Campus Killings

by Oliver Davies

  Campus Killings

  A DI Mitchell Yorkshire Crime Thriller

  Oliver Davies

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  A Message from the Author

  Prologue

  I was expecting the doorbell to ring, but it still made me startle when it did. I made my way out of our plain kitchen and down the hall. The front door had a colourful glass panel about two-thirds of the way up, and I couldn’t see anyone standing on the other side. But the person I was waiting for wasn’t tall enough for that.

  “Liam Perry,” I said warmly as I opened the door.

  “Mr Mitchell.” He grinned up at me, his teeth still covered in braces and his bright red hair all askew from the wind. He’d grown a little since I’d last seen him but, even as I’d shrunk a fraction in my older age, he still only came up to my elbow. His freckles stood out, obviously having caught the summer sun, and his eyes were bright with interest.

  I waved him forwards. “You better come in. Sit yourself down in the lounge.”

  He saw himself through, and I heard the thunk of his rucksack being dropped on the floor. I fetched some of my wife’s cake out of the kitchen cupboards and brought it through.

  “You chose a good day to visit,” I said, offering him the plate. “The cake would’ve been gone by tomorrow.”

  Liam took the plate and sniffed it. “Looks great! What is it?”

  “Almond and chocolate.”

  Liam had his mouth too full to respond after that and I chuckled, picking up my lukewarm tea and taking a sip.

  “So,” Liam started, his cheeks still bulging like a hamster’s, “you liked the last story, right?”

  I nodded. “You wrote it up well. Very professional.” I had been genuinely pleased by how well-written Liam’s summary of my story had been, considering he wasn’t even out of high school yet, and I’d given him a long and sometimes complicated tale.

  Liam grinned, looking chuffed with himself. “Good! Have you thought of another one?”

  I lifted my eyebrows and took a bite of cake before answering. “Another story?”

  He nodded eagerly, already pulling his laptop and various bits of paper out of his battered school bag. His laptop seemed to have been covered in stickers since the last time he came, including various dinosaurs.

  “What kind?” I asked, wondering if he had anything in mind. “Because I don’t have got anymore based in Lockdale for-”

  Liam waved his hand. “Oh yeah, you moved to York. That’s good, that’s cool! My dad said that more exciting stuff happens in the city.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yep! And he’s a journalist, so he’d know.”

  “Is that why you do the school paper? To be like your dad?”

  Liam shrugged, wrinkling his nose. “I guess? I like it, it’s interesting isn’t it, to be the first to find out about all the cool stuff that happens, all the news. Not that a whole lot happens around here.”

  “Which is why you want tales of my police days,” I said.

  “Exactly! Lots of people liked the last one. They had no idea that a teacher at St. John’s had been- well, helped with a murder!”

  I winced. “She was a TA, I think, not a teacher. But yes.”

  Liam had sorted out his laptop and looked at me expectantly. “So what crazy stuff happened in York? After you moved there?”

  I sighed and rubbed my chin. “My first case as a DCI, there was a strange one. Certainly threw me in at the deep end.” I chuckled slightly, before sobering as I remembered more of the details.

  “Yeah?” Liam said. “Go on, Mr Mitchell, please?”

  I couldn’t help but smile at his keenness. “Okay then, lad.”

  One

  The student looked nervously around as he walked, darting sideways glances at passers-by whilst trying to seem entirely innocuous. He was heading through the sports fields, along the path towards Halifax college. Even now, with the sun barely above the horizon, there were a number of students out walking, off to grab a coveted seat at the library or staggering home after a night out that didn’t end.

  He felt like every one of them was staring at him, sending looks his way like he was doing to them. He looked too old, too out of place, with his wrong clothes and hair that hadn’t seen the inside of a barbershop in ages.

  Normally, he kept his head down as he walked and ignored the fact that other people existed at all. But the plastic bag hanging from his reluctant left hand kept hitting his leg, reminding him that he wasn’t just walking through the university, but that he had a job to do.

  The plastic bag’s contents were wrapped in three other plastic bags, terrified as he’d been of one of them splitting, or someone being able to see through them and stopping him to demand what he was doing. But even if the bag did look an odd shape, all the weight at the bottom, no-one had stopped him and made him explain himself.

  He’d been told to do it as early as possible. Students were out and about the least at this early hour, and he needed to get it done before the ones with nine o’clock lectures started leaving their halls. Halifax college was a ways from the main university, so students always left early to get there in time.

  Checking his watch, he nodded to himself in approval of it only being eight o’clock but still made himself walk a little faster, before he slowed himself down again, worried about seeming conspicuous.

  But eventually, he had made his way through Halifax and into the court where the flat was located, the bag hitting his knee with each step. When he was on the doorstep, he double-checked for cameras, even though he’d been told there wouldn’t be any, and then looked for students. He’d not noticed before how many windows each flat building in the court had, but it struck him now how any student could look out at the wrong moment and see him there. Most of the curtains were still closed at this hour.

  His heart pounding in his thin chest, he fumbled in his pocket and let himself into the flats, opening the door very slowly for fear of there being someone in the hall or coming out of the kitchen on the right. Then again, it would be better if he just walked in confidently, like he was doing absolutely nothing abnormal and there was no reason to take notice of him.

  This thought made him push the entrance door open more firmly, and he walked inside so assertively that he almost ran straight into the woman coming out of the communal kitchen.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, skirting around her before he darted up the stairs, climbing up to the third floor with his heartbeat loud and nervous in his ears. He waited anxiously there on the landing, but the student downstairs only climbed up to the first floor and didn’t see him loitering up there like an intruder.

  He released a shaky breath. Looking around the third floor, he noted the door numbers and fumbled in his pocket for his phone so that he could check the instructions. He’d been told to delete the texts after memorizing them, but he hadn’t trusted himself not to forget the details in his nervousness, and so he kept it saved on his phone.

  Finding the right room, he stood outside it whilst glancing behind him every few moments, fearful of a student coming out of one of the other rooms and catching him in the act.<
br />
  The faster he did this, the less likely he’d be to get caught and so he forced himself into motion, opening up the bag with shaking hands.

  Inside laid two dead birds. One was a juvenile male crow and the other an adult female magpie. Rushing though he was, he couldn’t help but gently stroke the feathers, finding them beautiful even with the birds’ bodies stiff, unmoving, and beginning to smell.

  Twisting again to look over his shoulder, he lay the birds outside the door like he’d been told to, before remembering his next instructions. He’d even been shown a rough sketch about how the birds ought to be arranged, and so he knelt down and carefully spread the wings out, angling both birds so that they looked to be in flight, just as he was supposed to. He imagined finding a display like this outside his own door, and how shocked but pleased he would be. Obviously, he knew that wasn’t the reaction this room’s student would have. He wasn’t stupid. He knew from his parents’ and brother’s reactions that most people found dead animals disturbing.

  But he tried not to think of the horror on his family’s faces and focused instead on getting the arrangement exactly right, turning the birds’ stiff necks. Their bodies had curled up in death, their feet tucked up, and he winced at a couple of small cracks he heard as he pulled the wings into place.

  It was done, and he stood up hurriedly, looking down at the birds with a sense of sadness. They’d not be appreciated, but instead viewed with horror and disgust. This had been a job, not something he’d wanted to do, but he would remember the birds.

  Grimacing at the loud crackle of plastic as he scrunched up the slightly sticky bags in his hand, he headed quickly downstairs, eager to leave now that he’d done what he had to. He made it outside into the fresh air and gulped it down like water, his skin flushed and tingling.

  As he hurried away, a large crow strutted across the college car park, and he froze to look at it. It looked back at him, head cocked with its bright eye locked on him. He felt like it knew, and he swallowed thickly, his legs feeling heavy as he made himself move forwards again. The crow took off, flapping hard to climb into the sky. He put his head down and walked quickly, the skin on the back of his neck crawling uncomfortably.

  Two

  York was noisier than I’d expected. After a lifetime of small Yorkshire towns, living in the city was going to be a change. I’d been to York countless times over the years and knew the streets, the bridges, the tourist sites and commercial shopping streets well, but it wasn’t the same as living there.

  The flat I was renting was five miles or so from the station in Hewford where I’d be working, with the recently promoted Gaskell as my superintendent. He was young to have gotten to such a position, but so was I, and I wondered who I’d be partnered with. My previous partner, Kay, had been more of a friend than anything and I’d miss her, her silly dog, and her wife’s baking.

  Setting down my final box of possessions at my new digs, all of which I’d lugged up two flights of stairs, I collapsed down on the old, saggy sofa that’d come with the place, pulling a face at the feeling of a loose spring digging into my tailbone.

  But the flat itself was pleasant; bright, relatively new, and a clean canvas for whatever I wanted to do with it. Its main selling point was the view of the city it offered. Pulling myself up off the sofa, I leaned down on the windowsill to look out on the rows of pale yellow brick under a cloudy, grey sky. It reminded me a little of being up on the moors and looking down on Lockdale, where I’d been stationed previously. Though Lockdale had been far smaller, and I couldn’t yet pick out much that was familiar in this view, compared with how well-acquainted I’d been with all Lockdale’s quirks.

  Perhaps too well-acquainted. I’d wanted bigger prospects and a new start, and I’d get that here. And it was only a drive over the hills back to Lockdale, if I wanted to see my old partner for coffee.

  Thoughts of coffee took me over to the small but neat kitchen, where the first thing I’d done after arriving had been to set up the kettle. After making myself a strong cup, I took my mug on a tour of the flat, wandering from the kitchen, through the central living room and into the bedroom at the back, which had a less pleasant view of the street behind and a number of bins. Rain had started falling, flecking the windows, and I almost smiled to see it. Though it was a big change, I was still in Yorkshire, and it was still raining. The feeling of being out of place lessened, and I began to think about what furniture I would need to make the flat comfortable. I had a look on my phone for the nearest supermarket, too, because my empty stomach was grumbling at the distinctly empty fridge.

  I started work on Monday and had until then to get my feet under me before I’d be thrown into the rushed business of city policing. York was hardly a nest of iniquity, but still, crime happened everywhere, and I expected there would be a good deal more here than Lockdale, and even Lockdale had hardly proved to be uneventful for policing.

  After spending the day unpacking, list-making, and going food shopping, I put my feet up and watched some nonsense TV. My mind was on work, though, as I wondered what my first case as a DCI would be, and whether the people at Hewford would welcome me, or see my background in countryside policing as something to hold against me.

  Despite the weather being surprisingly good on Monday morning, I took the car in. I’d not needed my own car at my previous post, what with being able to share a patrol vehicle with my partner and with Lockdale itself being small enough to walk from end to end in half an hour. Though I planned to run to the station in the mornings in the future, once I’d gotten settled, I hardly wanted to turn up red-faced and sweaty on my first day.

  The car was second hand and nothing particularly exciting. I’d always preferred making my way on my own two feet rather than driving, but that probably came from living in small towns.

  Parking up outside, I looked up at the blocky, sixties-looking, red brick building and took a steadying breath. It’d be fine. Inside, the station was dated but clean, smelling slightly of coffee and cleaning products. I was a bit early and hovered at reception until I was directed through.

  “DCI Mitchell,” a loud voice greeted me later, as I was sitting at my assigned desk after a morning full of introductions, form filling and an extensive tour. I turned around and smiled to see John Gaskell, who I knew from working with him on my last case in Lockdale.

  “Superintendent Gaskell,” I said warmly, and he chuckled.

  “We’ve both been promoted, lucky us,” he said wryly. “Have you met your new partner yet?”

  I raised my brows. “Not as yet, sir.”

  “He’ll be at the desk next to yours,” he said, nodding to an empty desk to my right. “I’ll take you to meet him now, he’s just on his break. He’s been working here his whole career, I think, good, solid lad.”

  I made a noncommittal noise, finding myself more than a little curious as Gaskell walked me towards the back of the big modern area, full of desks, with conference rooms lining the side walls. Gaskell had his name on an office at the front, with my desk fairly close by.

  Gaskell took me through to the break room, where a man was making a cup of tea with his back to us.

  “DI Huxley,” Gaskell said, and Huxley turned around. He looked a little older than me, with short, spiky brown hair entirely unlike my curls. His chin was blocky, and he sported a squashed nose, like he’d broken it a few times. He was tall and built like a wrestler, but I had a couple of inches on him in height. Still, he was an intimidating looking bloke. “Huxley, this is your new partner, DCI Mitchell.”

  I held my hand out. “It’s Darren. Good to meet you.”

  Huxley didn’t look like he wanted to shake my hand, or have much to do with me, but he eventually reached out and gave my hand a brief shake. “Stephen,” he offered grudgingly, before frowning at me. He held his mug of tea in front of him like a shield. He looked like he wanted to say something, before he glanced at Gaskell and decided not to.

  I tried to keep my face neut
ral even though I felt disappointed that my new partner didn’t seem to like me and we’d only been in the same room for two minutes.

  Gaskell cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, rubbing his hands together, “You two get acquainted. Huxley, make sure to move to your new desk. And there’ll be a case for you two by tomorrow, I’m sure. There’s always too much going on here.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said, and Stephen said the same before we both watched Gaskell walk away. I looked briefly at Stephen, but when he kept his lips pressed tightly together, I sighed and went to make a cup of coffee.

  “Where’re you from, then, sir?” Stephen said finally, after the kettle had boiled. If there was a coffee machine in the building, it wasn’t up here, and that meant I could at least make my coffee as lethally strong as I liked it.

  The way Stephen had asked made me think he already knew where I was from, and where I’d trained. “Small town called Lockdale,” I said evenly. “Heard of it?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Drop the ‘sir’, it’s okay,” I said, as I stirred my coffee. “You’ve been here a long time, right?”

  He inclined his head. “Came up from a constable here,” he said, sounding a little proud. “It’s a good place, good people.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” I said, turning back to face him as I leaned back on the counter. “Were you partnered with another DCI before me?”

  He narrowed his eyes at me briefly, as if the mention of my rank annoyed him. “Yes,” he said stiffly. “But she moved down to Devon to retire.”