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

by BIBA PEARCE

  “I wouldn’t hold your breath.” Rob opened the fridge and looked around. There was a loaf of bread, some cheese and a few tomatoes. “How about a sandwich?”

  “Great, I’ll make it.” She reached over him to grab the items off the shelf. He caught a faint smell of vanilla as she brushed past him.

  Without really thinking what he was doing, he slipped an arm around her waist. She turned towards him and paused. Her gaze lifted until it met his. Slowly, he drew her towards him. She allowed it to happen and closed the fridge door behind her before wrapping her arms around his neck.

  He bent his head and kissed her, holding her close against his chest. She felt soft and fragrant and he breathed her in, losing himself in the moment. She sighed as she closed her eyes and kissed him back.

  Chapter 23

  It took Rob a moment to realise it wasn’t Yvette lying next to him when he woke up the next morning. Instead of dark hair spread out against the pillow, it was blonde, and while Yvette had olive skin and a sculptured bone structure, Jo was pale and soft, her features more rounded and sensual. He lay quietly comparing the two women, wondering what had made him act so rashly last night. Jo was great, there was no doubt about it, and they had this connection that was hard to ignore, but he was engaged. Sure, they were having problems, but that didn’t mean he had to run off and sleep with the first available woman that came along.

  He frowned as the guilt descended. Jo was his superior, as well as being part of the murder squad. They really shouldn’t have done this. Lawrence would have a shit fit if he found out.

  “Having regrets already?” She rolled onto her side, her mouth curved into a sardonic smile.

  He grimaced. “Am I that easy to read?”

  She shrugged and sat up, not bothering to cover her breasts. “It’s written all over your face, but you don’t have to worry. I’m not going to say anything. Nobody need find out about this.”

  He nodded, unsure of himself. His confusion prevented him from responding. She saved him from having to by throwing back the covers and getting up. “Do you mind if I take a shower?”

  “Of course not. Go ahead. I’ll rustle up something for breakfast.”

  “Thanks, I’m ravenous. We never did get around to making that sandwich.” She threw him a mischievous look and he grinned. Last night had been amazing, and despite his guilt, it had felt good to be wanted, to be enjoyed. Jo had been a thoughtful lover, giving and taking in equal measure, and while it didn’t have the urgency or the heat of Yvette’s frantic lovemaking, it seemed deeper somehow, and more substantial. That’s what worried him.

  When she came downstairs smelling of shampoo twenty minutes later, she was in the same clothes as yesterday. Her hair hung sleek and damp down her back, and her face was freshly scrubbed and devoid of make-up. That was something else he wasn’t used to. Yvette always applied her make-up as soon as she’d bathed in the morning and she’d never consider leaving the house without it on. Jo didn’t seem bothered, but then she didn’t need it, she looked fantastic as she was.

  He touched her arm. “I’m sorry if I acted like a jerk. I think I surprised myself by what happened last night and I’m not sure how I feel about it yet. My girlfriend has only just left.”

  She put a hand on his cheek. “I get it, don’t worry. It was fun, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not looking for a relationship. This won’t affect our working relationship.”

  How could it not? But he didn’t argue the point. He was just relieved there was no awkwardness between them. “I made toasted cheese sandwiches.” He pointed to the table where he’d placed several of them. “And the coffee’s nearly ready.”

  “Bliss.” She sat down and tucked into one of the toasties. He watched for any sign of stiffness or feminine pique, like Yvette was so fond of using, but there was none. She really did seem fine with it. He sat down opposite her. “You know, you’re so easy to be with,” he said, reaching for the plate. “I was expecting this to be awkward as hell.”

  “No need,” she said, her mouth full. “We both wanted it, and we’re both content to leave it at that. Am I right?”

  He nodded.

  “So, what’s the problem? Can I have some of that coffee? I’m gasping.”

  “Sure.” He took the filter jug out of the machine and poured them each a cup, then he leaned back and watched her as she took a sip. On her face was an expression of pure joy. “Okay, you get ten out of ten for the coffee. After this, I don’t know how you can drink that shit at the station.”

  “Needs be . . .” He chuckled and took a bite of his sandwich. “How do you feel about heading straight off to Kent this morning? I’d like to talk to Bridget’s mother as soon as possible.”

  Her blue eyes met his across the table. “We’ll have to go into the office first, else they’ll know something is up. It’s bad enough I’m wearing the same clothes as yesterday.” She grimaced at her crumpled blouse and he had visions of last night when he’d hastily unbuttoned it and peeled it off her.

  “You could always borrow one of Yvette’s,” he blurted out, then instantly regretted it. Of course she wouldn’t want to wear his girlfriend’s clothes.

  To his surprise, she nodded. “Actually, if you wouldn’t mind, that would be great. It would save face too.”

  “I’ll see if I can find you something.” He went upstairs and had a quick rummage through Yvette’s wardrobe. She’d taken a lot of stuff, more than he’d realised, which made him wonder if she had any intention of coming back. Finally, he settled on a navy blue silk blouse that he thought would do. It was smart enough for work but not too dressy.

  He returned to the kitchen and held it up for her to see. “How’s this?”

  “Perfect.” She took it from him and disappeared into the lounge. She was back in less than two minutes, tucking the blouse into her skirt. It looked fantastic with her blonde hair, which was drying and floated in wispy strands around her face.

  It also made him think of Yvette, and a fresh wave of guilt washed over him. No, maybe not guilt — confusion.

  “I think I’ll get going now.” She stuffed her old blouse into her briefcase. “It’s probably best if we don’t show up together.”

  He walked her to the front door and there was an awkward moment, the only one of the morning, where he felt like he ought to kiss her or hug her or something, but she took the decision away from him.

  “I’ll see you in a bit,” she said, not meeting his eye, and without waiting for a reply, she turned and marched smartly up the street. In Yvette’s blouse, her blonde hair flowing out behind her.

  * * *

  Jo’s team had requisitioned the phone records and it was these she had on her lap as Rob drove the 114 miles to Deal on the Kentish coast.

  “Six months before Bridget Kane died would make it November 2010.” Jo poised her yellow highlighter above the printouts.

  “Yeah. Ben Studley told us he called her almost daily, sometimes more than once a day, and that was just after they’d got together.”

  “I’ll have to rule out these other numbers first.” She flicked through the pages. “Her parents, for instance, and her work. Not to mention Ben himself.”

  “They should be in the original case file.” Rob kept his eyes on the road. The M25 traffic was still heavy, it being the tail end of the morning rush hour. It was a chilly, overcast day, with temperatures below average for this time of year. The thermometer on his dashboard read six degrees Celsius.

  “Ah, got it.” She fished in her briefcase for a pen and scribbled a couple of numbers down on a notepad before picking up the highlighter and going back to the phone records.

  Rob let her concentrate. Before long he heard her running the highlighter over a couple of rows.

  “Found it?” He glimpsed at the document on her lap.

  “Yeah, I think so. There’s one number here that’s incoming and frequent, like every day, and the calls never last longer than a minute.”

  “So
unds promising.”

  “It’s an 075 number, so probably O2, but whether it’s a contract or prepaid phone, I can’t tell.”

  “Ask Mallory to follow that up.” Rob was putting money on a burner phone. The stalker wouldn’t have risked using his own, but then again, he may not have realised he was going to kill Bridget at that stage.

  “That’s okay, I’ll put Graham on it.”

  Rob turned off the M25 onto the M26 and then a short time later onto the M20 towards Dover. The landscape opened up as the Kent Downs flashed by, luscious and languid at the side of the motorway. Jo didn’t glance up. She was staring intently at the call records.

  “The calls suddenly stop,” she announced. “Around late March he ceases to call altogether. It’s a very sudden turnaround, don’t you think?”

  “He obviously realised he wasn’t getting anywhere.”

  “Maybe that’s when she moved in with Ben. He did say it was about six months after they met, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, that’s right. So, he gives up calling and takes up stalking instead.”

  Jo glanced sideways at him. “And he stalks her in secret for another two months before he finally decides to kill her.” She shook her head.

  “Triggered by their engagement,” added Rob.

  Jo got on the phone and called Graham, who said he would trace the phone number — if it could be traced.

  “It’s starting to come together.” Jo stashed the folder in her briefcase at her feet. “It makes sense: the timing of the phone calls, what Ben said, and how the stalker finally lost it and murdered her.”

  Rob, sharing her excitement, put his foot down on the accelerator, eager to get to Deal to find out what Bridget’s mother had to say. The car surged forward obligingly. “And once he’d killed her, he realised he could get away with it, and so he carried on doing it. It made him feel empowered.”

  “I wonder how many other women’s lives he’s destroyed that we don’t know about?” Her voice was low. “Six years is a long time. I’ll bet there’s more out there.”

  “We did look at as many cold cases as we could,” Rob said. “None of them matched his MO.”

  “Maybe I’ll put my team on it as well,” she mused. She turned her head to gaze out of the window. “Six years . . .”

  Rob had to agree. The likelihood of Julie being his first victim since Bridget was slim. He didn’t mind sharing resources. In fact, having the extra manpower was a blessing since his team was bogged down with the CCTV footage and trawling the feedback from the expo companies, neither of which had turned up anything useful in the last few days.

  Jo took out her phone and punched off some text messages, and they drove on in a companionable silence until they got to Dover, where Rob suggested they stop for a coffee. Not wanting to waste any time, they got takeaways and climbed back into the car to search for the meadow that Ben had told them about.

  They drove through Lydden and Denton before they saw a signpost for Barham. “There!” Jo pointed to the left. Rob indicated and turned into a narrow arterial road flanked on either side by golden rape fields. After about a mile, the fields on the right-hand side were replaced by tall trees and a low hedge running parallel to the road.

  “Hang on a minute.” Jo leaned forward and peered across Rob’s chest at a gap in the hedge. Once again, he got a whiff of her freshly washed hair. The scent reminded him of Yvette, only different. “I think I saw a meadow through there.”

  He pulled over and they walked back towards the opening. A wooden bridge covered a murky ditch filled with run-off, but on the other side beyond the tree line was a picturesque little meadow and in the far corner an enormous ancient oak.

  “This must be it.” Rob strode ahead into the meadow. It was a pretty place completely secluded from the road and on the opposite side, the houses were set much further back behind another row of trees. “I can see why they came here.”

  “It would be beautiful in summer.” Jo pulled her jacket tighter around her. She shivered in the cold air.

  “Do you want to take a sample?” Rob gazed up at the big old oak. He wondered how many stories it had to tell.

  “I will, although I don’t think it’ll do any good.” Jo took a small plastic bag out of her jacket pocket. She bent down beneath the oak tree and plucked some samples of the grass. “If Bridget hadn’t been buried, we could have compared them to the grazes on her heels.”

  “Who did the post-mortem?” Rob asked. “They might have done an analysis already, in which case we just need to compare the two.”

  Jo’s face lit up. “You’re right. Now why didn’t I think of that?” She winked at him and a warm glow spread throughout his body. “Lack of sleep must be clouding my brain. I’ll check the file when we get back to the car.”

  * * *

  Mrs Kane lived in a double-storey Victorian terraced house across the road from the beach. It was identical to the others in the row. All were constructed of sandy-coloured brick that shone in the morning sun and had faded front doors and sea-weathered window frames. It wouldn’t look out of place on a vintage postcard.

  “Seaview,” read Jo as they came to a stop outside number seventy-three. “This is the place. I hope she’s not too far gone to tell us anything.”

  They’d spoken to a young woman on the phone who’d introduced herself as Adele. She was Mrs Kane’s live-in carer. Bridget’s mother had been diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s a few years earlier, she’d told them.

  Rob got out of the car and pulled on his jacket. Jo did the same. Down here by the seaside, the wind was bitter. They rang the brass buzzer.

  A female voice came over the intercom. “Hello? Can I help you?”

  Jo raised her voice over the sound of traffic and a swirling flock of gulls. “DCI Maguire and DI Miller to see Mrs Kane.”

  “One minute.”

  The door opened and a young woman in a blue carer’s uniform that clashed with her purple hair stood smiling at them.

  “You’re the detectives,” she said.

  “Yes, we spoke on the phone.” Jo held out her hand. “Please to meet you.”

  “How is Mrs Kane today?” Rob asked.

  “You’re in luck, she’s having a good day.” They all shook hands and Adele ushered them in. “Come on in. She’s in the living room.”

  They followed her into the house. Rob glanced up, struck by the high ceilings and plush carpeting. The family must be quite wealthy. Mrs Kane certainly didn’t want for anything.

  “Has Mrs Kane lived here long?” Rob enquired.

  “Oh, yes. She and her husband moved in after they got married.” She approached the woman sitting in an armchair and laid a hand gently on her shoulder. “Mrs K, these police officers have come to talk to you.”

  Mrs Kane was much younger than Rob expected. Barely fifty, with grey hair scraped back in a chignon and a slender, upright posture.

  She frowned. “Police? Whatever for?”

  “They want to talk to you about Bridget.” Adele spoke slowly and clearly as one might to a child. “Remember, I told you about them earlier.”

  “Oh, yes.” The woman gave them a watery smile. “I’m sorry, I forget things.”

  “That’s okay,” said Jo, smiling back.

  Adele gestured for them to sit down. The only free space was a two-seater sofa opposite that had collapsed inwards on itself. For all the wealthy trappings, the furniture could use an upgrade.

  “I’ll make some tea.” The carer scurried off.

  “I don’t get much company these days. It’s nice to have visitors,” Mrs Kane said.

  Jo and Rob sat down and immediately slid towards each other. Rob met Jo’s gaze and tried not to laugh. It was impossible to sit upright, so in the end, they gave up and leaned against each other.

  “Mrs Kane, do you mind if I jump in and ask you some questions about Bridget?” Rob began.

  “Oh, yes. Of course.” Her pale blue eyes glazed over. “She was such a love
ly girl. Always laughing, such a pleasure to have around. We thought marrying that chap would change her — he was bad news, you know — but she seemed happy. Up until he killed her.”

  Nothing wrong with that memory.

  It struck him how different Bridget’s parents were to Rania’s. Both girls had been engaged to men their parents disapproved of, but the Kanes had been willing to accept him, whereas the Mukhtars had made their daughter’s life miserable.

  “I’m sorry to bring up the past,” Rob said.

  She waved his apology away. “At least I can still remember it,” she said. “It’s my short-term memory that I struggle with. Terrible disease,” she added.

  “I’m sorry,” he and Jo blurted out at the same time.

  Another little wave. Adele walked in carrying a tray with three mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits and set it down on the coffee table.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” she said and disappeared back to the kitchen.

  Mrs Kane leaned back in her chair. “So, what did you want to know?”

  Jo reached for the mugs and handed one to Rob. He balanced it on the arm of the sofa. “Before Bridget met Ben Studley, she’d been seeing a man she met at Canterbury College. I don’t know if you remember, but he gave your daughter a hard time when she started dating Ben. He called her incessantly, wouldn’t leave her alone.”

  Mrs Kane stared at him for a long moment, her pale blue eyes unwavering. He thought perhaps she hadn’t grasped what he’d said, and opened his mouth to repeat the question, when she whispered, “I do remember him. My husband had to have a word to make him leave her alone.”

  “Yes!” Jo almost dropped her biscuit into her tea. “That’s the man. You wouldn’t by any chance remember his name?”

  The woman crinkled up her forehead. Her eyes darted from side to side, grasping for the memory. Rob found he was holding his breath.

  After an excruciating minute, she exhaled.

  Jo raised her eyebrows expectantly. “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry, dear, I haven’t got a clue.”

  Jo’s face dropped and Rob only just managed to conceal his disappointment. It had been a long shot. The woman had Alzheimer’s, after all. It was a miracle she’d remembered her own daughter, let alone the stalker.