worse
, Scott thought.
To add to the pressure, rather than taking a seat, the DCI stood by the door and leant back on the wall, her arms crossed.
“Yes, Ma’am. Thanks for authorising the hair fibre analysis rush job. The results came through about an hour ago. The fibre matches those found on the other two victims, so we’re looking for the same person. This person has systematically hunted down and killed three men who all knew each other very well. So that’s one connection. I’m sure Lee Stubbins has something to do with it because he wanted the second victim Dave Fraser out of the way and needed the distribution channels, so he could have ordered these hits for those reasons and for the death of his business partner who was killed by an associate known to these men.”
The DCI nodded in approval.
“We also need to look more closely at the Stephen Wentworth link, as Pete Tomlins was charged as a result of his death. I started on Stephen yesterday, Sian did Stubbins.”
“Makes sense Guv, you reckon it’s a revenge thing?” asked Raj.
“Possibly, it’s worth keeping that one on the table. I did some research quickly last night, and it appears Stephen’s parents split up long ago. I’ve not found out where his mum is, can you look into that Mike.
Anything else?” Scott asked.
Sian raised her pen, “Stone’s contact list just threw up frequent calls to Vicky and Dave Fraser, and the others were club related contacts.”
“I tugged a few collars…the dealers and users we know, and as Mike found out too, if you wanted some gear the Phoenix and Urban are the places to go. Interestingly, a few dealers had been on the receiving end of a visit from Tomlins if they were slow on payments,” added Abby.
“We’ve got two things going on here. We’ve got a triple murder case and we’ve got a case from three years ago tied into it. Whoever was there three years ago has been present in some way at all three murders in the past ten days.”
“Raj, I want you to go through the files again and see if we’ve missed anything and see how we got on yesterday with the artist impression. We need that to go out in a press appeal today, square it with Ma’am when you get it and then get it on to the press officer.” Scott looked around at the team. “Any other business?”
His request was met with collective shake of heads.
“Let’s get to work then.” Scott gathered his notes and files into a bundle before stopping Abby from leaving the room.
“You and I are going to talk to Stephen’s dad; I found his last known address in Shoreham so let’s pay a visit.”
***
“Does the job ever get too much for you, Guv?” Abby questioned as she looked out to sea, the vast expanse allowing her mind to wander.
As he drove along the sea front to Shoreham, Scott didn’t need to look at Abby.
It was a question that had crossed his mind on many an occasion. Certainly the last few years had been a challenge; and the job always tested him as an officer. The more senior he rose, the more accountability he inherited, and the greater the pressure he experienced. The personal trials he’d faced had no doubt made him question life in general.
That wasn’t something he felt comfortable discussing, even though he considered her a friend. He liked Abby, she was open, honest and a real grafter. What you saw is what you got with her. He had no doubt that she carried similar traits and beliefs to him and would go far in her career.
Scott tried to answer in the best way he could without sounding negative or judgemental. ”It can. I guess two days are never the same, so it can be difficult to balance the highs with the lows.”
Abby blew out a long, slow sigh in frustration.
“Why, what’s up?” Scott asked.
“Nothing, Guv.” She paused and Scott felt there was more to come. “I guess I find it hard to keep motivated some days. I’m rushing around like a blue arse fly, we hardly do a nine to five, and sometimes I wish we did.”
Scott kept quiet and gave her the space to vent her thoughts.
“I hardly get any time to myself. I get home, there’s the house to clean, the kids to sort out, homework, ironing, and the list goes on. By the time that’s done all I’m good for is collapsing in bed.”
“You must get out sometimes, surely.”
Abby ran her hand through her hair, and laughed half-heartedly, “Social life...?.What’s that?”
As her senior officer he also had a duty to monitor the welfare of his staff, and Scott endeavoured to support members in any way he could. They were his team, he felt personally responsible for them. If they did well, he was the first in line to praise them. When they fell, he was there, he was their safety net.
“You thought about reducing your hours then, or job sharing?” he suggested.
She looked out to sea, “If I did that, Guv, I wouldn’t be able to afford my mortgage or pay for the kids’ clubs.”
“Well, I know we’re pushed on this case, but once we’re done, take a few days off, you’re owed some anyway from last month when we worked on that serial burglary case, you put in more hours than anyone else.”
Abby nodded but didn’t respond.
This was something he’d need to take up with her once the case was over. Abby was a great asset and Scott would do his hardest to support her. Good experienced officers were hard to come by. He wasn’t willing to lose her.
***
Park Avenue was a mixture of houses and bungalows. The property they were interested in was a small unkempt bungalow that lacked the pride that other properties in the street seemed to relish showing off. It was a well-kept quiet street, with small front gardens surrounded by shrubs or dwarf walls. Scott reckoned that most of the residents were retirees. They often preferred bungalows when downsizing was the next step.
The door was answered by a gaunt, thin-framed man. He had brown hair that was fast being replaced with grey, his jeans looked a size too big and his shirt was hanging loose.
“Mr Adams? Mr Jim Adams?” Scott enquired.
The man nodded.
“I’m Detective Inspector Baker and this is Detective Sergeant Trent from Brighton CID, may we come in and ask you a few questions?”
Jim Adams glanced at the warrant cards in front of him before turning away. He nodded over his shoulder to tell them to come in. Scott and Abby followed him into the lounge. It was surprising clean and tidy, but not modern by any stretch of the imagination. The officers sat on the worn burgundy leather sofa, whilst Adams sat opposite them in a matching armchair.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
Scott noticed the yellow staining on the remaining teeth he had. He estimated that he’d lost at least a quarter of them, more than likely as a result of excessive drinking and substance abuse.
Abby was poised with her notebook and pen. “We wanted to talk to you about your son, Stephen.”
Adams hunched up and held his hands together in-between his legs, as he shot a glance between Scott and Abby that suggested both confusion and feeling uncomfortable. “That’s a name I’ve not heard for many years,” Adams pursed his lips and nodded.
Abby swapped a look with Scott before he continued. “Not heard, Mr Adams? When’s the last time you saw Stephen?”
“I’ve never seen him, Detective Inspector. She ran away before she had the kid. God knows what he’s up to, where he is, or even what he looks like,” Adams said circling his left hand.
This wasn’t turning out the way Scott had thought. He was expecting to come here to ask questions about his son. Now he was about to give this father the news that his son was killed three years ago.
Scott cleared his throat. “Mr Adams, I’m sorry to inform you that your son was killed three years ago in Brighton.”
Adams lifted his head in surprise. A look of unknowing in his eyes. “In Brighton? He was down here?”
Scott wasn’t sure what to make of his reaction. Upon hearing of the death of a child, most parents experienced some degree of grief, sadness and loss. He’d seen many crumble in front of his eyes. Adams seemed to be unfazed and more surprised than anything else.
“What happened to him?”
“He was attacked outside a nightclub and died from head injuries he sustained, I’m afraid.”
Adams nodded and remained silent.
Scott was beginning to realise that Adams wasn’t going to be able to shed much light on Stephens’s case or his background.
“What happened to his mother?”
Adams rubbed the stubble on his cheek, “Not long after getting knocked up, she walked out on me and moved back to Reading where her parents lived. She told me she couldn’t do this anymore. It was too much to cope with. She upped and left. Bags and all.”
He stopped and looked down at the carpet. A short pause silenced the room. ”That was that….I never heard from her until after she’d had the boy.”
“Why did she leave?” Abby pressed the point.
Adams looking a bit sheepish before continuing, “Well you see, we were just having fun back then. We’d been seeing each other for a year or so, maybe longer. It was an accident really. We were off our faces most of the time. She liked the puff and Charlie, and I liked the red stripe. Too much of both as you can tell,” he pointed at his remaining teeth.