by Coles, Linda
Twenty-One
Daring himself, Colin Hayhurst glanced down at the text, the image and the message. Two words, ‘your move’, in what looked like blue ink scrawled on the chest of a young man’s body. It could have been tattooed there. Not that it mattered since he knew the body was no longer breathing to care. Angry red bruises around the neck glared at him as if to say, ‘you did this, you’re responsible.’ Perhaps he should have gone to the police right at the beginning, maybe they could have stopped it, but that would have meant his own involvement and his own secret floating to the surface like cream on milk, though it would have been sour. He couldn’t have risked it, and whoever it was that had killed the youngster had tested him. The text had landed yesterday and yet he still hadn’t deleted it, and certainly hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, not at home or work, and certainly not to the police. It would have come from a burner phone anyway, that was how things worked these days. Why risk adding your DNA to a note or cut out letters from a newspaper and stick them in order to create words like criminals did in the past. There was no need to take the risk, modern forensics saw to that. Plus, he’d called the number from a payphone in town, it had been dead.
He felt the intense heat as it surfaced from somewhere around his middle and floated upwards, covering his chest, tightening it until he almost gasped out loud. Raising a hand to his forehead, he wasn’t surprised to find it was bathed in a fine film of sweat. His trousers made a convenient place to dry his hand and he rubbed his leg vigorously before attempting to slow his breathing down. Was he having a heart attack? Was this what it felt like, no real pain but immense discomfort?
There was a knock at his door, which immediately opened, and he slipped the phone away as nonchalantly as he could. No one would be any the wiser to what he’d been looking at; it was just a phone after all. A woman with long dark hair tied in a tight ponytail entered the room – it was Katherine Spencer, his deputy. She carried a folder filled with papers as she headed for his desk. By the look on her face, she didn’t look happy about something and he wondered if the woman knew of his intense dislike for her. It would have been hard for her to not know. He caught her eye as she placed the file down on his desk in front of him and, as was habit of hers, took two paces back before speaking. Perhaps she’d been military trained overseas in a previous life and been reincarnated with the sole purpose of grating on his nerves.
“Yes, Katherine?”
“For your signature, if you would, please.” Colin looked down at the file in front of him and wondered about its contents. Katherine must have read his mind because she added, “Contractor’s invoices, for the development.” He nodded his approval and refrained from letting the smile on his lips develop any further.
“Leave them with me, would you.” Katherine turned and was about to leave when he said. “If anyone is brewing up, mine’s a tea.” Without replying, she walked away. The sound of the door clicking shut was the sign he could raise a bigger smile, and he opened the folder and started to read, calculating the figures in his head.
His phone buzzed, and as he looked at the screen, it wasn’t a number he recognised. That was common enough for him, but in light of the image text he’d been looking at before Katherine had barged in, he was cautious. Tentatively, he opened the message and immediately wished he hadn’t bothered. Another naked chest, another message in blue. ‘Touch move’. And so soon? More red welts around a young man’s neck. Colin tossed his phone across his desk, hoping it would dislodge the image forever. He struggled to control his breathing again as pain shot into his chest like molten hot wires piercing his heart. He held on, waiting for it to pass, for the feeling of normality to resume once again. The attacks were coming more regularly than of recent and he suspected he knew the reason why. Perhaps now it was time to go to the police, put a stop to it all and forget his longer-term plans before someone else got killed. Or the stress killed him. He knew the picture was of a different young man, and that worried him. Colin leaned forward out of his chair and, with one swift movement, grabbed his waste-paper basket as his stomach projected his lunch straight into it. When the spasm finally receded, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and tried to steady himself.
He didn’t notice the sound of the door gently closing once again. Someone had been in the room watching.
Twenty-Two
Will was driving along the A45 towards Wootton Hall Park in the hope that DI Mason would stick to her treatment time at the hospital. He’d given himself twenty-five minutes spare, just in case she decided to leave a little earlier than she had yesterday, and since he had no idea if that had been her normal time, had no clue if today’s would be the same. He could only hope. He was about to make the turn for headquarters when his phone pinged with a fare request. It had to be her! He slowed a little, looked at the address and saw it was Newport Pagnell Road. It hadn’t been what was expected or hoped for, and he was about to decline the fare when something told him to double-check the details. Eleanor House, Newport Pagnell Road. Pickup for the hospital. Rochelle. Will’s spirit jumped a notch as he increased his speed and headed for the alternative address he’d been given. Rochelle must have been working from another location; he wasn’t even aware the police had another office, but then he remembered his Google search of the EMSOU. A special task force wouldn’t work out of a local station, it made sense. They’d have a designated space available for such operations, and he was heading there right now. As he turned into the car park, he could see her standing waiting, head in her phone again. Perhaps she was watching the app, and his particular dot heading towards her, but since she didn’t look up at his arrival, he assumed it was something more important, a report maybe. He got out as usual and headed for the rear door as she finally lifted her head. The blue appeared to be fading slightly, he noted. As she recognised him, he smiled brightly her way.
“Hello again, DI Mason,” he beamed. “What are the chances, eh?”
Did he detect a slight eye roll?
“Indeed,” she said, getting into the back seat. “Let me guess, you just happened to be in the area?”
There was no point in lying, she was a detective for good reason. “Got me there,” he said, keeping things upbeat, “though I’d no clue you’d be over this side. Is there an office over here, then?” He started the engine and pulled away, destination the general hospital.
“I’m sure you’ve already done your homework. And yes, the task force is here. We have a couple of satellite locations, depending on what is needed for what crime.” He watched her in his mirror and said, “And you’re seconded to the task force, I’m assuming?”
“As the local DI, yes.”
“I spoke to DC Flint not long ago and told him about a missing person I reported yesterday, another Refresh user. He wasn’t aware of it. Will it get investigated more now, since there could be a link with Clyde’s initial disappearance?”
“If the team think there is a link, then yes, but it is likely he’s gone off of his own accord, which in this case is the best outcome. I know you’re putting two and two together and coming up with a neat four, but there could be a more favourable explanation.”
Will nodded his understanding, she wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know. But still, Jonesy was missing, and he wanted to make sure his case was being given the attention it deserved. It didn’t feel like it was.
Reading her signal, Will could tell she wasn’t happy talking about it and so stayed silent as they approached the hospital. Perhaps she felt guilty about informing Will of the preliminary cause of death when they both knew she had taken a momentous risk in saying something. He pulled up outside the hospital entrance, and she let out a long sigh before speaking.
“Thanks. I’ll be twenty minutes or so.” She was about to walk away when she added, “You know, I don’t know your name.”
“It’s Will, Will Peters. At your service, madame,” he said, bowing and then removed a card from his wallet and hande
d it to her. This time, he wasn’t going to forget it. He watched as she headed inside and then returned to his car to wait, keeping an eye out for a pesky traffic warden. As usual, the hospital grounds were a constant flow of people coming and going, many in scrubs and others in street clothes. Tiredness appeared to be a common look for both workers and the worried, those with friends or relatives inside receiving treatment. With the warm sun streaming into the car, Will was tempted to snatch forty winks, but after the last time, he rearranged himself into a more alert, upright position to stop himself drifting off. He remembered his Twix he’d bought from the van earlier and retrieved it from the glovebox before biting into a stick. He was just about to start on the second biscuit when he spotted a head of hair that he thought he recognised. Ambling along and walking straight towards his car, the dishevelled person looked a lot like Jonesy. Will stopped chewing. Were his eyes deceiving him? He took another look as the young man got closer before leaping out of his vehicle.
“Jonesy?” he called out.
The individual lifted his chin and searched for where the voice had come from.
Will called again as he approached, sure this time of who it was. “It is you!”
Jonesy’s pimply face broke into a smile, “Hi Will, of course it’s me, who did you think it was?” Will noticed the purple bruising around one eye, the dried blood of a deep cut on his upper lip. He’d taken a beating, and recently.
“What happened to your face?” he asked.
Jonesy lifted his hand to his eye, touching it softly with dirty fingers. “I got jumped, knocked me out. When I came to, I was out on the Towcester Road on the other side of town. Funny thing is I don’t know how I got there – I certainly didn’t walk.” He grinned and Will watched as grimy fingers moved to the deep cut; it must have stung at being stretched into a smile.
“Did you see who did it?”
“Well, that’s the funny thing. Who jumps a scruffy guy like me? It’s not like I’m worth much, I don’t have any cash and apart from my black eye and split lip, I’ve not been touched. Someone thought it would be fun, I suppose.”
Will understood what the lad was telling him, he hadn’t been sexually assaulted, something those that lived on the streets were often subjected to. That and being urinated on for fun, usually by groups of men after having had a skinful in the pub. Will did some quick calculations in his head and realised that Towcester Road ran towards Hunsbury Hill. Coincidence? Not likely. Will could feel the presence of another person standing close by and turned to see that DI Mason had returned.
Twenty-Three
“DI Mason, let me introduce our missing person, Jonesy,” Will started, aware the lad’s presence needed explaining and that the police needed to know Jonesy was no longer AWOL. They could then close the case, if it had even been open.
Having glanced at his grubby state, she refrained from offering to shake his hand, and instead said, “You’re back, that’s good news.” She turned to Will, a question in her eyes.
“It seems Jonesy here was jumped, hence the black eye and split lip,” Will said resignedly. It happened a lot. “But the part you might be interested in is that it sounds like he could have been taken, abducted if you like, since he woke up on Towcester Road, out of town, and he didn’t walk there himself.” He let her do the geography. She was a smart woman, but would she come to the same conclusion? After a moment or two of silence, Will almost heard the penny drop. Jonesy picked at a fingernail.
“Let’s get in,” she said firmly, heading for the back seat. Jonesy followed and Will instructed him to sit up front with him, catching her look of discomfort in his mirror. She’d just had her radiotherapy treatment, and if the previous day was anything to go by, would need a nap, though he doubted with Jonesy in the car she would even try. Will wondered about her lunch and regretted not getting a sandwich for her.
“Back to Eleanor House, then?” Will enquired. “Or Wootton Hall Park?”
“Eleanor House, please. The task force will want to hear this,” she said, reaching for her phone and choosing a contact. Phoning ahead, Will assumed. He was right. As he listened to one side of a conversation, he wondered if Jonesy had twigged about what had almost certainly happened to him. Did he even know about Clyde’s death? When her call finished, he turned to Jonesy and asked, “Did you hear the news about Clyde, Jonesy?”
“News? Clyde?”
“Unfortunately, Clyde was found dead a couple of days ago. Hazel and I identified his body. It’s all very sad.”
“Shit! What happened?” Jonesy stared at Will, shock all over his face. Will decided he’d said enough, especially as he’d already shared the information with Birdie, which was precisely what he’d promised he wouldn’t do. DI Mason could decide what to say. Will caught her eye in the mirror.
If looks could kill, he would have been lying next to Clyde in the refrigerated storage in the bowels of the hospital.
“I can’t say, I’m afraid. Not yet. The super will be issuing a statement to the press sometime soon. It’s an active investigation, and I can’t comment.”
“But he was murdered, though, I’m guessing?” Jonesy asked. “He wasn’t ill or something, then?”
“I can tell you a team are looking into his death. I’m sorry.” Her final comments told them the discussion was over, about Clyde anyway.
Jonesy was busy putting two and two together in his head. “Wait a minute. Where did they find his body?”
Will took it. “Hunsbury Hill Country Park.” He figured he knew where the thinking was going.
“And you get there down Towcester Road… where I found myself.”
“There are other ways to get there,” Rochelle said, “but yes.”
Jonesy turned round to face DI Mason and said, “You think I was kidnapped?”
“That’s what we’ll want to ascertain, when we talk to you properly. You may have valuable information about what happened to you, so we need to gather everything you remember down on paper.”
He turned back to Will. “I’ve only ever got grief from the police, and now you want me to help them?” It was hard not to notice the raise in pitch as the lad spoke. There was also a trace of something else. Will detected panic.
“Help Clyde, not the police. Plus, I’m sure DI Mason here is not interested in anything minor you may have done in your past. This is a murder investigation, and far more serious than nicking a packet of bread rolls.”
He turned up Newport Pagnell Road and towards the task force building. This time, he pulled into a parking space properly, and the three of them stepped out of the vehicle. DI Mason led the way. Will checked the time. He had to be back at the cemetery before 5 pm to fill the grave in that he’d dug that morning. He hoped he wouldn’t be too long with Jonesy, but finding Clyde’s killer was important. He also hoped whatever Jonesy remembered was worth something to the investigation. At eighteen, Clyde been far too young to die.
“Am I in trouble?” Jonesy asked Will when DI Mason was out of earshot and talking to a colleague. Will could feel the lad’s nerves jittering and hoped he wasn’t using.
“Not in this instance, no. Unless you’ve done something more than shoplifting of recent?” Will searched the lad’s eyes for a clue; the whites weren’t as bright as they should be, but he didn’t see anything else there but a little fear.
“Just trying to live.”
When DI Mason returned, Will asked, “Can I accompany him? It might make things a bit easier.”
“Well, it’s a little unusual, but I see your point.” She turned to Jonesy and added, “It is, however, an informal interview, and you’re free to leave at any time. Just so you’re aware.”
He nodded his understanding.
“Follow me, there’s an interview room just down the corridor. Would anyone like a tea, coffee?” Two ‘no thank you’s as they followed dutifully, and she held the relevant door open for them both. Jonesy took a seat, but Will stayed standing. He’d been sitting down for m
ost of the day and his long legs were beginning to grumble.
Will listened with interest as the conversation got under way, about how Jonesy had been minding his own business, walking along St Giles Street in the dark, near the post office. He’d estimated it being around 11 pm, the town centre fairly quiet at that hour during the week. He’d remembered stopping briefly to light a cigarette in a nearby doorway, out of the breeze that had been blowing. There was a cut-through near there, Fish Street. There’d been a male voice, asking for a light and he’d obliged. All he remembered was he was scruffily dressed like himself, was of average height and build, and had been white. That was all he remembered. When he came to, he was a way out of town, in the cemetery. It had been dark still and he’d no idea how long he’d been knocked out. He’d felt drowsy, so had curled up in a corner of the yard where he’d woken the following day with a splitting headache, split lip and still no clue how he’d got there.
By the end of the interview, Will could tell DI Mason wasn’t exactly jumping with joy at the information. With no clear description of the man or any possible accomplices, it was a long shot finding them.
Twenty-Four
The killer should have finished the job earlier. Getting him to the cemetery had been risky, a feat in itself since things hadn’t turned out quite the way they were supposed to. Another unsuspecting, naive volunteer had helped, knocked the lad to the ground then watched as chloroform had been applied to lad’s mouth. While killing him was to be the endgame, it would have made the rest of the plan too difficult to pull off. No, they needed their victim alive at a certain point, needed control at every stage. Otherwise, mistakes would be made, and that could leave a trail back to them.
The cemetery seemed the most obvious place under the circumstances. Few frequented them by night, and those that did, that hid their elicit acts behind the taller headstones, had other things on their minds. By the time they’d dropped the lad behind the wall at the cemetery, his body was already in distress, his breathing a giveaway as to what was happening inside of him. It was easy to overdose with chloroform, applying too much too quickly, but in the heat of the moment, there had been so much fumbling, nerves shot, that accuracy had gone out the window. There had been no foreseeable way to get him into the tunnel, or up to Hunsbury Hill, not like that, and so there’d been no choice but to leave him and hope he woke up without any knowledge of what had happened. The whole escapade had been one giant cock-up.