DI Mitchell Yorkshire Crime Thrillers: Book 1-3

by Oliver Davies

  “Hey, stranger,” she said brightly. “Have you forgotten about all the little people, now you’ve become a big shot?”

  I pulled a face. “Hardly, bit hard to forget you.”

  “Or my wife’s baking, you mean.”

  “Maybe,” I laughed.

  “How’s the job going? Have you been dazzling everyone with your genius police work?”

  I winced. “Hardly,” I said again, sighing. “Been wrestling with the same unsolved case for too long.”

  I got into talking about it as Kay made interested noises and asked pertinent questions. It was good to run through the case with another police officer, someone who hadn’t been lost in the minutiae of the thing right from the start.

  “Anyway,” I finished, “I’m rambling-”

  “Hold up, hold up,” Kay said. “Don’t change the subject. You’ve tried talking to the uni about any other cases of dead animals that might’ve been reported, right?”

  “Yeah. Nothing.”

  “Alright.” She paused. I could just about hear her thinking and picture her face perfectly, and I waited to hear what she’d come up with. “Well,” she said slowly, “have you tried asking them about problem students? Any with a violent background, anything like that?”

  Struck with surprise, I was silent for a second. “Yeah,” I said when I’d managed to process that. “Yeah, that’s a damn good idea. Don’t know why I didn’t think of that.” I rubbed my forehead in annoyance at myself.

  She tutted me gently. “Don’t go beating yourself up. It might not come to anything, and anyway, it’s easy to come up with fresh ideas from the outside. I’m sure you would’ve gotten there, eventually.”

  I huffed. “Maybe,” I conceded. “Not before Christmas, though, probably.”

  “What about your new partner?” Kay said curiously. “Are they as brilliant and beautiful as me?”

  I laughed. “Never,” I promised. “He looks like he went a couple of rounds with a yeti. Big lad. He’s a good one, though. Takes the mick out of me even more than you do.”

  “Wow,” she sounded impressed. “Good luck.”

  We chatted for a little longer, about her wife and the gossip around Lockdale, before we both decided that we had to get back to work and said goodbye.

  I hurried back to my desk after that, looking up the university’s vice-chancellor’s number on our records before I started plugging it into my phone.

  Stephen had been watching me with a curious expression. “What’s set your tail on fire?”

  I held my phone to my ear while it rang. “My old partner had a good idea,” I told him distractedly.

  He lifted his eyebrows. “Great. Now I’ll never be your favourite partner.”

  I grinned at him. “Don’t worry, Huxley. There was never any risk of that happening.”

  He feigned outrage, readying a riposte when the vice-chancellor picked up and I had to focus on that. I waited while I was transferred to the appropriate office after stating my need to see some student records. Some twenty minutes later, my request was finally agreed to, and a man called Dr Ngan agreed to show me the records later today.

  By the time I’d hung up, Stephen had gone off to get himself a drink, and I leaned my elbows on my desk, thinking. When Kay had mentioned problem students, I couldn’t help but remember mine and Taylor’s encounter with the utterly dislikeable Will last Friday night, which had scared her so badly. But that would’ve been a hell of a coincidence, and I tucked the thought away, not dismissing it, but not focusing on it either, until I could see these records.

  When Stephen had come back, grumbling about the break room being out of tea, we headed over to Sainsbury’s to pick up more tea bags and some lunch. I’d gone for a run at the weekend, but that was the only one I’d had recently. I told myself I wasn’t allowed any tasty meatball baguettes until I’d gotten some more real runs in, so I bought myself a salad. Stephen shot me a frown.

  “You’re not punishing yourself, are you?” he said seriously.

  “What?”

  He gestured to the salad I’d been pulling a face at. “Darren, you’ve had a stressy week and a disrupted weekend, you’re allowed to eat stuff that makes you feel good. Your running should be, like, an enjoyment, not because you’re punishing yourself for eating nice food.”

  “I do enjoy running,” I protested, but after a moment, I put the bland-looking salad back.

  “Good,” he said. “So if you’re not doing it to punish yourself, you shouldn’t mind eating food that actually tastes good, even when you haven’t been running, hm?”

  I snagged the baguette I’d been eyeing. “Happy?” I said. He smiled genuinely. Outside, after we’d paid, I looked sideways at him. “What was that about? Why’re you worried about my eating habits? I’m just trying to stay trim.”

  He rolled his eyes at me. “Because you don’t eat enough, mate. You drink gallons of coffee and only come to get lunch if I go too. It’s not healthy.”

  “You don’t exercise enough,” I said, feeling unsettled and not a little defensive. “That’s not healthy.”

  “No, not healthy up here, I meant,” he said, tapping his head.

  We walked back to the station in silence, and I thought over what he’d said. Maybe I did have something of a weird relationship to food. I knew I had a tendency of eating something fattening and mentally thinking about the amount of running I’d need to do afterwards, and I knew it got worse when I was stressed. Still, it was uncomfortable to be called out on it, and I wasn’t sure quite what to say to Stephen after that. To my relief, he left it alone and instead chatted easily about what shenanigans his kids had been up to recently as we ate our lunches.

  I was still unsure how to talk to Stephen afterwards and was almost relieved when Sedgwick approached, looking faintly annoyed. At least that was something I had experience with dealing with.

  “Mitchell?” Sedgwick said, even though I was already looking expectantly at him.

  “Yes?”

  Sedgwick released a breath, like I’d already managed to irritate him and I frowned at him. “I… did as you suggested,” he said finally. A smile began to creep over my face at Sedgwick having to admit he’d been wrong. Then the implications of what he was saying caught up with me and I sobered. “One of the flatmates of the first victim told us that Hannah had had a dead squirrel left outside the flat’s door, some months ago. She thought it was a prank in bad taste and didn’t report it.”

  “And the second victim?” I asked, leaning forward. Both Stephen and I were listening closely.

  Sedgwick gave a short nod. “The same. A good while back, there was an incident of a rat being left outside the flat, and then a bird. They also neglected to report it.”

  “Huh,” I said quietly, the thrilling buzz of being proved right mingling with a sickness in my stomach at the knowledge that Abby and Taylor had also been ‘marked out’ by the dead animals left outside their houses. According to this new information, it might take months before the killer chose to do something else to them, but now they had the police’s interest, maybe they’d move their schedule up.

  I swore quietly and rubbed my face.

  “I apologise for…” Sedgwick didn’t seem entirely clear on what he was apologising for and waved his hand.

  I nodded. “Thanks for telling me. Have you got a plan from here?”

  Sedgwick seemed surprised to be asked. “I was planning to advise you that the two women involved in your case should move temporarily-”

  “Agreed,” I said, thinking of Taylor. “One of them, the student, has already returned home for a while. The other one, I’ll talk to.”

  Sedgwick seemed satisfied. “Good. We’ll need to work together further to solve this.”

  “Fine with me,” I said, shrugging.

  He grunted, looking if not thrilled then willing, and that was an improvement, to be honest. He walked away, and Stephen nudged me in the side.

  “Look at that. You�
�ve gone and made a friend.”

  I snorted. “If you think that’s friendship, you need better friends.”

  He sent me a smile that was all genuine, and I raised my eyebrows. “I think I’ve got pretty good friends,” he said.

  I found myself flustered despite myself and rubbed a hand through my hair. “Well, er, back at you, Huxley.”

  He broke out laughing and thumped me good-naturedly on the shoulder. “Ah, your face, Mitchell! You’re horrible at emotions.”

  “God, I know,” I groaned. “No more mushiness, I beg you.”

  “Alright, alright,” he said. “You call Taylor and give her a heads up,” He paused, “you know, without scaring her, and I’ll… er, let the university know, if Sedgwick hasn’t already.”

  “Good plan.”

  I called Taylor up and warned her, as gently as I could manage, that she was in some danger and should move back in with her friend, if at all possible. And she should be careful. She sounded tired but resigned as she agreed and I hung up soon after, sensing that she didn’t have the energy to talk further.

  I still had my appointment with Dr Ngan at the university that afternoon and checked my watch. Stephen had just got off the phone with the university, updating them, and he sent me an enquiring look.

  “Come with me to the uni?” I asked.

  “Sure,” he agreed.

  We headed out to the car, and I explained on the way about Kay’s idea of looking into problem students.

  “It might not be a student or ex-student who’s the killer,” Stephen said.

  “I know, I know.” I got into the passenger seat. My head was whirring with so many thoughts at the moment that I felt it would be better for Stephen to drive, even with his tendency to see the speed limit as a personal challenge. “But it does seem more likely. Someone who looked roughly student-aged would be far less noticeable on campus, so people would be less likely to say something if they saw them, say, lurking outside a flat’s door.”

  “To drop off a dead bird,” Stephen said grimly.

  “Yeah, precisely. Plus, a student would have more reason to target other students, don’t you think? It’d be more personal, and murder usually is personal.”

  Stephen pulled an unconvinced face. “One-off murders usually are,” he agreed, “but serial killers? They have a type, not personal relations with the victims, you know? We could be looking at some forty-year-old who has a thing for sporty students.”

  I grimaced in disgust, my stomach twisting. “Thanks for that, Stephen.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’m just saying.”

  “Aye, I get the picture,” I said, a little shortly. I wasn’t naïve. I knew that people could be monsters, but I didn’t appreciate having all the worst possibilities playing out in my head when there wasn’t the evidence for them yet.

  “Why the arranging, though?” I murmured, when we were getting close to the university. “It was like they were deliberately pointing to the women’s sports. I don’t understand why they would intentionally direct us to the link between the victims.”

  Stephen was silent as he pulled in and parked us up. “Yeah, that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. They wanted us to know, I guess, because it was important to them somehow. Something to do with their motive?”

  “I guess. It’s sick.”

  Stephen sent me a sympathetic look. “I know. Come on. Let’s go look through these records and see if we can find anything. You’re right, the chance that the perp is or was a student is fairly high, so don’t let my pessimism put you off.”

  I was feeling pretty down, but I mustered a smile. “I never listen much to you, don’t worry.”

  “I’m deeply wounded,” he said, a hand to his heart, but the lines beside his eyes wrinkled up.

  We met with Dr Ngan, who was a polite, middle-aged man and who seemed every inch the scholar, in some indefinable way made up of the way he spoke, dressed and moved. He vibrated with intellectual energy and a certain air of eclectic knowledgeability.

  He unlocked a door in the admin centre and took us through to a room full of filing cabinets.

  “No high-tech computer systems?” I said, surprised.

  He gave me an apologetic smile, flashing a crooked tooth. “No, I’m afraid not, officer. Holding paper records aids the security of the documents, and there is a great deal of information that would have to be entered.”

  I tilted my head in acknowledgement. “And how do we sort students that have been expelled, or otherwise disciplined?”

  Dr Ngan’s apologetic expression deepened, and I sighed internally, guessing that this wasn’t going to be simple. “Expelled and other trouble students’ files will be edged with red tape. For specifics, though, you’ll need to read through the file itself.”

  I sighed aloud. “Alright,” I said.

  “Can I fetch you two gentlemen some sort of refreshment?” the professor offered. “I sense you may be here for some time.”

  “I think you may be right,” Stephen said. “Whisky for me.” The professor looked startled, and Stephen chuckled, waving his hand. “I’m kidding. Tea, if you’d be so kind. Milk, no sugar.”

  Dr Ngan nodded with a faint smile and turned to me.

  “Coffee,” I requested. “Black, strong as you can.”

  “No problem. I’ll return shortly.”

  Dr Ngan left us to it, and by the time he’d come back with our drinks, we hadn’t gotten very far. Perhaps sensing our frustration, he set the drinks down and retreated, a wise move.

  “We should start with current students,” I decided. “Look at ones who’ve been expelled this year, if there are any. Then any other expulsions or suspensions in recent years. Just, anyone who might have a reason to be vengeful against the uni, I suppose.” The memory of Will, the ex-student who’d bothered Taylor, returned to me again. I wanted to find his file, but I didn’t know his surname. I could have called her, but I wanted to avoid upsetting her, especially as we would find him in time if we worked methodically.

  “This academic year? Or the calendar year?” Stephen asked.

  I pulled a face. “Good point. This academic year, and the last one, since we’re barely into this one.”

  Stephen nodded, and we settled into work, plucking out any files from the cabinets marked for this year that had red-taped edges. Then, sipping our lukewarm drinks, we looked through them, looking at their degrees for anything animal-related, and at what the students were disciplined for. There was nothing that immediately jumped out at me, and it was frustrating. I’d started to hope that, with the slight forward movements we’d made recently, we were in touching distance of a breakthrough, but not yet, it seemed.

  “That’s weird,” I muttered, as we reached the end of the pile, which had been slowly increasing as we widened our search criteria. We’d gone through all the expulsions and suspensions in recent years, and yet there had been only one student called William, and Taylor hadn’t been mentioned in it.

  “What’s weird?”

  I looked up and winced at the stiffness of my neck. Rotating my arm, I stretched out my sore back and shoulders as I spoke, “Taylor and I had a run-in with a nasty ex-student of hers.” My shoulder gave a satisfying crack as I rolled it back. “She told me he was expelled for his behaviour, but I can’t find him.”

  Stephen looked intrigued. “What was his name?”

  I shrugged. “Will. I don’t know his surname.” I sifted through the pile of folders we’d built up and passed him the only one belonging to a student called either ‘Will’ or ‘William’. “There’s nothing in there about Taylor,” I said.

  Stephen frowned down at the file for a minute, before setting it down, his face thoughtful. “Two options,” he said, holding up two fingers. “One, Taylor was lying.”

  I immediately bristled, opening my mouth to protest. “Hey-”

  “Woah.” Stephen held up a hand. “I think we can both agree that that’s very unlikely,” he said pointedly. “S
he’s got no reason to, and you trust her. So what’s the other option? The file’s missing. Either mislaid by the uni, or gone missing by other means.”

  I blinked. “Oh. Yes.”

  “Or, actually, third option,” Stephen said, holding up a third finger. “The file hasn’t been marked by red tape, by accident, and it is here somewhere.” He waved at the filing cabinets. “You could ask Taylor if she remembers his surname?”

  “Good idea,” I muttered, pulling out my phone to do just that while Stephen looked pleased with himself. I sent off a text to Taylor, half wishing that I could just ask her about her day, rather than dragging up a past which had clearly been upsetting and scary for her.

  “We should check the academic staff, too,” Stephen offered once I’d sent the text, and I nodded.

  “Their files are probably stored elsewhere,” I sighed. “We’ll have to wait for Dr Ngan to come back.”

  In the meantime, we widened our search for students with violent or stalkerish behaviour and put aside the ones who seemed likely. It took most of the afternoon. It was getting towards the usual time that Stephen would head home, and I saw him check his watch a couple of times.

  “We’ll wrap up soon,” I promised. “Let’s finish with the ones going back five years, then that’ll be all. No-one usually waits more than five years for revenge, do they?”

  Stephen shrugged, still scanning the files as he said, “Honestly, it’s not usual for the killer to have waited months between threatening or marking out the victims before actually killing them. That does suggest patience.”

  I groaned. “You couldn’t just agree with me?”

  He rolled his eyes, going back to his reading. My phone buzzed, and I hurriedly picked it up, hoping it’d be from Taylor. I’d been a little concerned that she’d not replied in the couple hours we’d been here since I texted her, but then, I didn’t know if she was teaching, or out, or just taking a nap.

  I read the text which was short and to the point, and nodded to myself. “Taylor says she’s pretty sure his surname was Seton. William Seton.”

  Stephen hummed, standing up from where he’d been sitting on the floor, surrounded by folders. His joints clicked audibly, and he groaned as he stretched upwards. I reckoned I’d be the same when I tried to move, so I was putting it off. He ambled over to the right filing cabinet and looked through it for ‘Seton’ while I watched.