by Rob Ashman
Jaded
Rob Ashman
Contents
Also By Rob Ashman
Preface
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
A Note From Bloodhound Books
Faceless
This Little Piggy
Suspended Retribution
Acknowledgments
Copyright © 2019 Rob Ashman
The right of Rob Ashman to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 2019 by Bloodhound Books
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
www.bloodhoundbooks.com
Also By Rob Ashman
The DI Rosalind Kray Series
Faceless ( Book 1)
This Little Piggy ( Book 2)
Suspended Retribution ( Book 3)
The Mechanic Trilogy
Those That Remain ( Book1)
In Your Name ( Book2)
Pay The Penance ( Book 3)
Praise for Rob Ashman
I have discovered a new Favourite Author in Rob Ashman! Wow! What captivating books he writes. I’ve read four of his in three days and have my fifth waiting to start.They have all contained amazing stories with very well drawn characters it’s easy to visualise. I became attached to each one, including the serial killers! But I put this down to Mr Ashman’s writing, rather than any character flaw of mine. His books are dark, disturbing, fast paced and gripping, Faceless had me in the first two sentences, “The Mechanic” trilogy in the first paragraph.
Anne – Amazon Reviewer
Well what can I say... for a start this book so deserves more that the maximum 5stars can be given. I was immediately thrown into the rollercoaster ride of this story and my word what a ride. Once again I am raving about Rob and his books to anyone who will listen. If you have not tried this authors books I STRONGLY recommend you to do so
Nikki Ayling – Amazon
If I could award more stars for this one I would. Absolutely gripping from start to finish - was incapable of putting this down. Roz’s character is so well thought out you really feel you get to know her, whilst getting in the head of a really sick killer at the same time. It barrels forward at an impressive rate resulting in a mouth-dropping, detailed finale. Brilliant. Now on to This Little Piggy....
Kodakai – Amazon Reviewer
Faceless is a gritty, compelling and thrilling serial killer thriller that kept me utterly engrossed and I look forward to seeing what Rob Ashman comes up with next!
Eva – Goodreads Reviewer
Rob is the author of quite a few amazing books and I think I’ve read most of them. His thrillers are always fantastically written, unusual and quite dark which combined makes for a great read. I really look forward to reading more from him in the future.
Joanna Park – Goodreads Reviewer
For my mum, who never got to read this one.
Preface
‘Apart from killing the occasional person, I consider myself a good man. A fair man. A man with principles.
‘When I was young I learned an important lesson – taking a life is fine so long as you’ve given the matter due consideration. Spur-of-the-moment murder is for the rude and bad-tempered, and there is no excuse for that.
‘I also learned that to maintain the façade you need two things: You must not get caught and you must have someone to blame. I’m fortunate in this regard. I have so many personalities there is always someone there to take the fall. Besides, I’m always careful.
‘As you travel through life there will be those who threaten to disrupt your plans, and when that happens it is perfectly acceptable to remove them… after due consideration, of course.
‘That is, unless you’ve made a promise.’
Chapter 1
Michael Ellwood was bobbing around on a boat in the Irish Sea, which under normal circumstances would have made him sick, but spitting his teeth onto the deck was taking his mind off it.
A gloved fist smashed into his jaw again; his head snapped back, then recoiled onto his chest. He felt another foreign object in his mouth. A dislodged tooth joined the others at his feet.
‘We can do this all night if we have to, though I think you’ll run out of teeth before we run out of steam. What were you going to do with the shipment?’ The man in the balaclava spoke with a gravel voice, pitched somewhere between Barry White and Chewbacca. He grabbed a handful of hair and yanked his head back. Ellwood gazed into the cold, black eyes staring out of the ragged holes cut in the wool.
Ellwood was strapped to a chair on one of the lower decks. The lounge and kitchen blurred in and out of focus. His assailant was right in his face.
‘I keep telling you, I don’t know what you’re on about! I don’t know about any shipment. My name is Michael Ellwood, I own a garage in Salford Quays, Manchester. I fix cars, I can’t tell you–’
The gravel-voiced man slammed his fist into his chest. A torrent of air and blood burst from Ellwood’s mouth. He coughed and gagged. The man hit him again, blood peppering the air.
‘You’re starting to piss me off with this Manchester bollocks. Tell us what we want to know and it all stops.’
Four hours earlier Ellwood had boarded a train at Manchester Piccadilly and found a seat for the one hour and twenty-six minutes journey to Blackpool North Beach. He had read a newspaper and ate a pasty, both of which he purchased from a kiosk on the main concourse at the station. He had a knot of anxiety in the pit of his stomach which he’d never felt before, a sense that something wasn’t right. It was as though this time was going to be different – he got that right.
The boat lurched to one side and a second man stepped up, grabbing Ellwood from behind. He wrapped his forearm around his neck, crushing his windpipe. Ellwood’s hands strained against the ties binding them to the arms of the chair, blood seeping from the wounds as the rope lacerated his wrists.
Ellwood’s eyes popped from their sockets like a cartoon character. His tongue protruded from his bloodied mouth. Apart from the sound of the chair legs rattling against the wooden
decking as Ellwood’s body jerked and spasmed, the room was silent. His face turned purple and the tiny blood vessels in his distended eyes began to rupture.
‘We know you work for Berkley. Who else is behind this?’ the gravel-voiced man snarled.
Ellwood’s face looked like it was going to split wide open. The man released his hold. Ellwood rasped air into his burning lungs, choking and coughing. Tears streamed down his cheeks, mixing with the blood stains on his chest.
‘Please believe me. I… I… I don’t know what you’re talking about. My name is–’
‘Yeah, we know.’ The gravel-voiced man left the room, followed by two other men each sporting the same style of headwear.
Ellwood had his head bowed. He could hear a heated conversation coming from the next berth. Then silence. He had no idea how long he’d been holed up in this cabin, he could remember alighting from the train and heading for the taxi rank. He had taken a short ride in a cab and paid the driver. As he was walking up the road a stranger had called him over, asking for help – something about not being able to find the Hilton Hotel. The man was standing at the entrance to a side road, holding a map. He remembered going over to speak to him when a Transit van pulled out of nowhere and someone stuffed a bag over his head and bundled him into the back. He heard the doors bang shut and the screech of the tires on the road as they drove away. He’d struggled and yelled at the top of his voice, then a series of heavy blows rendered him unconscious. He woke up on board the boat, in the middle of God knows where.
The gravel-voiced man came back, flanked by the two gorillas.
‘Did you know that Tehuacán is the second largest city in the Mexican state of Puebla, with a population of a quarter of a million people?’ he said circling around him to the kitchen.
‘What?’ croaked Ellwood, trying to lift his head up.
‘It’s a volcanic region famous for producing mineral water. And do you know what’s amazing about it… it’s carbonated from the geological activity. Fascinating that, don’t you think?’
Two pairs of hands grasped him by the shoulders, toppling the chair backwards. Ellwood crashed onto his back, his head bouncing off the wooden floor. He stared up at the ceiling, flashbulbs of light popped in his head. The gravel-voiced man came into view, towering above.
‘But the most fascinating thing is the fizzy water is used by drug cartels to extract information from people, they even call it the Tehuacán technique.’ The man was unscrewing the top of a two-litre plastic bottle of soda water. ‘Now you are probably wondering what’s so terrifying about a fizzy drink, right? But those South Americans know a thing or two about extracting information.’ He removed the top from another smaller bottle and emptied a red substance into the plastic bottle. Ellwood could see the red liquid swirling around. ‘They like their food hot out there and have a ton of this stuff.’ He waved the smaller bottle at Ellwood. ‘Red hot chilli sauce.’
Ellwood struggled against his bonds.
The gravel-voiced man placed the bottles onto the worktop and fished a wallet from his pocket.
‘Recognise this? It’s yours.’ Ellwood squinted his eyes in an attempt to focus. ‘I have a problem with this. Do you know why?’ Ellwood shook his head. ‘I have a problem with it because it contains eighty pounds in cash, two rail tickets and a ticket to the cinema, and that’s it. No credit cards, bank cards, driver’s licence, receipts – nothing. Now who the hell doesn’t have those things in their wallet?’
‘I… I don’t know,’ croaked Ellwood.
‘No, and neither do I. A grown man with a ticket to watch The Lego Movie, there’s got to be something wrong with that. The other thing I have a problem with is… where’s your phone?’
‘I… must have dropped it.’
‘Nope, don’t think you did. We’ve turned the van inside out and checked the snatch site – no mobile. Now why would someone not have a mobile phone?’
‘I–’
The gravel-voiced man seized Ellwood’s face.
‘Why don’t you save yourself a world of pain and tell me what you’re doing in Blackpool, and what the plans were for the shipment?’
‘I don’t know what you mean! My name is Michael Ellwood and I fix cars. Check it out, for fuck’s sake, check it out.’
One of the men crouched down and clamped his hands either side of Ellwood’s head, while the other tore a length of duct tape from a roll and stuck it across Ellwood’s mouth. The gravel-voiced man upended the bottle of soda water and forced the opening over Ellwood’s nostrils. He squeezed the bottle.
The pain in Ellwood’s head exploded with the searing heat of molten lava. He screamed against the gag as the liquid burned its way down his nasal passages and into his throat. He was drowning in fire. His body bucked and twisted in the chair but the strong hands held him firm. The gravel-voiced man squeezed again.
A column of pain tore through him. Water squirted out the sides, scalding his eyes. He felt the fluid scorching its way into his lungs.
The gravel-voiced man removed the bottle and ripped away the gag. Ellwood coughed a torrent of pink water into the air and gargled a scream. Everything burned.
‘You work for Berkley. Now what were you planning to do with the shipment? We’re not interested in you, we want to know who was the next in the chain.’
‘Agghhh!’ Ellwood couldn’t speak. He coughed and barked, spitting water over the floor.
The gravel-voiced man nodded and another secured a fresh length of tape across Ellwood’s mouth. He jammed the bottle over Ellwood’s nose and forced the liquid into his nasal passages. Blood flowed from Ellwood’s wrists and ankles as he tried to free himself from the chair. His body bucked and jerked. Then he was still.
‘Roll him over,’ the gravel-voiced man said to the other two as they ripped away the gag and turned Ellwood onto his side, striking his chest – pink water gushed from his nose and mouth, fizzing on the floor. Ellwood gasped for air.
The gravel-voiced man beckoned to the other two men who followed him out.
‘I don’t think he knows anything,’ said one of them.
‘Neither do I,’ said the other.
‘But what about the wallet and the phone?’ asked the gravel-voiced man.
‘That’s strange. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Any ideas?’
‘I’ll make a call.’
Ten minutes later all three entered the cabin, Ellwood groaning on the floor, still coughing up blood and water.
‘Okay, let’s get you up.’
The men righted the chair and one of them took a knife from his belt. Ellwood was too far gone to react to the blade. The man edged the knife under the rope and cut it free. They put their arms under his and heaved him up, dragging him across the cabin and up the stairs to the top deck.
Ellwood felt the cold sea breeze on his face; he began to come round. He struggled to hold his footing as they threw him onto the fibreglass hull. He lurched forward and fell flat on his face then managed to haul himself onto all fours. The rocking motion of the boat seemed more pronounced up on deck, making his head swim. Looking one way he could see the twinkle of orange lights in the distance, dancing on the shoreline, glancing the other way he could see nothing – it was pitch black.
The two men lifted Ellwood onto his knees and the gravel-voiced man blocked his view of the lights. He drew a gun and pushed it into Ellwood’s forehead.
‘One more time,’ he said.
‘No, no, please…’ Ellwood stared up at the barrel, silhouetted against the sky.
‘What were you going to do with the shipment?’
‘I don’t know what you’re–’
The muzzle snapped upwards as the round entered Ellwood’s skull and blew out the back of his head. The men either side dragged him across the deck and threw him overboard.
Chapter 2
Three weeks later
Detective Inspector Rosalind Kray felt like shit, and the fact that she had stopped smok
ing and given up alcohol had nothing to do with it. The fact that she was two months pregnant, however, had everything to do with it.
For a woman in her late thirties, who had the body fat percentage of an elite athlete without going anywhere near a gym, drank like a fish, and barely ate enough food to keep a small child alive, skipping the odd period was not an uncommon occurrence. Her menstrual cycle had been a mystery for years, so what made her go to the chemist to buy a test kit was beyond her. Since then she had bought three more with the same result every time – the two thin blue lines screamed Yes.
She fished around in her bag for a tissue, her fingers found the glossy pamphlet she had picked up at the health centre. She pulled it from her bag and opened it up. A parade of earnest, smiling faces greeted her from the pages. She scanned the words, knowing exactly what they said.