by Bo Brennan
“It could explain why he feels the need to send the evidence of his prowess to him,” Lacey said. “And he's only targeting women who were at University at the same time he was.”
Colt nodded, the theory made sense. He glanced at India, busy scribbling notes, and realised she hadn’t been judging, she’d been weighing. He'd spent so long being taunted in the cruellest way possible, forcibly bearing witness to each sickening act of depravity committed, that he hadn't been seeing clearly at all. He was too close. She was right. He really did need to get his head out of his arse. “Where does that leave us in terms of narrowing victims and suspects, Lacey?” he said.
“You need to study those yearbooks, James, and really think about the names and faces in them. Any altercations or crossed words, lovers, hero worshippers, male or female, needs to be noted down. You were quite something back then; it shouldn't be difficult to build a list of female lovers and male haters.”
Colt loosened his tie. He’d had too many women during those years to count. “Sounds simple in theory,” he said, slipping the tie over his head and unbuttoning his collar. “But in reality I was too busy with my head up my arse to pay attention to little things like names.” He tossed the tie on the table in front of India. It had the desired effect. When she glanced up to meet his gaze, in an otherwise poker face he could tell her eyes were smiling.
“What about your brothers and sisters, they went to all the games,” Lacey said. “Didn't Luke take some classes there too?”
“Only part time,” Colt said.
“But he was the brother of a star,” she smiled, “you'll be surprised the lengths some people will go just to get near their idol . . . or enemy.”
“I'm still in touch with a few old friends,” Colt said thoughtfully, “I'll ask about.”
“Be careful,” Lacey said.
“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” India murmured.
Colt ended the meeting with India's words ringing in his ears and wondered whether she currently considered him as a friend or an enemy. He'd give her some breathing space tonight, but tomorrow he'd make his move and ask her out to dinner. Tonight he had catching up to do.
Chapter 39
“It's ladies’ night at the club in town, my friend. You up for it?” Ray said, directing his gaze to the door as two women entered the wine bar. “Pull a couple of fitties, take ‘em back to mine, have a bit of fun,” he said, inclining his head.
“Tempting, but I've got my eye on someone,” Colt said, coyly.
“So?” Ray said, watching the two women as they perused the cocktail menu. “It never stopped you before.”
“This is different, she’s kind of . . .” Colt sipped from his pint, thinking of the right word to describe India Kane, “. . . special.”
Ray frowned. “How special?” He formed a wavy hourglass with his hands. “Or special needs?” he said, crossing his eyes and lolling his tongue from the side of his mouth.
“The first one,” Colt laughed, before sobering. “But it's more than that. She's . . . different.”
“What, she got three titties or something?” he laughed, jiggling his ample pecs.
Colt smiled and raised his eyebrows. “Not that I'm aware of.”
“You mean you haven't charmed her into bed yet?” Ray said, voice full of mock horror. “Shit, now there's a first. You’re losing your touch, Big Man.”
“It's not like that, mate,” Colt said, even though every second of every day it seemed to be like that lately. Images of her in his bed, his arms, his hotel room, on that rug in her lounge, consumed his every waking moment.
“That's all it's like,” Ray said, as though reading his thoughts.
Colt frowned and stared at his friend. “Have you never wanted to settle down?”
“Not after seeing what it did to you.” Ray sighed. “I did warn you, buddy.”
Colt took a long swig of his pint and remembered it well. Ray had braved his wrath to tell him he'd seen her with another man just weeks before the wedding . . . and still passed the ring with pride on the day he dived straight in and married her anyway. Not many friends would do that.
“This woman is the complete opposite of Lisa,” Colt said, beckoning the barman to refill their pints, and avoiding eye contact with the sexy brunette smiling his way. He and Lisa had slept together on the first date, well, screwed in the alleyway behind the nightclub they'd met in, ironically. The parallel goosed his skin, causing him to shudder.
“You got it bad, brother,” Ray said, studying him intently. “Aren't there rules about that shit, what with you being a Catholic and all?”
Colt spluttered on his fresh pint. “We haven’t even slept together yet. I’m not about to propose, mate.” Christ, he hadn't even got her out to dinner yet. If he ever got her between the sheets he'd intentionally take his time. Savour every moment.
“Your mother will be pleased,” Ray said. “Your marriage breakdown nearly killed her. She virtually moved into that bloody church, must’ve burnt her whole body weight in candles.”
“Thanks for reminding me.” Colt sighed and ran his finger down the condensation on his glass. He was in a bad place back then.
“Don’t go all ‘woe is me,’ mate,” Ray said. “I thought you were over all that shit.”
“I am.” Colt stretched his legs out before him and gulped at his beer.
“How is the leg these days?”
Colt smiled. “Good,” he said quietly. That's when the hairline cracks in the marriage became gaping great chasms – the day he came home from hospital and promptly threw out the private nurse she’d hired to look after him. They'd rowed furiously. He didn't want a stranger in his home doing what he had expected his wife to do. And she didn't want to wipe his arse or his fevered brow when there were champagne lunches with friends or endless pampering and preening sessions to enjoy.
“Earth to Jim.” Ray snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Come in Jim, your time is up.”
Colt frowned and swilled his beer in his glass, should’ve known she'd started screwing him when the credit card statements arrived. The amount of money pouring from his account into that salon would’ve covered the national debt. He never got a look in after the accident, all marital relations ceased.
“Whatever it is looks serious, mate,” Ray said, leaning across the table. “You’ve scared the chicks off.”
Colt followed Ray’s gaze, and was thankful the distraction had finally gone as the sexy brunette and her friend breezed out the door. “Do you remember that Italian bloke from Uni,” he said, “the one who set up the beauty salon?”
Ray laughed. “How could I forget? I didn’t get laid for three fucking years! He sucked all the fanny right out of the Art Faculty. If I’d have known pretending to be queer was a chick puller, I might have tried it myself.”
Colt spluttered on his pint. “No chance,” he said, wiping beer from his chin. “You’d never pull it off.”
“I’d have given it a bloody good go,” Ray said, deadly serious. “Don’t you remember the harem he amassed?” He blew out a long low whistle. “Moisturiser and mincing equals pluck and fuck, mate.”
Colt shook his head and smirked. “You’d give the game away as soon as you opened your mouth. Can you remember his name?”
“Remember it?” Ray said. “It’s on a great fucking hoarding opposite my studio; all the hot chicks still gravitate there now. That Gino Spinelli is one lucky little bastard.”
Chapter 40
Wednesday 15th December
India sat in the car park uneasy to see Colt’s Lexus not in its space yet. An early riser, he was always first in. Some mornings, judging by the amount of frost already covering his car when she arrived, she wondered if he’d slept there.
She hadn't been getting much sleep herself lately; the nightmares of old had returned with a vengeance. This case had wormed its way into her head. He couldn't be sleeping at all – it had been worming its way into his head
for years.
There were still fifteen minutes to go before the meeting started. She pulled her phone from her coat pocket and tapped it lightly against her thigh. If he'd overslept a quick alarm call could still get him here in time.
India slunk down in her seat as Foxy’s sleek silver Mercedes sped into view, swinging smoothly into the space three bays away from her own. The space reserved for Colt. She watched her long slender legs swing to the floor from the driver’s seat as the goddess emerged radiant and smiling in all her glory. A worse for wear Colt clambered from the passenger seat to take her bags.
India’s eyes narrowed when Foxy slapped his arse half way across the car park. He'd told her they weren't an item, but it didn't mean she believed him. India’s eyes and instincts had always told her more truths than any man’s tongue.
“Still no Mark?” Colt ran a hand across his unshaven jaw. God he felt like crap.
Len slowly shook his head. “We'll talk after,” he said quietly, casting his eyes skywards.
Colt pursed his lips, intrigued. “Ok everybody, settle down,” he said raising a hand, desperate for the volume to decrease.
“James is a little bit fragile this morning,” Lacey mused. “Bear with him.”
He scowled at her for revealing his school night indiscretion. “I met up with an old friend last night and we compiled a list of twelve possible names that need checking out,” he said.
“Ha, he's got a hangover,” Lee laughed. “So he is human after all.”
“Let's just say last night the beer flowed, and this morning Dr Fox drove,” Colt said. “What have you got from the Uni analysis, Lee?” He hoped they had something, the less talking he had to do this morning the better.
Colt settled back in his seat, relieved when Tom and Lee eagerly took to the floor and faffed about fixing a flip chart to the A-frame in the corner. India let out an exasperated sigh when their flipchart slid off the frame for the third time in quick succession. Colt glanced her way. Her mug of black coffee looked like a good proposition; his mouth felt like the bottom of a parrot’s cage. He leant across the table, picked up her mug and took a sip.
She frowned at him when he put it back down in front of her. “Keep it,” she said.
“Right, we’re ready,” Lee said.
“During the three year time window Colt was at Winchester University, a total number of 11,812 students passed through the doors,” Tom said, pointing to the figures on his colourful chart. The room filled with a collective exasperated groan and Colt took a long blink of dismay.
“Stay with us it does get better,” Tom promised, although the assembled faces looked loath to believe him. “Although all the victims attended University during the same time as Colt, unfortunately there’s no correlation between courses or the year they started.”
“But they were all full-time students and UK citizens,” Lee added.
“By focusing on full-time students we can cut that figure down to 8,032,” Tom said, flipping the page. “And by removing the 321 International students we're down to 7,711.”
“A needle in a bloody haystack,” Len grumbled, crossing his arms.
“The picture becomes a lot more attractive when broken into potential victims/suspects.” Tom smiled as he flipped the page again. “4,627 female students and 3,084 male students.”
A murmur of appreciation spread through the room, a suspect pool of just over 3000 was still a mammoth task, but manageable, and a bloody major boost from the unknown quantity they'd been struggling with so far.
“Sorry, I forgot to add the male staff onto that,” Tom muttered, inciting another wave of down beat sighs to surf around the table as he scribbled frantically on the page like it was an episode of Countdown. “650 staff, 455 male, add this to the 3,084 students and our suspect list is 3,539.”
“3,538,” Lee corrected. “You forgot the minus one by ruling out the DCI.”
“That's better news than I was expecting,” Colt said.
“Which bit,” Lee mused, “us ruling you out, or the total figure?'
“Both. It gives us a good solid base to work from.”
“Do the records provide the students ethnicity?” Vicky said. “We could thin them out using the DNA profile from the attack on Caroline Connor.”
Tom sighed. “No, they didn't start collecting that info until 2000.”
Colt scrubbed a hand over his head. They had a lot to work through, and the estate agent was still under surveillance leaching their investigation resources. That couldn't go on indefinitely. “Is Martin Kennedy on that list?” he said.
Tom nodded. “He is indeed.”
Colt drummed his fingers on the table. Indefinitely it was then.
“We can pinpoint his potential victims by cross referencing their addresses against the A34 corridor,” Lee said.
“Waste of time,” India said. “You’d have to find their current names before even trying to locate their current address.”
“So what’s your bright idea then, Einstein?” Lee snapped. “It’s easy to knock other people’s input when you’ve got nothing constructive of your own to add.”
“The potential suspect pool is smaller,” India said eyeballing him. “It makes sense to concentrate there.”
“I agree with India,” Vicky said. “It’s just over three and a half thousand, we can easily arrange a voluntary DNA screening for that amount.”
“I can make it high profile main-stream news,” Sly added. “A bit of press pressure should weed them out, and it would boost public confidence that the investigation hasn't stalled.”
Lee huffed and dropped into his seat like a stroppy teenager.
Colt stared at the figures they’d put on the board, then at the victims’ faces. They needed to reduce the suspect list, and fast, before he killed again. But it was possible to reduce the victim pool. They knew where the fucker was striking right now. When the tech guys had finished formatting the University data, they'd be able to kill a whole flock of birds with one stone. It would be easy to cross reference the information with every database at their disposal.
“How long before the tech team have a handle on the data, Lee?” Colt said, catching him off guard. Lee looked to Tom for the answer. He looked equally bloody clueless. “Find out,” Colt said, smoothing the frown lines between his brows. “I want you two to narrow the potential victims –”
“We’ll send a generic warning letter to . . .” Lee enthusiastically interrupted.
Colt raised his hand to shut him up. “I want it narrowed to Hampshire, and no letters. Local officers can warn them in person,” he said. Generic letters had a nasty habit of finding their way into the media. “As soon as the information is formatted, I want you to run these names against the suspect pool first.” He slid his drunken handwritten list of University haters across the table.
“He's offended before,” Lacey said. “It’s worth running the whole University suspect list to see what comes back.”
“You got all that, you two?” Colt smiled when Tom and Lee nodded vigorously in unison. “India and Vicky get going on a DNA screening programme. Sly, you and I will work on the press release.” Len coughed a gentle reminder of the private word he wanted. “Start without me, Sly, there’s a couple of things I need to deal with first.”
The team sprang to life, and one by one began leaving the room in an excited buzz of chatter.
“India, before you leave I'd like a word please,” Colt said, catching her eye as she headed for the door. She loitered in the doorway as the room emptied, just Colt and Sly remained in their seats. “Sly, would you mind stepping outside for a moment please,” he said, rising from his seat. Sly immediately left the room, closing the door behind him.
Colt saw the cold fix of her steely blue gaze, the hard set of her jaw. He knew the stance of battle when he saw it, and hers was particularly fierce. She was undoubtedly the most infuriatingly confrontational woman he'd ever encountered. Everything was a battle, and a sore l
oser, Colt was intent on winning.
“I owe you dinner,” he said, thrusting his hands in his pockets. “How are you fixed tonight?”
She stood motionless, her battle stance unswerving, her cold eyes regarding him with deep suspicion. She was a funny one all right, he thought, his lips curving at the corners.
“Did you just ask me out to dinner?” she said.
“We had a bet, I lost,” he said matter-of-factly. “My father taught me never to welch on a bet and I don't intend to now. I owe you dinner. Tonight works for me. What about you?”
His eyes glinted with amusement as she shuffled on the spot. Hands that were previously set rigid on her hips were now wringing together in front of her. The cold hard stare gone as her eyes flitted nervously around the room. He'd caught her off guard, and he enjoyed it, liked her softer edges when she revealed them in fleeting lapses of composure.
“Ok,” she said hesitantly.
“The restaurant is great at my hotel, you'll love it.” He smiled. “I'll pick you up at nine-thirty.”
“No you won’t,” she said. “Olivio’s down the road from mine, I'll meet you there.” And then she turned on her clumpy boots and was gone.
Olivio’s, Colt thought, sounds Italian. He'd never heard of it, but he'd make damned sure he was there tonight at nine-thirty. It hadn't gone exactly as he'd planned, but at least he'd finally get the pleasure of her company, alone, in a neutral setting. Baby steps, he thought to himself as Sly re-entered the room. Softly softly catchee monkey.
The first sign something was wrong was Len dropping his office blinds. Colt remained standing when he sank wearily into his seat. “What's up, Len?” he said cautiously.
Len Firman silently slid an evidence bag across the desk towards him. Peering inside, Colt saw two familiar envelopes and a folder. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and removed the contents.