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

by BIBA PEARCE

  Rob glanced at his watch. It was already 10 a.m. He left Lawrence’s office and marched straight over to Mallory, who he updated on the situation. Mallory’s face dropped.

  “I know, it’s a bitch, but there’s nothing we can do about it. We’ve got until the end of the day.”

  Luke, who’d overheard the hushed conversation, said, “We’re moving as fast as we can.”

  Rob grimaced. “I know. Let me know if I can help.”

  * * *

  Celeste came out of the CCTV studio and blinked like a mole who’d just ventured above ground. She scanned the open-plan office.

  “You looking for me?” called Rob, who was back at the coffee machine. It was making a deep groaning sound as it dripped away.

  Celeste came over. “Yeah, we think we’ve got something.”

  He left his mug there and followed her back into her warren. It was warm and stuffy in the dimly lit room. He gazed at the screen in front of her empty chair.

  “This is from the CCTV camera outside Harrods in Knightsbridge at two forty on Saturday afternoon.”

  A female figure was frozen on the screen. Celeste leaned forward and pressed a button. The video continued with a slight whir. Rob recognised the woman as Sara Bakshi, dressed in jeans and a striped T-shirt with gold lettering on the front. Stylish and attractive, she fit in perfectly with the elegant crowd on the Knightsbridge pavement.

  “She leaves Harrods and makes her way down Brompton Road towards Harvey Nicks. Shortly afterwards, a man in a hoodie follows her.”

  Rob stared at the screen without blinking. He didn’t want to miss a thing. There! Less than a minute later, a tall, hooded man passed in front of the camera. The sun caught his cheekbone and while they couldn’t see the front of his face, they could make out the shadow in his thin, concave cheek and the smattering of a beard. His nose and the front of his face was too dark to make out.

  “That’s great. Well done. It’s more than we’ve had until this point, and we can confirm he’s grown a beard.”

  “He could be trying to disguise himself, alter his appearance in case he gets caught on camera,” suggested Celeste. “Maybe he’s hoping to throw us off.”

  “If he insists on wearing that hoodie, he’s easy enough to spot. Ironically, that’s probably how we’ll catch him.”

  “I’ll keep going and see if any of the other cameras pick him up further down the street.”

  “What about inside Harrods?”

  “I had a look at the main entrance feed but couldn’t see him. I thought it best to continue down the pavement first, but I’ll check the other cameras in case he went inside. They have loads.”

  “Great. Can you make a digital copy of that image? One of the companies at the expo might recognise him. He could be one of their employees, or even a member of the Olympia staff.”

  “Sure thing, guv.”

  He went back to his desk, deep in thought. They were getting closer, he could feel it. The more the stalker escalated his activities, the more exposed he was becoming. Now they had a profile shot. Granted, it wouldn’t hold up in court, but perhaps someone would recognise him. He updated Luke and got him to email the digital still to the exhibitors.

  * * *

  By five o’clock, they still didn’t have a name. The clock was ticking, and Rob was desperate for a cigarette. If he drank any more coffee he’d be sick. Maybe some fresh air would help. As he went downstairs he bumped into Luke looking sheepish.

  He snorted. “You didn’t?”

  “No, but I’m about to.” Luke looked like a man defeated.

  “Thank God,” breathed Rob. “I’ll join you.”

  “Seriously?” Luke’s face lit up.

  “Yeah, I’m sure one won’t hurt. It’s been four fucking months.”

  They went downstairs, and Rob bought a packet from the newsagent on the corner. He felt like a naughty schoolboy as he pulled off the wrapper and offered the first one to Luke.

  “Cheers.” He took one with barely controlled excitement. They lit up and inhaled deeply.

  “Christ, I needed this.” Rob tilted his head back and let the smoke filter over his tongue and up into the moist afternoon air. The sporadic sun of the morning had disappeared, replaced by rapidly gathering clouds, heavy with rain. As far as Aprils go, this hadn’t been a very good one.

  Luke was enjoying the moment. After a long, pleasurable pause, he said, “I guess it was a draw.”

  Rob chuckled. “I can live with that.” He leaned against the side of the building. “Any luck with the exhibitors yet?”

  “Not as yet,” Luke replied. “We’re almost halfway through the list. So far, no one’s recognised our guy, but several took email addresses for marketing purposes. Unfortunately, neither Julie nor Sara were on any of those lists.”

  “There’s still time.” Rob pulled on his cigarette for the last time and flicked the stub into the gutter, where it sizzled out. “You’ve still got half the list to go, haven’t you?”

  Luke nodded, then ground his cigarette into the pavement.

  Rob repeated, “There’s still time.”

  Chapter 14

  It was after midnight when Rob got home. The way he ached, you’d think he’d run a marathon. All he wanted to do was have a hot shower and collapse into bed. They’d worked every angle, called every company to see if anyone recognised the profile shot of their killer. No one had. He’d even spoken to HR at Kensington Olympia, and they couldn’t shed any light. Rob had to wonder if perhaps one of the people they’d spoken to was, in fact, their killer. How would they know? In the morning, he would send out the uniformed police to pay them a visit, armed with the photograph of their mystery stalker.

  Tomorrow, the bloody MIT team would be there, and he’d be shoved aside. Not off the case, the DCI had assured him, but demoted. Ms Maguire, who ticked all the right boxes, would be taking up the reins. Well, he hoped she could handle it. His team had worked their arses off and he couldn’t imagine they’d be too happy with a new guvnor in the building.

  To make matters worse, Yvette was giving him the silent treatment again. He’d called her twice and left messages, but she hadn’t answered or rung him back. Granted, he’d been on the phone all evening, but he could see there were no missed calls. He’d also given another press conference with the efficient Vicky at his side, where he’d outlined the details of the second murder. Like before, he’d kept it short, only the facts, and asked that if anyone had any information to get in touch. Then Vicky had invited him out for a drink, but he’d politely declined, even though he was dying for a pint. He didn’t want to give her the wrong impression, even though he liked her as a person. His life was complicated enough.

  The last appeal hadn’t turned anything up in the way of leads and the calls had trickled off. He had no doubt Twickenham would be besieged with a fresh bout of callers over the next twenty-four hours and there was always a chance someone had seen something, but he wasn’t betting on it. Both murders had occurred in isolated locations off the beaten track where there were no lights or cameras and no pedestrians. In other words, no way of noticing someone assaulting a woman in the bushes.

  He went upstairs to find the bedroom door locked from the inside. Yvette was making her disapproval noted. Sighing, he went back downstairs. It would be the couch again, although he was too tired to care. After a shower and some cold gluten-free pizza that tasted like cardboard, which he found in a box on the kitchen table, he hit the sack.

  “I’m moving out,” Yvette announced the next morning as he was about to leave. She wasn’t dressed for work yet, but then she had an hour still, while he liked to get in early. Her shift began at ten, and she liked to languish at home and bathe, dress slowly and do her make-up before catching the Piccadilly Line into Knightsbridge.

  “What do you mean?” Rob stopped in his tracks. The front door was open, letting in a blast of cold morning air, so he shut it again.

  “You’re never home,” she said.
She was serious but still pouting sexily. “I don’t want to live by myself, especially not with a killer around. It’s scary.”

  “I’m sorry. You know I’m busy.”

  “Well, you know I’m home alone. So, I’m going to stay with Naomi until I figure out what to do about us.”

  He could tell by her voice she that this wasn’t the usual strop and sulk. She really meant it.

  “There’s nothing wrong with us.” He came towards her. She didn’t move away but didn’t react either. He touched her arm. “I mean it, we’re fine. It’s just this case, once it’s over . . .”

  “When it’s over, it will be too late.” Her lovely oval eyes clouded over.

  “No, it doesn’t have to be. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” He was pleading now. How could she walk out at such a crucial time? Didn’t she know how much stress he was under? Didn’t she care?

  “There will always be another case, Robert. Like you say, this is your job. I don’t want to be with a policeman anymore. It’s lonely.”

  That gave him pause. She was right. There would always be another case. It’s what drove him, and if he were honest, he liked catching killers. He’d never change, never be the type of man she wanted him to be. His heart sank. Was this the end, then? Were they breaking up?

  He took a deep breath. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we should take a break.” He gazed at her beautiful face, overcome by a sense of sadness. “But stay in touch, okay? I want to know you’re safe.”

  She turned around without replying and marched upstairs. Had she been waiting for a reaction, for him to beg her to stay? He wasn’t sure, he couldn’t tell. Why were relationships so fucking complicated? He wondered briefly if he should go after her, then decided against it. It wouldn’t change anything. He couldn’t stay — he had to go and meet DCI Maguire and he didn’t want to create a bad first impression. With a sigh, he left the house, closing the door softly behind him.

  * * *

  The stalker watched Yvette leave the house. She was pulling a suitcase on four wheels, like the ones you took when flying to Europe, light and easy to wheel around large airports and on and off trains. Was she moving out?

  He watched from the comfort of a greasy spoon a short distance up the road. The windows were grubby and the air smelled of fried food, but it made for a great vantage point. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t be coming in here. Not her style.

  He watched as she wheeled the suitcase past. She looked sad. Trouble in paradise? Because of this case? Because of him? He shivered with glee. The press were beside themselves, splashing photographs of his latest victims all over the newspapers and on the TV. The police were appealing for information — they even had a dedicated hotline for information on him. And Bridget had said he’d never amount to much. Well, look at me now.

  Yvette paused and consulted her phone. She must be waiting for a taxi or an Uber. One hand held the device while the other scrolled. She had long, elegant fingers, and her nails glistened with red polish. She twisted her left hand ever so slightly, so it caught the light.

  It was then that he spotted the ring.

  Chapter 15

  Jo Maguire was a five-foot-ten blonde bombshell. Rob paused outside Lawrence’s fishbowl office and watched as she laughed with him like they were old friends. He frowned. She’d won over his gruff boss already. He’d known Lawrence for two years and still hadn’t made him laugh like that. But then, he wasn’t a five-foot-ten blonde bombshell. He couldn’t see her face, but from the back she looked sensational in figure-hugging denim jeans and a white blouse.

  Lawrence spotted him and gestured for him to join them. Rob exhaled, squared his shoulders and prepared for battle.

  “This is DCI Maguire from Lewisham MIT.”

  “Please, call me Jo.” She held out a hand. Her handshake was firm but soft. She was equally as sensational from the front. Her face was clear and devoid of make-up, yet she still looked good. There was a smidgeon of gloss on her lips, but that was it, a small nod to vanity. And she smelled good too. A waft of something sweet like caramel floated over to him.

  He followed his instructions. “Pleased to meet you, Jo.”

  Lawrence nodded in approval. “This is the SIO on the case, DI Rob Miller. I’ll let him fill you in.”

  She turned to Lawrence and smiled. “Thanks, Sam. I appreciate the support.”

  Sam? Now that was a first. Lawrence didn’t meet his eye. “Don’t mention it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a nine o’clock meeting across town.”

  Rob gestured to the round table in Lawrence’s office that was reserved for internal meetings. “We may as well take a seat and I’ll bring you up to speed.”

  He watched as she eased herself into the chair, swinging one of her long legs across the other, then leaned back to study him.

  “I hope you’re not upset about us barging in like this,” she said with a light-hearted smile, but her eyes, a deep, clear blue, weren’t laughing. “Orders from above.”

  Rob shrugged. “It can’t be helped.” He wasn’t going to tell her it was fine when it wasn’t. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t work together,” he added diplomatically.

  She grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  Rob had to admit she had a disarming smile, and the little dimple in her left cheek was endearing. Despite himself, he liked her. “How much do you know?”

  “Most of it,” she said without a beat. “I’ve read all the files. I know about the rings.” Her approving gaze met his over the table. “Good move not mentioning that to the press.”

  “Orders from above.”

  The dimple appeared. “I’ve seen your profile shot of the killer, and I’ve read the notes on the wedding expo. Good work, by the way.”

  “Thanks. Unfortunately, we didn’t find anything. No one recognised him.”

  “Have you considered that he might have been one of the people you spoke to?”

  He met her gaze. “Of course. I was going to send uniform out today to do some follow-ups. If they spot anyone matching our profile shot, they’ll let us know.”

  “Good idea.” She paused, thinking. “Otherwise, you’ve got a dozen people working on CCTV?”

  He couldn’t tell if she thought that was a good or a bad thing.

  “Yes, they’re tracing the two victims’ last movements, when we know the stalker was following them. It’s a full-time job.”

  “Hey, I’m not mocking it. I’ve done my time in the video studio.” She held up her hands. “And I agree, it’s worth the manpower.”

  Well, what do you know? She wasn’t what he’d expected, although he wasn’t quite sure what that was. A university graduate, perhaps, on a fast-track career path to the top? She looked like she’d worked her way up. Her accent was fairly strong, not softened by private schools and universities, and while she was congenial, there was a strength he saw in her eyes that impressed him. He got the impression she didn’t suffer fools gladly.

  He learned that first-hand when Mallory bounded in and, not noticing them sitting in the DCI’s office, said, “When’s the teacher’s pet arriving?”

  “Excuse me,” she said to Rob. He watched as she stood up and walked to the door. Mallory paled when he saw her. She smiled sweetly and said, “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Jo Maguire, teacher’s pet, and you are . . . ?”

  Rob couldn’t help but chuckle. He followed her out and made the introductions. There were just five of them in since it was only quarter past eight. The working day officially began at nine, and since they’d all worked late the night before, Rob didn’t think many would make it in before then.

  “This is DI Graham Stewart,” she said as a broad-shouldered man with a thick neck and a crooked nose strode in. He had the heavyset features of a boxer and looked like a man who knew how to handle himself. “He’s my right-hand man.”

  More like bodyguard, thought Rob. The strong, silent type. Graham nodded around the room but didn’t speak.
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br />   “Where shall we plonk ourselves?” asked Jo, deferring once again to Rob. He appreciated it, but it wasn’t necessary. She was the senior detective and could quite rightly take control any way she wanted. It meant a lot that she was treading lightly.

  “There are a couple of empty desks over there, and more in the next room,” Rob said. “How many of you are there?”

  “Twenty in my team, but only Graham and I will be based here. These two desks will do fine.”

  He nodded. That was a relief. At least they weren’t going to get flooded with newcomers. Just then his mobile rang. He glanced at the screen. It was Forensics.

  “Any news?” he said.

  He listened for a moment, then smiled. “Yes!”

  Jo’s head swung around. “What?”

  “We have a partial print on the duct tape, and it doesn’t belong to the victim.”

  “Can we run it?” asked Jo.

  “I’ll get on it right now,” said Mallory, determined to make up for his previous faux pas. Half an hour later, they still didn’t have an ID.

  “Whoever he is, he isn’t in the database,” said Mallory. He pulled a hangdog face. “It doesn’t get us anywhere.”

  “It will once we get a suspect,” said Jo.

  If we get a suspect, thought Rob.

  “Let’s go grab a coffee,” Jo said to Rob once everyone was in and introductions had been made. “I’m buying.”

  They crossed the road and went to the local Italian coffee shop. There was a large sign advertising Lavazza by the door. “Perfect. I can’t stand that stuff in your machine,” she complained, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know how you handle it.”

  They got their coffees, a cappuccino for her and a double-shot Americano for him. He may as well make the most of it.

  She wrapped both her hands around her cup. “I’ve been thinking about this stalker,” she began. “Have you done a psychological profile on him?”

  “Not officially.” Rob told her about his mate, Tony.

  She knew of him. “That’s great, but we need something official, something in writing. If we use it to help catch this guy, it’ll be admissible in court.”