The DI Rosalind Kray Series: books 1-3

by Rob Ashman

  ‘Thank you, Alex that’s kind of you to say so.’ I smile back in return, not wanting to overplay my hand by commenting further on a speech I hadn’t listened to. ‘I hear good things about you from Angela.’

  Angela is my section lead, a university high-flyer with a brain the size of a planet and a level of self-esteem to match.

  ‘She tells me you come in early every day to sort out the files, it has made a huge difference to the processing rate.’

  ‘I’m an early riser and I like to set things up properly at the start of the day.’

  ‘Well, thank you for doing that.’ She shakes my hand again. ‘You should submit a request to have it integrated into your job description, that way you would be formally recognised for the work.’

  ‘That’s a good idea, Brenda, I’ll do that.’

  ‘I wanted to come and shake your hand to say goodbye.’

  ‘Thank you, Brenda.’

  She turned and walked over to the next cluster of desks to repeat the same warm words.

  I go back to my data entry.

  Thanks for the advice, Brenda, but I won’t be making any formal requests. Not sure how long I will be sticking around. Anyway, I have an appointment at the bank.

  Kray pushed the buzzer to flat number two, there was no response. The control panel in front of her had six buttons each with a number beside it. She hit every button on the pad. Moments later there was a buzzing sound and the door unlocked.

  She entered the building and flipped up the flap on the mailbox, bolted to the wall, marked with the number two. There were a couple of letters stuffed inside. She called the mobile number again, it went straight to voicemail. She rapped her knuckles hard against the front door and pressed the doorbell, the shrill warbling tones of the bell could be heard coming from inside.

  Kray went back outside into the crisp cold of early afternoon and tried to peer through the net curtains at the front. The blurred interior of the bedroom gave nothing away, save for the unmade bed and a mound of clothes in the corner. She made her way across the front of the building and down the side to the back. She looked through the kitchen window to see a pile of dishes in the sink and cups lined up on the worktop. On one of the walls was a decorative mirror, with a built-in clock. She took a double take and strained her eyes, reflecting back from the other room was the arm, leg and shoulder of a seated person. The face obscured.

  Kray banged her hand against the glass.

  ‘Catherine! Catherine can you open the door please. My name is DI Kray, you are not in trouble. I just want a quick word with you.’ The figure didn’t move. Kray scrambled to another window to get a better view but it was no use.

  ‘Catherine! Please open the door!’

  Kray ran back to the car and returned with her retractable baton. She punched the handle through the window, reached inside and opened the door. A thick waft of stale cigarette smoke greeted her along with the acrid taste of burning. She snapped the baton open.

  ‘Catherine, I am a police officer.’ Kray edged her way down the length of the kitchen into the hallway. The lounge was on her left. The figure came into view, facing away from her.

  Kray pushed the door until it connected with the wall behind. The figure of a woman was slumped forward in a chair with her hands and feet secured. The woman’s back and shoulders were a patchwork of scorch marks where her clothing had been charred black. Around the chair, a circle of dark red stood out against the grey carpet.

  Kray scanned the room and crept inside.

  She stepped around the stain to face the seated woman. Her arms and legs were covered in the same circular scorch marks and an angry bruise protruded from her cheek. Kray removed a pen from her jacket pocket and picked at one of the black marks, the material of her clothing was melted into her flesh.

  The woman’s long blonde hair was singed at the ends and stained red from her blood-soaked chest. Kray put two fingers to the woman’s neck, her flesh was cold to the touch. She lifted the woman’s forehead and tilted her face towards hers. It was Catherine Stubbs, her eyes gazing out in a dead fish stare. Kray looked down to see the handles of six kitchen knives protruding from her chest.

  He turned her into a human knife block.

  ‘Fuck it!’ she yelled at no one.

  She stepped back, reaching for her phone. A control room operator picked up the call.

  ‘This is DI Kray requesting immediate backup at number fifty-seven, Heathcliff Road, flat two. And tell DCI Bagley to get here ASAP, tell him I’ve found the body of Catherine Stubbs.’ The voice on the other end protested. ‘I don’t care, get him here.’ She hung up.

  I want Bagley to see for himself what a ‘slim chance’ really looks like.

  Chapter 27

  I down my pint and order another. My hands are shaking and my mouth feels like its full of sand. The bar is full of early evening drinkers but I’m oblivious to them. The crack-crack-crack of small arms fire ricochets off the inside of my skull. I’m trying to hold it together but I swear insurgents are going to blast their way through the window at any moment.

  I grip the brass rail that runs around the bar. The barman drops a bottle and it goes off like a firecracker when it bursts on the floor. I duck down and spin, facing the door. People turn and laugh but they don’t understand what’s coming.

  A call of ‘Hooray!’ erupts around the pub and the bar man holds his arms aloft. I haul myself to my feet and look around.

  I feel a hand on my arm and turn to face my assailant, fist clenched, ready to go.

  ‘Whoa there, big guy. It’s me.’

  I stare at the man next to me, trying to unscramble his face. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to …’

  ‘It’s okay, do you want another beer?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I stand with my head bowed, both hands gripping the brass rail. ‘Sorry, I don’t feel so good.’

  He orders two lagers. ‘I know. Let’s get a couple of seats away from the bar.’ The drinks arrive, he picks them up and we find a quiet spot in the corner.

  ‘Cheers.’ He raises his glass and I do the same. He sips the bubbles off the top of his, while I down half of mine. ‘I was surprised to get your message, it’s been a while.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, sorry about that. It’s good of you to come along at such short notice. I’m trying to keep my head down and get on with things, but today got too much.’

  ‘Okay well the first thing you have to do is stop apologising, and the second thing you need to do is sup the rest of that and think about what you want to tell me. I’ll get us two more.’

  I sat with my face in my pint, or would have done so had I not sunk the other half in one go.

  He returns with two more and lines his up side by side on the table.

  ‘What happened?’ he asks.

  ‘I told you Julie had moved out.’

  ‘Yes you did.’

  ‘We had a joint account and we decided to close it, you know, tidying up loose ends and all of that. I arranged to meet her at the bank to sign the necessary paperwork.’

  ‘You could have done that separately, you didn’t have to—’

  ‘I know, I know. I thought it would be good to see her again and it seemed harmless enough.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The bank woman took us through to a small office to complete the paperwork and share out the monies left in the account. It’s been so long since I’d seen her, we got on well and she looked fucking amazing. When we finished we went outside and I couldn’t see her car, so I offered her a lift. She said she didn’t need one because she already had one. Then a car draws up alongside us with her boss in the driver’s seat. You know the fat twat who she said she couldn’t stand the sight of. She said her goodbyes and got in.’

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘I saw fucking red. I wanted to drag his sorry arse out of the car and rip his head off - again.’

  ‘Please tell me you didn’t.’

  ‘No, they left me standing there
like a knob.’

  ‘Thank God for that.’

  ‘And then it all kicked off in my head. The explosions, the gun fire, the rampant paranoia, the full works. That’s when I messaged you.’

  ‘How do you feel now?’

  ‘Better. I feel better now you’re here.’

  He picks up his beer and takes a slug. ‘Good, and the noises?’

  ‘Pretty much gone.’

  ‘And the anxiety?’

  ‘I’m coming down.’

  He raises his glass and we chink. ‘Cheers to that,’ he says. ‘And well done for not beating the shit out of him in front of Julie.’ We chink glasses. ‘Let me take a look.’ He turns my face to the light and touches my cheek with his fingers. ‘That’s coming along a treat, are you still on medication?’

  ‘No, not anymore. It occasionally itches like fuck but most of the time it’s okay.’

  ‘You’ve done well. That was tough to get through.’

  We stay and chat for over an hour. He does the usual thing of trying to convince me that counselling is the answer. I tell him to piss off and go diagnose someone else. As we stand outside the pub we go through the same closing remarks we always do:

  ‘Don’t message me unless you’re dying,’ he says.

  ‘The only time I message you is when I’m dying.’

  He walks one way and I walk the other.

  I probably won’t see him again, until the next time I’m dying.

  Kray stared down at her shoes, they were damp but minus the carpet of grass that normally clung to them.

  They don’t cut the grass in January.

  She craned her neck to see cloaks of grey scudding across the night sky, blown along by the wind sweeping in off the Irish Sea. For once it wasn’t raining. The moon cast a silvery glow across the grass, which was gradually turning white with frost.

  She crested the brow of the hill and an expanse of beautiful gardens opened up in front of her. Even in the moonlight the flowers that carpeted the ground stood out against the solemn backdrop. Kray made her way along the manicured pathway, taking in the scene stretching out in front of her. It was peaceful and serene. She hated this place with a fucking passion.

  Kray pulled her coat tight around her body in a vain attempt to keep warm, while stamping her feet like she was marching in time to a military band.

  ‘Sorry I’ve not been for a while, things have been pretty hectic at work. And I thought, well, you’re not going anywhere so anything I have to say can wait. I didn’t get that job, you know, the one I went for, the DCI role. They gave it to Dan fucking Bagley, you remember, the prick from GMP who almost screwed up the Palmer case? Well anyway he got it. To be honest I don’t think I stood an ice cream’s chance in hell with Quade chairing the panel. But the worse part of it was, I convinced myself I did.’ She pulled a cloth from her coat pocket and wiped the top of the marble stone.

  ‘I don’t know what it is about the guy but no matter what he says or does, he gets right on my tits.’ She knelt down and began to clean the front, spitting on the material and paying particular attention to the lettering that made up the words Joseph Kray.

  ‘So, I had a bit of a meltdown when I didn’t get it and applied for a job in a solicitors. I know, don’t laugh. Can you see me working in an office like that … no, me neither. I got an interview out of it though and absolutely nailed it, but I know that’s not the right move for me. I’ve decided I need to get out of CID, so I’ve applied to head up the Criminal Justice Unit, which will be a welcome change for me. It will probably be a major fucking shock for them, but that’s their problem.’

  Kray picked the dead flowers from the vase and replaced them with a fresh a bunch of tulips, topping up the water from a bottle. She could see the brass pin sitting at the base of the headstone. The pin that saved her life.

  ‘Don’t know if I’ll get an interview and with what’s kicking off at the moment they might not let me go. Though I think Bagley would jump at the chance to see the back of me.’

  Kray paused. Tears welled against her bottom eyelids.

  ‘Oh yes and there was something else …’ She coughed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘I had company the other night. He’s a nice guy called Chris Millican, you’d like him. He reminds me of you, or at least his smile …’ She stopped and choked back the tears. ‘His smile reminds me of you. I’d had a shitty day and asked him to come over to have a chat and help me drown my sorrows. I think I did most of the chatting and most of the drinking, and one thing led to another … you know.’

  Kray straightened up staring at the sky, mopping at the tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘It’s nothing serious, I think we share a liking for white wine and shit conversation. Anyway, I plan to see him again … I thought you’d want to know.’ She scrunched the cloth into her pocket. ‘So that’s my news, do you have any?’

  She trudged back and got into her car feeling drained and peered into the rear-view mirror, running her fingers through her hair trying to make herself presentable.

  Who am I fucking kidding?

  The engine kicked into life and she pulled out of the car park. A bottle of wine was waiting for her in a strange fridge. A bottle of wine that would be opened and poured by a Home Office pathologist with a liking for waistcoats and tight trousers.

  Chapter 28

  Kray rang the doorbell and stood in the cold, tapping both her feet on the ground and a bottle to her hip. She pressed the button again. The butterflies in her stomach were going berserk.

  ‘Calm down, you silly cow,’ she muttered to herself, ‘it’s just a meal.’

  The door swung open.

  ‘Hi, come in.’ Millican stood before her dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt. Her heart did a little skip.

  ‘Sorry I’m late … work got in the way.’

  ‘I knew it would. I decided not to start cooking until you arrived.’

  ‘Wise move.’ Kray stepped into the hallway, handed over the bottle and removed her coat. Millican took it from her shoulders and hung it up.

  ‘You going to be sending me more bodies?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, multiple stab wounds.’

  ‘The last one had his hands cut off by some kind of powered jigsaw.’ Kray looked at him and cocked her head to one side as if to say, ‘Really? You want to discuss that now?’ Millican took the hint. ‘Welcome to my humble abode,’ he said holding his arms outstretched.

  ‘Not so humble, it’s a beautiful place.’ She had only seen the outside but judging by the neighbourhood this house cost three times what she paid for hers. She followed him into the spacious living room that was decorated in grey and silver, with a matching leather suite and a massive curved screen TV in the corner. ‘You have taste, Dr Millican.’

  ‘Yeah, something like that.’ He went through into large open-plan kitchen, with a central island workspace and a dining table and six chairs at the far end. It was all chrome and glass. He picked up a wineglass. ‘Do I need to ask?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Kray looked around and thought how dull and dowdy her place must look in comparison.

  ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘About two years.’

  ‘It’s stunning. Well, it’s stunning compared to mine.’

  ‘I like it, it’s home.’ He passed her a drink and they chinked glasses. ‘Cheers, thanks for coming. I hope you’re hungry, and I hope you like Thai food.’

  ‘You cook Thai food?’

  ‘No, I keep a Thai lady under the stairs for just such an occasion … yes I can cook Thai food.’

  ‘The closest I get to eating Thai is a ready meal and the microwave, and I tend to screw that up. Are you a good cook?’

  ‘A bit of a frustrated chef, if I didn’t spend my time cutting up dead bodies I reckon that’s what I would do.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound so good when you put it like that.’ She took a slug of wine and began to relax. This was nice, he was nice.

&n
bsp; The wine flowed as did the conversation. Millican paraded around the kitchen like a Masterchef contestant cooking up a feast. He had not exaggerated his abilities, even to a picky eater like Kray. Memories of Joe burst into her mind, the rolling chopping action, the theatrical flourish when he added the spices and the way he flipped a tea towel over one shoulder. She tried hard to keep the memories locked away, determined to enjoy the present.

  ‘I’m stuffed?’ Kray said after the meal, as she collapsed onto the sofa.

  ‘So, you don’t want any more of this?’ Millican waved the wine bottle in the air. She stuck out her glass.

  ‘How long have you been single?’ she asked.

  ‘About eighteen months.’

  ‘That’s a long time.’

  ‘Yeah it is,’ he paused. ‘I was in a long-term relationship and …’

  ‘What happened, did you break up?’

  ‘No, she died.’

  Those three words stopped Kray in her tracks. She wanted the sofa to swallow her up. She was a detective for Christ’s sake, why had she not done a little ‘detecting’ before opening her big mouth?

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Was all she could think to say.

  ‘We hadn’t long moved into this place when she was diagnosed with brain cancer. It was four months to the day from diagnosis to funeral, it all happened really fast. One minute she was here doing all this …’ He waved his hand around the lounge. ‘And the next she was gone.’

  ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘Why would you? I don’t introduce myself by saying, ‘Hi my name’s Chris, my girlfriend died of cancer’.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Say you’ll have some more wine.’ He filled her glass. ‘Let’s talk about something else.’

  ‘Yeah, and while you’re thinking what that could be I need to visit the little girl’s room.’

  ‘Upstairs, second door on your left.’

  She left him staring at the table and headed up the stairs. Like every other room in the house the bathroom was huge, plus it had an oversized roll top bath and separate shower. She sat on the toilet and cursed herself for not having done her homework. While she was giving herself a good telling off she noticed a cluster of framed photographs on the wall opposite, each one depicting a group of men dressed in camouflage uniforms. She finished off, washed her hands and took a closer look.