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

by BIBA PEARCE

  She was already thinking about the prosecution, while he was just concerned with catching the fucker. “Sure, I’ll ask Tony to write something up. It’ll have to go through the official channels, though.” Tony would need to be paid for his time. Would the budget stretch that far? Profiling was gaining popularity but it wasn’t there yet, not in the UK anyway, and many considered it a waste of resources. Clearly, Jo wasn’t one of them.

  “Absolutely. I’ll clear it with Lawrence. In the meantime, why don’t you tell me what you know?”

  “This guy has issues with marriage.”

  “Who doesn’t, right?” She tucked a wispy strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear.

  Rob grinned, but continued with his train of thought. “He targets engaged women. He stalks them, gets to know their routines, where they work, where they play, then he chooses his spot, which is usually isolated and devoid of people, and lies in wait. When the moment comes, he subdues them, binds their hands, rapes and strangles them.”

  Jo sipped her coffee. Froth landed on her upper lip, drawing his eye. He watched, slightly bemused, as she licked it off.

  “So, we can assume he was jilted once before, and the girl he loved got engaged to someone else?”

  “Yup, that’s the current theory. Then he lost it. He couldn’t handle the fact she was going to marry someone else. He watched her every move, until one day he threatened her, it went too far, and he killed her.”

  Jo stared at him for a moment. “It would be great if we could find out who ‘she’ is. The original victim, the one who started all this.”

  Rob sighed. “We tried, we combed the cold case files for women who’d been raped and strangled, or even one of the two. No luck. It was either a dead end or the pattern didn’t match.”

  “What about cases where the perpetrator was arrested?” asked Jo.

  Rob frowned. “You mean they could have got the wrong guy?”

  She pursed her lips. “It happens.”

  Rob was silent as he let her words percolate. Could they have missed something? “I suppose it is possible,” he conceded.

  “I’ll get my guys to look into it,” she said. “Your team has enough on their plate.”

  Chapter 16

  “Rob.” Jo glanced up and beckoned to him from across the squad room. “You need to see this.”

  He got up and walked over to her sidekick’s desk, where the hulky detective was sitting, stony-faced. Jo was standing behind him, peering at his screen. “We’ve found something that may or may not be connected.”

  “Oh yeah?” He leaned forward. Graham had a homicide file up on his screen on a woman called Rania Mukhtar.

  “Rania’s body was discovered four years ago next to the M1. She’d been raped and strangled.”

  Rob gazed at the picture of the dark-haired woman. “She looks young. Early twenties?”

  “Yes, twenty-two. She’s of Pakistani origin.”

  He frowned. “Strange, we never picked up on her.”

  “Probably because her father, Mahmood Mukhtar, was arrested for her murder.”

  Rob gawked. “Her father? Christ.”

  He stared at the crime scene photo. The battered, lifeless body in the brush at the side of the road. Messy dark hair, mottled face, her lips parted as if she was gasping for air — probably had been in her last moments. He looked away.

  “It was deemed an honour killing.”

  Rob had come across a couple of honour killings in his time on the force. It was when a family member was killed for bringing shame or disrespect on the family. An archaic custom, in his opinion, and one that should be stamped out.

  “What had she done?”

  “It was what she was going to do. According to the police statement, her parents despised her Western ways, and when she got engaged to a Londoner . . . well, that was just the cherry on the cake.”

  “Engaged?” His heard skipped a beat.

  “Yep.” Jo grinned wryly at him. “I thought that might get your attention.”

  “So, it fits our stalker’s MO?”

  “It does.”

  “Did the father confess?”

  “No, he didn’t. That’s where it gets interesting. His DNA was discovered on her body, not inside, mind you, but on her clothes.”

  “That could be circumstantial,” Rob said. “Did they live together?”

  “Yes, but she spent most of her time at her boyfriend’s house. Her parents were furious about that. They made their opinions widely known after her body was found. Here’s a statement from the father.”

  She read in a sober voice, “I’m not surprised. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened. The way she flaunted herself, it was indecent. She brought nothing but shame on her family.”

  “Wow, he said that after she was murdered?”

  “Yep.” Jo nodded. “In addition to the father’s DNA on her clothes, his saliva was on her cheek.”

  “That could have been a kiss.” Rob scowled at the image on the screen. Could her father really have done that to her?

  “Could have been.” Jo nodded. “He denied murder.”

  “What about an alibi?” Rob surveyed the grisly crime photo. Rania was naked from the waist down. Her skinny jeans were bunched around her ankles, effectively preventing her from kicking free. Her hands were bound with duct tape, another common denominator, but they weren’t tied to a tree or a bush.

  “His wife alibied him.” Jo raised her eyebrows. “But the jury didn’t go for it. He was found guilty and sentenced to a minimum of forty years.”

  Rob straightened up. “Can we talk to him? Where’s he serving his time?”

  She sighed. “I’m afraid not. He died in prison last year. Heart attack.”

  Shit. “Can I have a copy of that report?”

  She tilted her head. “It’s on the printer.”

  He fetched it and scanned it for any more details. “The post-mortem says she wasn’t killed at the roadside where her body was found.”

  “It appears she was dumped there,” Graham supplied, speaking for the first time. “They searched the parents’ house and an uncle’s, but they didn’t find the primary crime scene.”

  The report said they’d had a forensic team search the Mukhtars’ vehicle too. No blood. No fluids. Only what you’d expect to find in a family sedan.

  “What about the boyfriend?” asked Rob.

  “Now, he did have an alibi,” said Jo. “It was a good one too.”

  She thumbed through the report. “Ah, yes. He was at home playing on his PlayStation all night. His clan vouched for him.”

  “His clan?”

  “It’s a gaming term,” said Graham. “He was playing as part of a team. They were all on comms. He was online all evening.”

  Rob assumed comms meant they were in communication with each other.

  He met Jo’s amused gaze. “Did you know that?”

  “I had a vague idea.”

  He felt old. “What was the time of death?”

  She didn’t have to look at the report. “The pathologist put it between nine and ten on Sunday night. Her body was found the following day by a motorist who’d stopped to relieve himself by the side of the road. If he hadn’t chosen that particular spot, who knows how long her body would have lain there undiscovered.”

  Rob supressed a shiver. His eyes trailed down the pathologist’s report. “No mention of a ring.”

  “No, she wasn’t wearing one and it wasn’t found anywhere on — or in — her body.” She gave him a pointed look. “It doesn’t mean it wasn’t him. There was no ring found on Greta Ansley’s body two years ago either.”

  She’d done her homework.

  “Is the wife still alive?”

  “Yes, and the uncle. Both live in Willesden Green.”

  Rob glanced at her. “You up for a drive?”

  She grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  * * *

  Nadia Mu
khtar lived in a double-storey house with a bedraggled garden that backed on to a railway line. As they sat in the kitchen overlooking the patio, they could hear the trains roar past.

  “Do you mind if we shut the patio door?” said Jo, doing just that.

  Mrs Mukhtar nodded. “I’m so used to them I don’t even hear them anymore.”

  She was younger than Rob had expected, in her mid-forties, with dark hair like her daughter set off by an electric blue sari covered by an apron. She’d been baking, and a rich, cinnamon aroma hung in the air. It reminded him he hadn’t had lunch.

  They stood around an island in the kitchen, Mrs Mukhtar on one side and Rob and Jo on the other, like a built-in defence. She didn’t invite them to sit down.

  “Why do you want to talk to me about that girl?” She peered at them suspiciously. “I have nothing to say about her. She disgraced our family and her poor father died in prison because of it.”

  Jo got straight to the point. “Do you believe your husband killed her?”

  Rob glanced at her in surprise. He didn’t know Jo well, but he’d thought she would have more tact than that.

  The woman looked startled. “Of course not. Mahmood never laid a finger on that girl, even though she was trouble.”

  “Trouble?” asked Jo.

  Maybe she was trying to catch her off guard. It seemed to have worked. Mrs Mukhtar’s indignant attitude disappeared with a soft sigh. She wrung her hands in front of her. “Even as a child she was feisty and disobedient. I said to Mahmood, she’ll be trouble one day, and I was right. She was so independent. You couldn’t tell her anything, she wouldn’t listen. As a teenager, she was incorrigible. She went out all the time in these short skirts and too much make-up. We hardly ever saw her.”

  Sounded just like any other teenage girl to Rob.

  “Then she met that man.” Her nose crinkled.

  “You’re referring to her fiancé, Anwar Hussain?”

  “Yes.” She shook her head. “He was a bad influence on my daughter. No values, no traditions. His family didn’t care about that sort of thing. When she told us they were engaged, we couldn’t believe it. Poor Mahmood nearly collapsed right then and there. They’d kept it a secret, of course, but then she decided to move in with him.” She studied her bitten-down fingernails. “After all we’d done for her.”

  “You must have been very angry,” Jo said. It was more of a statement than a question.

  Mrs Mukhtar scowled. “We were very upset. Our only daughter and she was out of control. Mahmood tried to have a word with her, but she stormed out of the house. That was the last time we saw her.”

  There wasn’t a flicker of sadness on her face, only resentment. No wonder the poor girl had wanted to leave.

  “Was your husband here all evening?” Jo asked. “He didn’t go after her?”

  “No, I told the police that. I’d never seen him so distraught. He paced up and down, eventually watched some television and went to bed. I even made his favourite dish to try and cheer him up, but he didn’t eat anything. The next day he was arrested.” She glanced up. “That girl took him from me. It’s her fault he died in that place.”

  She couldn’t even call her daughter by her first name.

  “I’m sure Rania didn’t get murdered on purpose,” Jo said.

  Mrs Mukhtar huffed.

  Rob had to admit, it was very suspicious. With the venom dripping from their lips, the DNA evidence and only Mrs Mukhtar as an alibi, he could see why a jury had convicted Mahmood.

  He was glad to get out of the house.

  Jo flung open the passenger door of the car. “Can you believe that woman?” she said. “I felt like punching her.”

  Rob shook his head. He didn’t have children, so he couldn’t talk, but he couldn’t imagine behaving like that. So much hate. He turned the key and started the engine.

  “What do you think?” Jo asked.

  He indicated and pulled out into the road. “I can see why he was convicted,” he said slowly. “But the wife seems pretty adamant her husband was home all night. If that’s the case, then it could have been our guy.”

  “I think it’s worth looking into in more detail.”

  “Rania Mukhtar was murdered four years ago,” mused Rob. He turned onto the main road.

  Jo picked up on his train of thought. “She could have been his first kill. The one who set him off on this serial spree.”

  He glanced across at her. “Could be, although according to the profiling, the stalker was jilted by a woman who went on to marry someone else. Rania didn’t do that.”

  “Not that we know of.” Jo took out her phone. “We didn’t ask Mrs Mukhtar about anyone else in their daughter’s life. Maybe they had someone else in mind for her.”

  Rob put his foot down once they were on the North Circular heading back to South West London. Jo asked Mrs Mukhtar the question and got a lengthy reply. She thanked her and hung up.

  “They did have a nice Muslim boy in mind, a family friend called Khalid Hasan, but ungrateful girl that she was, she wasn’t interested.”

  “Do we have Khalid Hasan’s details?” asked Rob.

  She grinned. “Of course.”

  Chapter 17

  They found Khalid at the mosque where he helped out after work. He worked in IT for a large pharmaceutical company in West London. Dressed in a traditional shalwar kameez, he was a handsome man with a trimmed beard and intense brown eyes.

  “I remember Rania,” he said with a fond smile. “She was a spirited girl. Our parents wanted us to marry, but to be honest, I was glad she was in love with someone else.”

  “You didn’t want to marry her?” asked Jo.

  “She was a handful. I think she would have been too much for me.” There was no resentment in his tone. “I have my own family now. My wife, Soraya, is very traditional. We have two beautiful children, a boy and a girl. I am very blessed.”

  Rob met Jo’s gaze. This was a dead end. Khalid, unless he was an incredible liar, was not the stalker. In addition, he had a stocky build and was average height. His head came to Rob’s shoulder. There was no way this was the tall, gangly man the CCTV cameras had picked up.

  “Still, we had to check it out,” Jo said on the drive back to the station.

  “I know. I thought we were on to something there.” He couldn’t keep the disappointment from his voice.

  “It doesn’t mean Rania wasn’t one of the stalker’s victims,” Jo said. “It just means that Khalid isn’t the guy who killed her.”

  “True, but we’re back to square one. Another possible victim with no idea how he targeted her. And Rania is unlikely to have been his first, considering the only guy she jilted was glad to be rid of her.”

  “Which means the stalker must have been killing for longer than we thought. We need to go further back to find his first victim.”

  “Not to mention Rania’s father served three years for a crime he didn’t commit and then died in prison.”

  “I know. That’s awful,” Jo agreed. “But we can still get justice for Rania and clear her father’s name. I’ll get my team to look into her phone records and any other evidence they have on file. There might be a clue to her whereabouts or something that will help us figure out how he targeted her.”

  Rob kept his eyes on the road. “She was engaged, and he did use duct tape to tie her up. Those are synonymous with our guy, along with the rape and strangulation. Obviously, the killer was still perfecting his MO. He dumped the body at the roadside but didn’t kill her there. We know he grabs his victims in isolated spots where there’s no chance of discovery. So, Rania must have been out walking or on her way somewhere when she was attacked.”

  “We’ll see if we can trace her whereabouts leading up to her death,” Jo said. She fired off a series of quick text messages, presumably to Graham. Her fingers moved like lightning over the screen.

  “What do you say we stop for a coffee and a sandwich on the way back?” Rob suggested. “I
don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” It was getting dark and the traffic was thick and sluggish.

  Jo nodded. “I’m all for it. We’re not going anywhere fast.”

  Rob pulled into a service station with a Starbucks. They ordered and took a seat by the window. An endless stream of cars trickled past, their headlights on.

  “I was surprised by your aggressive approach to questioning Mrs Mukhtar,” he said, between bites.

  She raised her eyebrows. “I wanted to wipe that self-righteous look off her face. I thought the direct approach was best, catch her off guard.”

  “It worked,” he acknowledged with a small grin. “She got quite flustered.”

  “I still can’t believe how resentful she is. I get that her husband died in prison, but it wasn’t Rania’s fault.”

  “No, indeed. Did anyone on your team speak with the fiancé? I know his alibi checked out, but he might know whether she’d complained of a stalker. I’d also like to confirm whether he’d given her a ring.”

  “Good point,” said Jo, her mouth full of croissant. She fired off another text in warp speed. A few minutes later, her phone buzzed. She pushed it across the table. “That’s his number. Give him a ring.”

  Rob did so, wondering if Anwar would recall anything after all this time. And if he did, whether he’d share it with them. The phone rang for a long time and Rob was about to hang up when a breathless voice said, “Hello?”

  Rob introduced himself. “I wonder if I might ask you some questions about your ex-fiancée, Rania Mukhtar?”

  A pause.

  Rob heard traffic in the background. “Is this a bad time?”

  “No, no. I’ve just got home. Give me a moment.”

  Rob held.

  “Hi, I’m back. Just had to open the door. Okay, so you want to speak about Rania?”

  “Yes, if you don’t mind.”

  “No, I don’t mind, but why now? It’s been four years since she died.”

  “We have reason to believe her killer might still be out there,” said Rob.

  “God, you mean her father may not have done it?” He sounded genuinely shocked.