STEALING POWER: A powerful psychological crime thriller (A Detective India Kane & AJ Colt Crime Thriller)

by Bo Brennan

  “He could be encountering them at service stations,” Tom said, eyeballing her. “That was one of the last known locations Caroline Connor visited before her attack.”

  “Good point.” Colt made a note on the board, adding to Lacey’s woes. She pursed her lips and shook her head. “It needs checking,” he said.

  “If they were random, we'd also get a wide spread of victim ages whereas ours are all within a very tight range, thirty-two to thirty-seven years old, without exception,” Lacey said, her voice showing the first signs of stress. “He has definitely pre-selected his victims. He stalks them, knows them. They're not strangers to him.”

  “She's right,” India said. “It fits with something Caroline Connor said in interview. He called her by her name.”

  Len sat back in his seat stroking his beard. “What else did she give you?”

  “A physically fit, well groomed, clean shaven smoker, who smells of Jack Daniels and Dettol,” Colt said.

  “A man who drinks JD and Dettol shouldn't be hard to find,” Lee mused. “How would she know he's fit anyway, I thought she was out cold?”

  “She felt him,” India murmured.

  “She wasn't unconscious,” Colt snapped, “just too bloody terrified to open her eyes.”

  “Are you sure this is the same guy?” Veronica said. “It doesn't fit with his pattern.”

  “It's the same guy,” Lacey said flatly. “He's trying to recreate what happened with Martha. He wants them to wake up during the attack.”

  “There was something else Caroline Connor said, something odd.” India flipped back through her notes. “Here it is. She said: his stomach was 'scratchy like stubble' and she felt something ‘warm, rustling like plastic’” A low level murmur went around the room.

  “Perhaps he shaves,” Vicky said.

  Tom laughed. “What, his stomach?”

  “What's wrong with that? An ex of mine used to shave all his body hair off. I had the pleasure of doing his back,” she said coyly.

  “You wanna stop dating those apes, Vicks. I'm available when you want a real man.” Sangrin winked.

  “Right then lippy, what have you got?” Len said.

  “Scene was same old, same old,” Lee said. “The SOCO was one of Vicky’s apes.”

  “I'm directing him,” Vicky said. “It's Neil Rodgers, very thorough and up to speed on the case.”

  “You'll like him, Jim,” Len said. “He's sharp.”

  “Good,” Colt said. “What else?”

  “We spoke with a friend of hers from the evening class who said everyone – smoker or not – went out for a cig break about forty-five minutes before the end of the lesson,” Lee said. “One of the college cleaners was leaving the room when they returned. It stuck in the friend’s mind because they normally wait until they've buggered off home.”

  “The cleaner didn't do a very good job either,” Tom added, raising his brows. “Left the friend’s empty water bottle on the table, along with Caroline’s half-drunk bottle of coke.”

  “The bastard spiked her coke,” Colt murmured.

  “The friend couldn't remember whether she finished it or not,” Tom said. “But he remembered her looking a bit spaced-out when she left.”

  “Do we know if they've got CCTV at the college?” Colt said

  “Been there, done that,” Lee said, raising his hand to Tom for a high-five.

  Tom left him hanging as he passed round some photos. “Camera stills of the cleaner entering and exiting the college room. None show his face,” he said. “We're still waiting for the petrol station footage, it’s got to come through the head office.”

  “This is our man,” Colt said, staring at the picture. He could feel it. “Is that a woolly hat he's wearing?”

  “We think so. The quality wasn't great, the tech guys have cleaned the images up a bit,” Lee said, scowling as Veronica made a note of that fact.

  “They're working on height and build measurements,” Tom said, “seeing if they can match this guy with the DVD images. I'll stay on them till we know something either way.”

  “I want to know more about his victims in relation to this route,” Colt said. “Why is he attacking in clusters? Could he be visiting their workplaces in the line of his work, like a travelling salesman or something?”

  “I'll need to carry out further analysis before I can give you a specific answer,” Lacey said. “But off the record, I don't think so. Not all of the women are even employed, let alone in the same line of work.”

  Len groaned in frustration and slumped back in his chair, weary and defeated looking. “Lacey, on the record or off the record, right now I don't give a flying fuck, please just give us something to go on.”

  Catching site of Lacey's glare, Veronica placed her pen on the table and folded her arms. “This is off the record until I've finished my analysis,” Lacey said, clasping her hands together on the table. “I think something else takes him to these areas, not the victims themselves. He's there specifically for something he does, the fact the women he's pre-selected are in the same area is a bonus to him. He knows who he's going to rape before he even arrives, that's why they're clustered.”

  “Should we be looking for something common to all the areas then, like a business or something?” Tom queried.

  Lacey grimaced and tilted her head. “This is meticulously planned down to the last detail,” she said, unwilling to commit to specifics.

  Colt spread his hands. “Lacey, is geography a factor or not?”

  “Think of it like taking an electric car on a long journey,” she said. “Before you set out you'd need to research and locate every charging point along your route, making sure all factors are compatible with your trip. Otherwise you wouldn’t get very far before you ran out of juice. That's what he's doing.”

  Colt stared at her.

  India tutted. “He knows them,” she said, offering brutal translation. “We just need to work out how.”

  Chapter 29

  “How are you getting on with Kane?” Len asked as they approached the bar.

  “Hard to tell,” Colt said. “She doesn't give much away.”

  “She likes you then, if she didn't she'd have told you by now.”

  Colt laughed and looked over at her, racking up the balls on the pool table. The woman was an enigma. She was back to her hard-faced aloof self today, like last night had never happened. “Usually when people like me, they smile occasionally,” he said.

  “She can't smile,” Len said. “She's got a plate in her jaw.”

  Colt frowned and turned to face him, leaning against the bar. “It's not in her file.”

  “There's a lot about India Kane that's not in her file,” Len said, staring straight ahead. “Don’t go there, Jim.”

  Pete headed straight for them, ignoring the person standing next to them frantically waving his money in the air. If they were talking about one of his girls, he wanted to bloody hear it. “What about India?” he said, planting his hands on the bar in front of them.

  “I was just telling Jim here that she's up for her Sergeant’s exam next year,” Len said. “She’s doing really well, Pete.”

  “Is that right?” Pete said, giving Colt the once over. “Your interest is purely professional?”

  Colt frowned. “I'm not sure anything else would go down too well with her boyfriend,” he quipped.

  Pete wasn't stupid, knew full well when he was being sounded out. Thank god at least one of them had seen this coming. “She doesn't need one of those.”

  Len shook his head and glared at Colt. “No. She doesn't.”

  “Usual round is it?” Pete curtly asked.

  Colt frowned harder and Len nodded.

  Pete glanced at India as he filled their pint glasses. Over the years he'd watched her grow from a hot headed rebellious and angry teenager, into a cynical and damaged young woman. The wounds of her youth hadn’t healed, they’d simply scabbed over. Sometimes he wondered if they’d done the right t
hing back then, if doing the best thing for all concerned had really been at her expense. Maybe if they’d handled it differently, she’d have had professional help and become better adjusted. The older she got, the louder the ticking of the time-bomb seemed to get. He glanced at AJ Colt, all grown up and going places, and hoped for all their sakes his father was wrong.

  “Do me a favour, Len,” Pete said, as he lined up the drinks. “Get her to pop over when she's got a minute, I need a word.”

  He stared after them, guilt weighing heavily on his soul. Pasting on a smile, he turned to the stranger who had abandoned his corner seat and now sat patiently waiting at the far side of the horseshoe bar. “Another Jack Daniels is it, sir?”

  “What’s his problem?” Colt said.

  Len shrugged, missed the red and sunk the white ball in the corner pocket.

  As the pub landlord and India engaged in hushed conversation at the bar, Colt scrutinised their body language, wishing he could lip read. Whatever they were talking about looked serious.

  Len tapped his cue on the floor, drawing Colt’s attention. “It's your go, hotshot.”

  “Sorry, I was miles away,” he said, surveying the table.

  “So I see.” Len glanced over his shoulder in the direction of India and Pete.

  Colt frowned as he fluffed his shot, got the distinct impression he'd just been tag teamed. He looked up just in time to see the pub landlord disappearing out back, and India hurriedly coming towards him. “Good timing, you're up next,” he said, holding out her cue.

  She walked straight past him and began collecting up her things. “I have to go,” she said, awkwardly getting tangled in her coat.

  Colt set the cue down. “Here, let me give you a hand,” he said, stepping forward and helping her to find her elusive coat sleeve. “Everything ok?”

  “I have to go,” she repeated, her voice panicky now.

  He braced her arms and held her jittery body in place, felt her stiffen at his touch. “India, what's up?” When her eyes darted up to meet his, he was sure they’d darkened in colour.

  “Get your hands off me,” she snarled.

  Immediately he stepped back, his hands suspended mid-air as though she was scalding hot to the touch. She silently scooped up her handbag and pushed past him, leaning in to whisper something in Len's ear. He nodded in recognition of whatever she was telling him and stepped back to let her leave. Colt’s gaze followed her across the bar until she disappeared through a door marked ‘Private.’

  He crossed to the window table – where his pint stood next to her untouched glass of wine – wringing his hands together. They seemed to have a mind of their bloody own where she was concerned, from now on they'd be staying firmly in his pockets in her company. Colt stared out into the floodlit car park, lifted his pint to his lips, and watched India and Gray Davies share a tender embrace before getting into her car . . . then realised he’d watched them embrace once before.

  Chapter 30

  Saturday 11th December

  “Wedding’s definitely off then?” Firman said as India took her seat. She shrugged and he sighed. “Well, pass on my commiserations or congratulations, whichever is most appropriate.”

  “Will do, Guv.” She looked around the half empty table, thought Saturday morning overtime would be more in demand this close to Christmas.

  “You never said you were going to a wedding,” Colt said.

  She frowned. “Why would I?”

  “Fair enough,” he laughed. “Back to being complete strangers it is then.”

  India pulled her notebook from her bag wondering exactly what he meant.

  “Ok Vicky, I know you're chomping at the bit so you can kick us off this morning,” Colt said, smiling.

  “I'm an open book,” she said. “You were right. He's a spiker. The lab found Flunitrazepam in Caroline Connor’s blood and urine samples.”

  “Fluni what?” Sangrin said.

  “Flunitrazepam. It's a member of the Valium family, only ten times more potent. Its legal use is as a pre-anaesthetic to surgery, but it’s better known by its brand name Rohypnol, or street name Roofie.”

  “Bloody hell,” Sangrin said, “surely you'd taste a dose of that in a drink.”

  “Originally it was odourless and tasteless, so in 1998 the manufacturers added a blue dye to make it detectable in drinks. As to whether it would be noticeable in cola or not,” Vicky spread her hands, “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “How the hell does someone get hold of that?” Sangrin said.

  “If you've got enough money you can get it on a private prescription in the UK,” Vicky said.

  “If you're in possession without one you're going straight to jail,” Veronica said sharply.

  India briefly looked up from her frantic note scribbling, wouldn't put it past Sangrin to be asking for his own personal perversion. “You can score counterfeit Roofies on any street corner,” she said, “and they come with the added bonus of no blue dye additive.”

  “Great.” Firman sighed. “So any Tom, Dick or Harry can get their hands on it.”

  “The growing prevalence of these types of drugs is a major cause for concern,” Veronica said, “but actual Rohypnol spiking is still pretty rare.”

  “Or is it that it's left the system before the victims know what's even happened to them?” Vicky said, sparking a heated debate on its low detection rate.

  While they all snapped at each other, India doodled and thought about Gray. Wondered if he was up yet and what he planned to do. She glanced up at the clock to find Colt watching her. She put her pencil down, turned to a fresh page in her notebook, and sat back in her seat crossing her arms. When he smiled at her, India frowned.

  “Lee, what have you got?” he said.

  “Techies have confirmed that the cleaner in the college CCTV matches the height and build of the DVD images,” Sangrin said, sliding a file across the table to him. “Everything you need to know about the cleaning company is in there.”

  “This is great, Lee,” Colt said, leafing through Sangrin's hefty dossier.

  Sangrin smirked at her. The wanker was still limping about like a wounded war veteran. He seemed to limber up after a couple of pints though she'd noted, or forgot which leg to limp on.

  “India, anything back from the social network sites yet?” Colt said, without looking up.

  “Nothing conclusive as yet,” she said. “I won't really be able to ascertain if there's any links there until all the info's back and I cross reference it with Mark and Lucy’s stuff. It's a pretty long winded process – maiden names, married names, some people don't even use their real names.”

  “So nobody’s leading any secret double lives then?” he said, raising his eyes to hers.

  India held her breath, shook her head and waited for the punch line. He had nothing to gain from spilling her personal life. His name wasn’t even in the book. And if he’d spent time with Sangrin – he’d know all about the book.

  Colt slammed the file shut and smiled at her. “Looks like me and you are off to the cleaning company today then,” he said.

  The ATOL Cleaning Company wasn't difficult to find, the premises occupied an entire corner of the Micheldever Industrial Estate.

  “That's refreshing,” Colt said, pulling into the parking bay marked 'visitors'. “I didn't expect the boss to be in on a Saturday morning. He's obviously not a golfer.”

  India frowned. “What makes you so sure the boss is here, and why are you assuming it’s a he?”

  Stepping from the car, he nodded towards the gleaming Porsche parked next to the entrance of the industrial unit. “The person who owns that doesn't mop floors for a living, that's for sure.”

  India tutted. “Just because there’s a nice shiny car doesn't mean it belongs to the head honcho, and it certainly doesn't mean it’s a man,” she said, her voice filled with irritation.

  “That's not just any nice shiny car, India,” he laughed. “That is a nice shiny 911 Spo
rt Classic.” He walked leisurely all the way around it, admiring it from every conceivable angle, even getting down on one creaking knee to peer underneath. “It was debuted in Frankfurt last year, they only made two-hundred and fifty,” he said, smiling at her. “That's a nice shiny car worth over a hundred grand.”

  Her eyes grew wide in astonishment. “They say there's money in muck,” she murmured. “Still doesn't mean it belongs to a man though.”

  “Oh, you have got a lot to learn about men and motors, Miss Kane,” he said. “The man who owns that car is a non-golfing, short, fat and balding egomaniac.”

  She jerked her head at his patronising tone. “I bet it’s not,” she said.

  Colt raised his eyebrows, leant in an inch from her face, and said, “I'll bet dinner on it.”

  India chewed at her cheek and stared at him. She’d been speaking theoretically and now he was challenging her. She spat in her palm and extended her hand. “I'll take your bet.”

  He screwed up his face. “Can't we just hug on it or something?”

  “Loser pays,” she said, staring at him with defiant eyes and a steady hand. There was no way he was getting one over on her, he could back down.

  “You’re on.” He grinned, spat in his own palm and clasped her hand tightly. “I'm looking forward to this; a beautiful woman's never bought me dinner before.”

  India rolled her eyes and headed for the door, hoping a blonde, twenty-something golf fiend with legs up to her armpits and pneumatic breasts, would turn out to be the driver.

  They sat on opposing sides of the decadent reception area in matching corporate coloured leather tub chairs, while the heavily pregnant receptionist tapped busily on her keyboard. They’d been waiting for over thirty minutes for her boss to finish interviewing her maternity cover replacement.

  Colt smiled when India looked at her watch for the umpteenth time, and wondered what the pressing engagement was this afternoon that she was anxious about missing. It certainly wasn’t a wedding. Without any warning she rose to her feet, walked straight past the receptionist and through the office door marked ‘Managing Director.’ Colt followed with the panicked receptionist at his back.