She could hear him smacking his lips as he salivated in anticipation.
She held the phone away from her ear.
‘And don’t you dare sell it before I get there,’ she shouted before ending the call.
She swallowed down her rage. She’d deal with Dobbie tomorrow. Right now, she had to study the second letter that was addressed to her.
She reloaded it to her phone and the words lit up the screen.
DI Stone
I told you that you needed to stop me. I begged you. I told you this would happen. I had no fucking choice. Do you not understand that? You have failed me, and you have failed the woman who is now dead. Her blood is on your hands. She is dead because of you, and you have to live with yourself just like me.
Well, DI Stone, I’m afraid I can’t help you any further. You fucked up. You didn’t catch me. I asked you to fucking listen to me. I thought you were different. I thought you got it, but I was wrong. I pinned my hopes on you to make this end and I should have known better. You’re just like everyone else. You didn’t fucking listen.
I cannot tell you what I am going to do next, as I do not even know that myself.
But you can be sure that more people are going to die.
Noah
Even she could see the difference in tone from the first letter. She had a murderer who had set his sights on her personally and now that murderer was very pissed off.
Thirty-Seven
Stacey leaned over and kissed Devon on the cheek. ‘Thanks, love.’
‘Want me to wait?’
Stacey shook her head. An immigration officer, Devon had been on a late-night raid. She’d walked in the door at 4 a.m., too wired to go straight to sleep, and had offered to drive Stacey to the prison. Stacey knew she should think about learning to drive, but in truth, the longer she left it the more frightening it became.
She yawned. ‘I could just pop my head down here for a…’
‘It’s not a sign, is it, D?’ Stacey asked.
‘Is what not a sign of what?’ she asked with a look that asked if she’d said that right.
‘The cake?’ Stacey asked.
Despite her fatigue, Devon opened her eyes widely.
‘Babe, we’ve booked a photographer, flowers, ushers, a DJ and catering without a hitch, but you wanna call it off because Aunt Abebi can’t make our cake?’
The smile behind her eyes spoke volumes of Devon’s tolerance levels when Stacey’s thoughts were carrying her away.
Truth was, there were still times she couldn’t believe that the gorgeous, intelligent, funny woman by her side had chosen her to spend the rest of her life with.
Devon reached across and squeezed her arm. ‘Babe, I’ll marry you in the high street with a bouquet of daisies, my camera phone, a supper from the chippy and a jam doughnut if it means you’ll become my wife, so…’
‘I bloody love you, woman, now go home and get some rest,’ Stacey said, leaning across and kissing her on the cheek. Devon wasn’t due into work until 2 p.m., so she could get some quality sleep in bed.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Devon said as Stacey got out the car.
She approached the entrance to the prison and looked back. She was not surprised to note that the engine on the Clio had been switched off and the driver’s seat reclined.
Devon was waiting for her.
She shook her head as that familiar glow ignited inside her again. She was a very lucky girl.
The entrance to the prison looked pretty standard to her, even though Stacey was not a frequent visitor to male prisons.
Featherstone was a category C prison housing approximately seven hundred inmates. Stacey remembered reading that in the early 1980s inmates of the prison were caught making forgeries of the work of Bernard Leach. At the turn of the millennium, the place was revealed to have the highest number of drug-using prisoners in the UK, with a whopping thirty-four per cent getting high on something, even if it was the beer they made using Marmite, fruit and vegetables. Stacey often wondered how such industriousness could be used for the purpose of good if channelled in the right direction.
Stacey stepped inside and introduced herself to a security officer named Nathan who looked to be around eighteen years old. Whatever his age, she couldn’t imagine that his youthful appearance elicited a compliant response to his instruction.
Stacey understood that the profession of a prison officer had probably altered over the years in line with diversity directives. Muscles, aggression and fear were not the tools needed to deal with every situation or every prisoner. And yet, a small part of her couldn’t help thinking he wouldn’t be the first officer to whom you’d be handing out riot gear.
The same could be said for her, she supposed, as Nathan began explaining the rules of engagement.
‘Obviously, this was a special request due to an ongoing investigation. There will be no other visitors in the room, but Daisy will remain with you at all times.’
On command, the least-looking Daisy she’d ever seen appeared and towered over Stacey. The smile took the sting out of the six-foot height and gym-honed body that Stacey would have to step left or right to see around. Now, she would be getting riot gear, Stacey thought.
‘Ready?’ Daisy asked pleasantly.
Stacey nodded as Nathan locked away her possessions.
‘So what’s he like?’ Stacey asked, falling into step beside the prison officer who notably slowed down to accommodate her.
‘Not bad, bit cocky, gets frustrated now and again like some of them, swears he didn’t do it. Like all of ’em.’
Stacey smiled at the exaggerated eye roll that accompanied the words.
‘I swear there ain’t so many innocent folks at a Sunday morning church service.’
Daisy opened the door to the visitors’ centre and stepped inside.
Sean Fellows was already sitting at a table smack bang in the centre of the room, wearing a pale grey sweatshirt and jogging bottoms.
Stacey wasn’t exactly sure of the protocol when greeting a convicted rapist. When meeting someone for the first time, she normally offered her hand. Certainly not an appropriate action.
He turned to look at her as she approached. He undertook a swift appraisal of her before dismissing her. Stacey was not offended. Maybe it was the extra few pounds she carried; maybe it was her black skin. Either way, she wasn’t upset about not being to the visual taste of a rapist.
And anyway, she pretty much did the same to him, but for different reasons.
She wasn’t sure how she’d expected him to look in person after seeing only his face, but somehow she had expected more. There were no rippling muscles, visible tattoos. His brown hair was cut short and tidy, and she’d have guessed his full height to be around five feet seven. She would have passed him in a crowd without a second glance, which she supposed was half the problem.
‘Thank you for agreeing to see me,’ Stacey said, taking a seat opposite.
Her skin crawled at the thought of what he’d done to two innocent women, but she knew that allowing her personal feelings to show would not help her get a confession to the rape of Lesley Skipton. And, ultimately, that’s what she was here for.
He shrugged. ‘Curious is all. Hoping someone has realised there’s been a fuck up.’
‘Fuck up?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, that I’m innocent and that Gemma Hornley is a slut and a lying bitch.’
Stacey bit down on her lip to prevent her true feelings from coming out. This was going to be more difficult than she’d thought if he still wasn’t admitting to the one he’d been convicted of. What chance did she have of getting justice for Lesley?
She decided to let him talk about Gemma. Maybe he’d slip up and say something she could seize upon.
‘Wanna tell me about it?’
‘Sure, but don’t get comfy, this ain’t no love story. Saw her in a club, fancied her, danced with her and fucked her round the back of the building.’
He shrugged,
as though that was the end of the story, which she already knew it wasn’t.
‘And then?’
‘Went back inside, danced some more, saw her as we were leaving and asked if she wanted to go again.’
Absolute charmer, Stacey thought as she nodded for him to continue.
‘She said no, we had a few words and she stormed off.’
All accounts said they were openly shouting and that he’d been angry.
‘How exactly did she refuse?’ Stacey asked. ‘Did she just say “no thanks, I’m good”?’
‘Nah, the bitch told me I’d been fucking useless the first time.’
‘She insulted your manhood?’
‘Let’s just say it took a while to get it up.’
Stacey tried not to react to his crudeness.
‘Well, you asked, love.’
‘Did that piss you off?’
‘Course it did. I was pissed and she wound me up.’
‘So you followed her?’
‘No.’
‘You were seen going in the same direction.’
‘As were fifty other folks who were leaving at kicking-out time. At the end of the road, I turned right not left like they said in court.’
‘And you were carrying a beer bottle?’
‘I ain’t wasting beer,’ he offered, as though it was a criminal offence.
‘The bottle was never found?’
‘Fucked if I know where I lobbed it.’
‘So you insist you didn’t follow Gemma and assault her with the beer bottle?’
‘What would be the fucking point in that? That’s some weird fucking shit right there. I ain’t no freak.’
‘But the—’
‘What’s this all about, love?’ he asked, narrowing his gaze. ‘This is old news. I didn’t do it, jury says I did and now I’m here doing time for somebody else. Good for them and shit for me.’
‘And you’ve never met Lesley Skipton?’
He stared at her for twenty seconds as realisation began to dawn.
‘Ah, I see what this is all about and you can fuck right off. I never met her, and I never shagged her. Not with my dick or anything else.’
‘The similarities between the two—’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know. Coppers asked me all about her, but do you all assume that because I swear a lot I’m a dumb fuck?’
Stacey shook her head.
‘Good, cos I ain’t stupid enough to take that kind of risk.’
‘What risk?’
He pushed back his chair and signalled to Daisy that he wanted to leave.
‘I’m done cos it’s breakfast time and I ain’t missing it for this bollocks, so if you wanna know what I mean, check the fucking dates, love, check the fucking dates.’
Thirty-Eight
‘Okay, guys, let’s get started,’ Kim said as Stacey slid into her seat. The constable looked pensive after her early meeting at the prison. With such a troubled expression, Kim guessed the sexual assault of Lesley Skipton wasn’t getting solved any time soon.
‘You’ve all seen the second letter. Thoughts?’ she asked.
‘He’s pissed off,’ Penn offered.
‘Why?’
Penn shrugged. ‘Cos we didn’t stop him?’
Kim folded her arms. ‘That was my first thought too, but now I’m not so sure.’
‘He knows we couldn’t stop him,’ Bryant offered. ‘So I’m not sure he’s pissed off because of that.’
‘Agreed,’ Kim said.
‘Still using the name Noah,’ Penn said.
‘Yep, great observations, folks, but what are these letters telling us about the killer?’
Silence.
‘Okay, we’ll come back to that in a minute. Penn, gonna give you a break on the post-mortems, which Bryant and I will attend. I want you over at the search area. If they find anything at all, I want to be the first to know.’
‘On it, boss.’
‘Stace, I want you doing background checks on all family members of both victims.’
‘Got it, boss,’ Stacey said, making a note.
‘Okay, back to the letters. We don’t know for sure if they’re definitely from him, but we’re gonna take a bet they are. Given that, we now need to extract any detail we can find, which includes the handwriting itself as well as the content. Stace, find me someone who can help with the handwriting.’
‘Won’t forensics have an expert at the lab in Birmingham?’ Penn asked.
‘I want as little involvement over there as possible until Mitch finds his leak.’
‘No probs, boss.’
‘Now to the actual content,’ she said, focusing on Stacey.
It took the constable just three seconds to catch up with where she was heading and start shaking her head.
‘She won’t do it, boss. She hasn’t worked an active case since that last one with us. She’s writing her book.’
Alison Lowe was a profiler, or behaviourist as she liked to be called, who had consulted for them on a couple of major cases, until a year ago when her own life had been put in jeopardy by a killer who was focused on Kim.
‘She’s still writing it?’ Kim asked.
Stacey nodded.
During the investigation, the two of them had become friends and still kept in touch.
‘A lot of research, apparently.’
‘You mean, she’s hiding behind writing a book?’
‘Maybe,’ Stacey said, ‘but she still won’t do it.’
Because Alison had removed herself from the force’s list of available consultants, Kim couldn’t ask Woody to bring her in, but she needed the woman’s insight.
‘Get her on the phone,’ Kim said.
Stacey took her phone from her satchel. ‘I’m telling you, boss, she won’t do it.’
‘Put the call on speaker,’ Kim said. She wanted to hear the excuses herself.
Everyone stared at the phone as the ringing sounded out loud.
‘Yo,’ Alison answered.
‘Hey, Alison. How are?…’
‘No,’ the profiler said straight away.
‘You don’t even know what I’m ringing for and I said a total of four words,’ Stacey protested.
‘Yeah I do, and those four words are all I need. You never use my name when you call. You never sound so serious when you call. The echo of your voice tells me I’m on loudspeaker. It’s the beginning of the day and you’re at work, so I’m guessing that right now I’m talking to all four of you. Morning, folks.’
Kim couldn’t help the smile that turned up the corners of her mouth.
She motioned for Stacey to continue.
‘Ali, I swear this is something you are going to want to have a look at. We have two letters—’
‘Nice sales pitch, Stace, but it’s not happening. You could have Hannibal Lecter in a holding cell requesting a one on one and I still—’
Stacey cut her off, persisting. ‘We just need some insight into the mind of—’
‘Nope, unless you’ve forgotten last time I worked with you guys I almost died, so there’s nothing you can say that will change my mind. I’m not on active duty.’
Kim understood her fear and sympathised. Her ordeal had been traumatic, and she needed gentle persuasion to get back on the horse. She probably needed patience, understanding and an empathetic approach.
Kim grabbed the phone. ‘Hey, Alison, we’ve got two dead women and a missing six-year-old boy, so do me a favour, put your big girl pants on and come help us find the bastard responsible.’
Thirty-Nine
Once the office was empty, Stacey tried Alison’s number again. It rang and eventually clicked to voicemail. She could imagine Alison staring at the screen, seething with anger. She tried again, but this time there was no ringing as voicemail kicked straight in.
‘Great,’ she said, throwing her phone down onto the desk. She’d done a fantastic job of letting her friend down. But she couldn’t have known what the boss was going to say
to her, and even if she had she wasn’t sure she’d have disagreed.
It was true that the two of them had become close during that investigation. They spoke a couple of times a week and met for coffee at least once a month. Initially, Stacey had understood Alison’s need to take a step back from her profession and had thought that writing a book would be good for her. At first, Alison’s enthusiasm for the research had kept her animated and alert, buzzing with the challenge. The last two times they’d met, Alison had barely mentioned the project at all.
Stacey agreed that she needed to be back consulting. She just wasn’t sure she’d have phrased it the same way. She resolved to try her friend again later, once she’d had chance to calm down.
She turned back to her computer to begin the background checks the boss had mentioned, but her meeting with Sean Fellows was still at the front of her mind.
What exactly had he meant about the dates?
The meeting had left her more confused than before. She’d been hoping to move her investigation into the assault of Lesley Skipton forward, prayed he’d say something that would give her a place to start. She’d expected to feel repulsion being in his presence, but she hadn’t felt anything at all.
She reached for the file and a plain piece of paper and began noting the events sequentially.
3rd May – Gemma Hornley assaulted.
3rd May – Sean Fellows questioned.
4th May – Lesley Skipton assaulted.
7th May – Sean Fellows questioned.
11th May – Sean Fellows arrested.
12th May – Sean Fellows charged.
13th May – Sean Fellows questioned about Lesley Skipton.
15th May – Lesley Skipton’s file marked as no further action.
Stacey sat back and looked at the key dates.
How stupid do you think I am? Sean Fellows had asked her and seeing the dates spelled out she understood what he meant.
Would he really have raped again so soon when he’d already been questioned by the police?
Forty
‘Okay, Keats, time’s a wasting,’ she said, stepping through the automatic doors to the morgue for the second time in less than twelve hours. And every hour that passed was an hour that six-year-old Archie was in danger.
Deadly Cry: An absolutely gripping crime thriller packed with suspense (Detective Kim Stone Crime Thiller Book 13) Page 11