THE THAMES PATH KILLER an absolutely gripping mystery and suspense thriller (Detective Rob Miller Mysteries Book 1)

by BIBA PEARCE

  No, he was safe. For now. But if he ever got pulled in for anything and they took a sample . . . Well, it would all be over. And he couldn’t afford that. He was having way too much fun. And the best part was, he was just getting started.

  He’d planned the attack on Julie meticulously. Following her for weeks, watching her walk to work and back, accompanying her to the supermarket. He’d left nothing to chance. A warmth spread over him as he thought about how perfectly he’d executed it.

  Then the warmth was replaced by a deeper need, a darker desire that he used to be able to control, but lately . . . Lately, it was controlling him.

  He was hungry for more.

  Licking his lips, he turned his attention back to the woman. He watched as she jogged at an easy pace up the road, her dark ponytail bobbing as she moved. Sara, her name was. He’d seen it on the mailing list sign-up form.

  Well, Sara, what do you like doing in your free time? Where do you hang out? Soon, he would know it all.

  A keen jogger, she ran through Richmond Park every evening around six thirty. The park was closed to motorists at that time, as the sun had already set, but it was still light enough to determine the gravel path around the perimeter. To assist her, she wore a light attached to an elastic band around her forehead and a high-visibility jacket.

  Given the upmarket Victorian townhouse she lived in and her expensive running gear, she had done well for herself. Or rather, chosen well. Her fiancé worked in the city and drove a Porsche Cayenne Turbo, which retailed at about £100,000. Right now, it was parked in their ample driveway, alongside her factory-fresh Mini Cooper. Not bad for a mixed-race girl from Peterborough. She was pretty, though, with a firm body and bouncy breasts, but all money-grabbing whores were. That’s how they managed to secure rich husbands.

  He got out of his vehicle and spat on the ground. She’d pay, just like the others.

  He followed her on foot, keeping to the shadows. Luckily, he wasn’t the kind of man people noticed. He blended into the background, invisible. When he was younger, he’d wished it was different. He’d even considered taking up acting, so he could transform himself into someone else, anyone else, but that was before he realised his true calling. Now, he used those skills to his advantage. A predator needed to blend in, until the time was right to strike.

  When she turned through the gates into Richmond Park, he stopped. There was no need to follow her in. Not tonight.

  He knew her route, he’d followed her last night on his bike. He’d kept his distance and she hadn’t known he was there, but he’d heard her rhythmic footsteps up ahead on the gravel footpath, counting down to the moment when she’d be all his.

  He backtracked to a pub called the Lass O’Richmond Hill and went inside. It wasn’t busy, and he bought a pint of cider and sat at a table by the window facing the street. From here, he would be able to see her when she returned. The stopwatch on his phone was on, counting the minutes until she came back.

  Chapter 7

  At four in the morning, Rob felt Yvette’s arms around him and her lips on his mouth. At first, he thought he was dreaming but then as his body woke up and began to respond, he knew he wasn’t. They made love quietly, but with a sense of urgency, and when they were done, Yvette lay panting in his arms. “I miss you when you’re not here,” she sulked.

  “I know and I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you after we catch this guy.”

  “The rapist?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Was it bad?” she asked hesitantly. “Did you see her body?”

  “I did, and it was bad.” He gently stroked her hair, not wanting to upset her with the gory details.

  “How horrible.” She shuddered and rolled over, taking his arm with her. He turned onto his side and spooned her for a while. He could tell by her breathing that she’d gone back to sleep.

  Not so for him. After twenty minutes of lying in the dark, he decided to get up and walk to work. It was Sunday, so the streets would be quiet, and Yvette would probably want to sleep off her hangover anyway.

  The MIT headquarters in Putney were deserted when he arrived. He walked through the darkened corridors up to the squad room, watching the fluorescent lights flicker to life as his body movement activated the sensors. Once settled in the open-plan squad room, he pulled up the report Julie Andrews had lodged almost two weeks ago. He read through it carefully, then made a note of the duty officer who’d taken her statement. It might be worth giving him a buzz.

  Next, he took a look at Julie’s phone records that Will Freeman had been working on. The text message she’d sent Justin King before she’d left the office was there, highlighted on the screen. There was nothing after that. No incoming or outgoing calls.

  He grabbed a cup of coffee from the machine in the hall — Starbucks hadn’t been open when he’d arrived — and went back to his desk. People started arriving, and by eight thirty the telephones were ringing and the room was buzzing. It might be Sunday, but for them it was just another day at the office.

  Just after nine he rang the management company at Justin King’s block of flats. Nobody answered. He tried again at quarter past. Same thing. Perhaps they didn’t work on Sundays? He dialled Richmond Police Station and asked for the sergeant who’d been on duty when Julie Andrews had filed her report. He was directed to the sergeant’s desk phone, but he didn’t pick up either. Dammit, he should be in by now.

  Annoyed, Rob decided to go and hunt him down. Richmond was only a mile up the road, and anything was better than sitting here twiddling his thumbs.

  The drive took him a little over fifteen minutes, thanks to the morning traffic. He parked in the underground car park and took the stairs up to the lobby. He showed the guy at the front desk his warrant card. “I’m looking for Andrew Collins.”

  “Along the passage, second door to your right.”

  “Cheers.”

  He found himself in an open-plan office with a massive overhead projector screen at one end and a small kitchenette at the other. There were a handful of officers hanging around drinking coffee and waiting for their shifts to start — or end.

  “Andrew Collins?” he asked the first guy he saw.

  “Andy.” The man gestured to a young guy with flaming red hair.

  “Yeah?” Andy came over.

  “Don’t you answer your phone?” barked Rob.

  “I’ve just got in,” he said, stating the obvious. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m DI Rob Miller from Putney MIT.” PC Andrew Collins’ eyes widened. “I’m SIO on the Julie Andrews case and I read that you’re the officer who logged her report on a possible stalker a couple of weeks back.”

  Collins puffed out his chest. It wasn’t often they got a visit from the murder squad. “Yes, that was me. She was in a right state. Said the guy had followed her all the way into town.”

  “Wait. You mean the stalker actually followed her into Richmond?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. She was here for hours; she didn’t want to leave. Then, when she did, she called a cab. The guy had totally freaked her out.” He shook his head. “Who would have thought he’d get her in the end, hey?”

  “We should have thought of that,” snapped Rob, who was fast losing his temper. “Then maybe she’d still be alive today.”

  The PC shuffled uncomfortably. His mate was pretending he wasn’t listening, but was in fact all ears.

  “What time did she come in?” asked Rob.

  “Isn’t it on the report?”

  “No, you’ve just put the date, not the time. If I want to check CCTV in Richmond, I’m going to need an approximate time.”

  The PC thought for a moment. “Well, it was before my lunch break, so I’d say around eleven. It was a Saturday, I remember that much, ’cos I always get the weekend shift.”

  “Yes, thank you. I knew that from the report.”

  He turned and marched out, leaving the guy standing there staring after him.

  “They’re alw
ays like that,” his friend said. “Think they own the bloody place.”

  Chapter 8

  When Rob got back to Putney HQ, his entire team had made it into work. Motivation was high, and he was pleased to see heads down, people on phones, and a general buzz of determination in the air. The first thing he did was call a briefing in one of the shiny new incident rooms. The entire department had recently been given a makeover and now sported new computers, glass-partitioned offices and briefing rooms complete with whiteboards and audio and video conferencing equipment.

  Lawrence came out of his fishbowl to join them.

  “I’ve just found out that Julie’s stalker followed her into Richmond town centre on the twenty-third of March,” Rob informed them. “Apparently, she was so freaked out she went straight to the police station and lodged a complaint against him. Now, we don’t know how she got there, but she doesn’t have a car, so it would have been public transport. I need at least three more people on CCTV checking all the bus and train routes from Brentford to Richmond that morning.”

  When no one immediately put up their hands, Rob looked around. “I’m going to nominate you, you and you.” He pointed at two male sergeants and one female constable standing together in a clump.

  They all nodded. With Lawrence standing beside Rob, no one would dare refuse.

  “Good. Now, PC Collins, the duty officer who took her statement, said Julie came in about eleven o’clock on the twenty-third. Let’s check her route before and after that time. He must be somewhere. Come on, guys. This is how we’re going to catch this guy.”

  Lawrence asked, “Anything on her social media profiles?”

  “No, sir,” said DS Jenny Bird. “She had less than a hundred Facebook friends and they all check out. Her privacy settings were on high, so only her friends could see her profile, and she had no new friends and no one sending her threatening or suggestive messages. She was on Instagram but hadn’t used it in some time and had no other social media accounts.”

  Lawrence grimaced and gave a curt nod.

  “Where are we on the CCTV at that restaurant in Chiswick?” Rob asked Celeste. She shook her head, bouncing her short brown curls. “The only camera in the street showed Julie arriving on foot, but there was no one matching our stalker’s description either before or after her. I checked an hour each way.”

  “The guy’s a ghost,” muttered one of the young constables at the front of the room.

  Rob gave him an icy stare. “I assure you it wasn’t a ghost who raped and strangled Julie Andrews.” The officer dropped his gaze and flushed. “He’s out there, people. Let’s find him. He can’t be invisible.”

  “One more thing,” called Lawrence as Rob finished up the meeting. All heads turned back to the front. “The press have set up camp across the road, so when you go out, use the fire escape at the back of the building. We’re the only murder team working today, so they’re likely to bombard any and all of you with questions about the investigation.”

  There were murmurs of consent and some of excitement. For many officers here, this was their first big case, and the interest of the national press made it feel even bigger. For Rob, that meant more pressure.

  Back at his desk, he tried the management company again. No luck. They probably didn’t work weekends. God forbid there was a problem at the premises. The place could burn down and they wouldn’t know till Monday morning when someone got in and bothered to pick up the phone.

  Lawrence poked his head around his glass office door. “Rob, a word.”

  Rob went to join the DCI, who was pacing the room.

  “I’m getting heat from the deputy commissioner,” he began. He was clearly agitated, which Rob knew from experience was never a good sign.

  “What kind of heat?”

  “Because we’re under-resourced at the moment, they want to send in their top major investigation team from Lewisham to assist us, which basically means take over the investigation.”

  “It’s only the second day,” said Rob, a sinking feeling in his gut. His career-breaking case and he might not get to see out the week.

  “I know, and I’ve convinced them to give us a few more days, but if we don’t have a firm lead by then, we’re going to have to roll over.”

  “Shit.”

  “Exactly. So, find me something I can give them, Rob. DNA, an ID, anything to help us get this guy.”

  “I’m doing my best.” Rob felt like his back was up against the wall. “This guy’s a pro. He knows how to avoid the cameras. I’ve got six people working on CCTV and they can’t find him.”

  “Double it,” snapped Lawrence. “And let’s put out a public appeal.”

  “A public appeal?” Rob wasn’t questioning his DCI’s judgement; he was just conscious of creating mass panic. The press were salivating downstairs as it was.

  “Yeah, we’re fucking desperate. Someone must have seen something.”

  “Okay, I’ll speak to them.”

  “Take Mallory with you,” said Lawrence. “There’s safety in numbers.”

  Rob scoffed. “Thanks.” He walked to the door but then turned and asked, “Who’s in charge of the Lewisham MIT? Anyone we know?”

  “No. It’s some sparkling new DCI from Manchester who transferred down a few months ago. She has an excellent arrest record and, of course, she ticks all the right boxes. The deputy commissioner loves her.”

  “Oh, that’s just great.” He was going to lose his career case to the deputy commissioner’s pet. Brilliant.

  He left the office.

  “Find me something, Rob,” Lawrence called after him. “And find it fast.”

  The day continued in the same frenzied manner in which it had begun. The coffee machine worked overtime and because the press were lurking outside, Rob ordered pizza for lunch, which he put on the department’s budget. The team fell on it like starving hyenas. With almost half the squad working the CCTV angle, he’d given the other half the task of looking into the victim’s background, checking her phone records and talking to her friends and family. There was a reason why she’d been attacked. They needed to find it.

  After grabbing a reluctant Mallory, he went downstairs and, much to the media’s excitement, issued a public appeal for information. He gave them the only description he could: a tall, lanky man in a dark hoodie, with a thin face. It wasn’t much to go on, but like the DCI had said, someone may have seen something. It would go out on the six o’clock news.

  Next he called Twickenham Police Station, who would be handling the calls. “Anything in the vicinity of Kew Retail Park or the National Archives on the night of the murder is of particular significance,” he told them. He gave them the other dates Justin King had given him and Julie’s trip to Richmond Police Station on the twenty-third.

  At six, he turned on the news. It felt weird seeing himself on TV, almost like he was watching an efficient, more professional version of himself. His hair was in place, his jacket was buttoned up and he even managed to sound calm and composed with the right sense of urgency. He wondered if Yvette had seen it.

  Please let someone have seen something, he prayed. Then his phone rang.

  “DI Miller.” He didn’t glance at the number, his eyes still on the flat-screen TV.

  “Rob, it’s Tony. I’ve just seen you on the telly. Going up in the world, mate?”

  Rob drew his eyes away and smiled. Tony was an old friend and an in-demand criminal profiler. If anyone was going up in the world, it was him. They’d met while Rob was training at the Police Academy. “Something like that. Thanks for returning my call. Listen, mate, I need to pick your brain. Are you free tonight?”

  “The stalker case, huh?”

  “How did you guess?”

  Tony laughed, a deep resonance that stemmed from his belly. He’d always had a great laugh. “My son’s playing in a football tournament today, but I can meet you at eight. Will that do?”

  “Perfect, how about the Cricketers?” The pub on Ri
chmond Green was the go-to place for cricket fans and those who turned up to watch the local team play on the green on summery Saturday afternoons. Out of season it was a quiet and convenient place in which to talk.

  “I’ll be there.”

  * * *

  “First, let’s look at the ‘what’ and ‘why’ of the crime, then we can concentrate on the ‘who’,” said Tony, after they’d got the pleasantries out the way.

  It was great seeing his old mate again. Tony looked well — fit and healthy, with ample laughter lines that spoke of a happy relationship. He had two kids now, he told Rob, and Kim, his wife, had just gone back to work as a nurse in their local NHS Trust hospital. It all seemed very domestic, and Rob was hit by a pang of envy for Tony’s comfortable, happy life. Yvette might be a stunner with a body that made most men stare at him in awe, but she had made it quite clear she didn’t want children. They’d had that discussion when they were dating, before he’d proposed. She’d felt it important he know up front. It was non-negotiable. Rob hadn’t given kids much thought, and with his career on the rise, he didn’t think it would be a problem. But now, listening to Tony go on about his ten-year-old, playing football with him on weekends and taking him to Arsenal games, he suddenly wasn’t so sure.

  He forced his attention back to the case. “The ‘what’ and the ‘why’?”

  “Yes, if I was going to profile your killer, I’d have to know what crime he committed and why it was done. For example, what was behaviourally significant about the crime, and why did it happen the way it did? Based on that, I could hazard a guess about the kind of person who would have committed this crime for these reasons.”

  “Hazard a guess? I was hoping for a bit more than that.”

  Tony laughed again. “It’s all elaborate guesswork at the end of the day, but it’s pretty efficient. There are patterns that we see in most offenders, but we’ll come to that later.”