Silent Scream: An edge of your seat serial killer thriller Book 1

by Angela Marsons

  More intriguing than his wife’s profession was the total lack of facial movement when the man spoke. Croft’s forehead and upper cheek area had not moved once. For Kim, there was something surreal about the process of injecting a derivative of the most acute known toxin into your own body voluntarily. For a man approaching his fifties, it was positively obscene. She felt she was looking at the waxwork dummy and not the man.

  He waved at his surroundings. ‘Nina likes to live well and I’m just lucky that I have a wife that loves me very much.’

  The comment probably left his mouth as self-deprecating and with intent to charm. It met Kim’s ears as smug and self-satisfied.

  Probably not as much as you love yourself, Kim was tempted to respond – but was luckily prevented by the arrival of a tray being carried by a young slim blonde who also had damp hair.

  Kim exchanged a knowing glance with Bryant. Jesus, he and his wife didn’t have a moral fibre between them.

  She feared for the two perfectly groomed young boys in the photo on the brick fire surround.

  Once Marta had left the room Richard poured the contents of the silver pot into three small cups.

  Kim could see no milk and could smell no caffeine. She held up her hand and declined.

  ‘I’ve been meaning to come and see you to offer any assistance but I’ve just been so busy with my constituents.’

  Yes, Kim was sure they insisted he indulge in a midday romp with the hired help. Even the tone of his voice sounded disingenuous. She wondered if she might have found him more believable at the office. But here, amongst the luxury of his surroundings, knowing what he’d been up to, she couldn’t help the wave of revulsion that stole over her.

  ‘Well we’re here now, so if we could just ask a few questions we’ll be on our way.’

  ‘Of course, please, go ahead.’

  He took a seat on the sofa opposite and sat back with his right foot lifted onto his left knee.

  Kim decided to start at the beginning. Every cell of her being detested this man but she would try to ensure that her personal opinion did not colour her professional judgement.

  ‘You are aware that Teresa Wyatt was murdered recently?’

  ‘Terrible business,’ he said, without changing expression. ‘I sent flowers.’

  ‘A lovely thought, I’m sure.’

  ‘The least I could do.’

  ‘And you know about Tom Curtis?’

  Croft shook his head and lowered it. ‘Horrific.’

  Kim would bet her house he sent flowers.

  ‘Were you aware that Mary Andrews also recently passed away?’

  ‘No, I wasn’t.’ He looked towards his desk. ‘I must make a note to send ...’

  ‘Flowers,’ Kim finished for him. ‘Do you recall a staff member named Arthur Connop?’

  Richard appeared to ponder for a moment. ‘Yes, yes, he was one of the orderlies.’

  Kim wondered just what kind of assistance this man may have offered had he managed to find the time to visit the station, because he wasn’t being all that forthcoming now.

  ‘We spoke to him earlier today.’

  ‘I hope he’s well.’

  ‘He didn’t particularly wish the same for you.’

  Richard laughed and reached for his cup of green liquid. ‘People rarely remember their superiors with fondness, I find. Especially when those individuals are lazy. I had cause to reprimand Mr Connop on more than one occasion.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Sleeping on the job, shoddy work ...’

  His words trailed away as though there was more.

  ‘And?’

  Richard shook his head. ‘Just day to day corrections.’

  ‘What about William Payne?’

  Kim saw a slight shift in his eyes. ‘What about him?’

  ‘Well, he was the other night porter. Did he receive similar reprimands?’

  ‘Not at all. William was a model employee. You know of his personal circumstances, I assume?’

  Kim nodded.

  ‘William would have done nothing to risk losing his job.’

  ‘Would you say he was treated more favourably than Arthur Connop?’ Kim pushed. There was something here. She could feel it.

  ‘Honestly, we probably did turn a blind eye to one or two things.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well, we knew now and again that William would pop home at night if his daughter was having a particularly bad time or if his neighbour was unable to watch her, but he never left the girls unattended, so we let it slide. I mean, we knew about it but ...’ He shrugged. ‘Would you want to change places with him?’

  ‘Anything more than that? Arthur indicated ...’

  ‘Really, Detective. I think Arthur Connop was born bitter. If you’ve met him you’ll know that he is one of life’s victims. Every bad thing in his life has been the fault of someone else and not under his own control.’

  ‘And earlier today he may have had a point when a car drove into the back of him, leaving him for dead.’

  Richard Croft swallowed. ‘And is he ... dead?’

  ‘We don’t know yet but it didn’t look hopeful.’

  ‘Oh dear. What a terrible, tragic accident.’ He sighed deeply. ‘Well, in that case there seems no harm in my being completely candid with you, Detective.’

  ‘Please do,’ Kim said, unable to see the wild horses that appeared to be dragging words from his mouth.

  ‘Not long before the fire it was brought to my attention that Arthur had been supplying some of the girls with drugs. Nothing hard, but drugs nonetheless.’

  ‘Why?’ Kim asked, pointedly. If discovered, his actions would have cost him his job, a criminal record and potentially a few months in Featherstone.

  ‘William was the night shift caretaker, covered by a relief guy for his two nights off. Occasionally Arthur would step in and earn the overtime. Unknown to the rest of the staff, Arthur was spending the first part of his shift at the pub. A fact easily discovered by a group of occupants, who used the situation to their advantage.’

  ‘They blackmailed him?’ Bryant asked.

  ‘That's not really a word I'd like to use, Detective.’

  As the person in charge of the facility, Kim felt sure it wasn't.

  ‘Arthur obviously kept quiet through fear of losing his job.’

  ‘As well he should,’ Kim exploded. ‘He was responsible for the safety of fifteen to twenty girls aged anywhere from six to fifteen. Anything could have happened to those kids while he was gone.’

  Richard eyed her quizzically. ‘You condone the behaviour of these girls, Detective?’

  No she did not, but she was yet to find one single person to whom these girls had been entrusted that actually gave a shit.

  She chose her words carefully. ‘I do not. However, had Arthur been doing his job correctly he would not have been placed in that position in the first place.’

  He smiled his agreement. ‘Point taken, Detective. But the girls concerned were not model citizens.’

  Kim fought down the sudden rush of anger. The behaviour of the girls automatically made them amoral delinquents with no future or promise. And with role models like Arthur Connop, she was not the least bit surprised.

  Kim wondered at Richard's sudden disclosure about Arthur. What did he have to gain?

  Richard sat forward. ‘More tea?’

  ‘Mr Croft, you don’t seem particularly worried that all your old colleagues are dying at an unnatural rate?’

  ‘By my count there are two murders, one natural death and an accident that may or may not be fatal.’

  ‘What went on at Crestwood all those years ago?’ she asked, pointedly.

  Richard Croft did not miss a beat. ‘I wish I knew, but I was only there for the last two years of the facility’s operation.’

  ‘And in that time the number of runaways definitely increased, don’t you agree?’

  He met her gaze squarely but a flicker of irritatio
n was threatening his measured composure. Her technique had escalated from general to probing. He didn’t like that she was questioning the management of the facility during his tenure.

  ‘Some youngsters don’t like rules, no matter how well intentioned they are.’

  From Kim’s memories the majority of rules were set down for the convenience of the staff and not the occupants.

  ‘You've spoken about Arthur but how involved were you with the occupants of Crestwood?’

  ‘Not very. I was brought in to make organisational decisions, to operate the facility efficiently.’

  His constant use of the word ‘facility’ made Crestwood sound more like a secure unit at Broadmoor than a home for abandoned kids.

  ‘Mr Croft, do you have any reason to believe that any of your colleagues would have wanted to harm any of the girls?’

  He stood. ‘Of course not. How could you even ask such a question? That is a terrible thing to say. Everyone employed at the facility was there to take care of those children.’

  'For a monthly salary,' Kim said before she could stop herself.

  'And even people that were not,' he shot back. 'Even the pastor could not get through to some of these girls.'

  ‘What about Arthur?’

  ‘He made a mistake. He would never have harmed anyone.’

  ‘I understand that, Mr Croft, but we have the body of what appears to be a teenage girl buried in the grounds of Crestwood and one thing I can deduce with absolute certainty is that she didn’t get there by herself.’

  He stood still and ran his fingers through his hair; the only physical reaction to her words. His facial expressions were difficult to read beneath the Botox.

  ‘Mr Croft, did you or anyone you know file objections to Professor Milton’s dig on the land?’

  ‘Absolutely not. I would have no reason at all to do that.’

  She stood and faced him. ‘And finally, the last question I have before I leave you in peace. Where were you on the night of Teresa’s murder?’

  His face turned crimson and he pointed towards the door. ‘I would thank you to leave my property immediately. My offer of assistance is revoked and any further questions should be directed through my solicitor.’

  Kim moved towards the door. ‘Mr Croft. I am more than ready to leave your wife’s home and I’d like to thank you for your time.’

  Kim exited through the front door as a silver Range Rover pulled onto the gravel patch. The driver did not take the available space between the two others, indicating that something else was normally parked there.

  A slim female stepped out of the vehicle and retrieved a briefcase from the back seat. She wore a black business suit with a pencil skirt that fell just below the knee. The calves were lifted by four-inch heels. Her hair was black and glossy but pulled back into a severe ponytail.

  As they passed, Kim couldn’t help but notice that the woman was absolutely stunning. She was rewarded with a tolerant smile and a curt nod.

  ‘Okay, what the hell does she see in him?’ Bryant asked.

  Kim shook her head as she got into the car. The door closed behind the married couple. There were still mysteries in the world after all.

  Bryant started the car and put it into reverse. ‘Guv, are you ever gonna find a way to play nice?’

  ‘Of course I am, the very moment I find playmates that I like.’

  She sighed as she looked back at the property and for a moment thought about William Payne and his daughter Lucy. Fate most definitely had a flawed perspective.

  ‘What’re you thinking?’ Bryant asked as the gate slid open to release them.

  ‘I’m thinking about his reaction to the news of the buried girl.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘He never even asked if we’d made an identification. He wasn't shocked by anything we told him. The Botox may have numbed his face but it couldn't control his eye movement.’

  Kim’s gut had reacted unfavourably to Mr Richard Croft. He knew something, of that she was sure. But she was still chasing that elusive thread, that final piece of hanging cotton that once pulled, would unravel the secrets of Crestwood.

  Thirty-Nine

  ‘What did they want?’ Nina Croft asked, placing her briefcase down in the hallway.

  ‘They were asking about Crestwood,’ Richard answered, as he followed his wife into the kitchen. After fifteen years together there were two things about her that never failed to amaze him.

  The first was that she still looked as fantastic as she had the day they’d met. He had fallen head over heels in love with her and unfortunately for him, that had not changed since.

  The second was that the icy remoteness had not left her eyes for seven years.

  Nina stopped at the floating island in the middle of the vast kitchen. He stood on the other side. She faced him through the Le Creuset kitchenware that had never been used.

  ‘What did you tell them?’ she demanded.

  Richard lowered his eyes. Seven years ago, after the birth of his second son, he had been in the throes of euphoria. Watching his beautiful wife give birth had provoked in him such fierce protection and love he had thought the bond with his wife had been unbreakable. He had felt he could trust her with anything.

  Two days later, after settling Harrison into his cot, Richard had felt close enough to his wife to reveal the secrets held at Crestwood. They had not shared a bed again.

  There had been no anger, no recriminations and no threat of turning him in. A freezing fog had fallen between them and it had not lifted since.

  ‘What did they ask?’

  He recounted the conversation word for word. She showed no emotion at all until the final couple of questions. Only then did a muscle jump in her cheek. When he’d finished he felt a bead of sweat forming beneath his hairline as he waited for her response.

  ‘Richard, I told you years ago that I would not tolerate your past mistakes affecting my life or the lives of my children.’

  ‘Was that the night you left my bed forever, sweetheart?’

  Every now and again the barely tolerant tone of her voice was like a kick to the stomach and sometimes his backbone put in a surprise appearance.

  ‘Yes, my love, any attraction I felt died after your night-time confession. It would have been scandalous enough that an enquiry into Crestwood would have revealed your inability to keep your hands out of the facility's pockets.’ She raised her eyes to the ceiling as though speaking to Harrison. ‘To take money that was meant for those girls was reprehensible, my love,’ she said icily, ‘but what you did to cover it up. Well ... quite honestly, words defy me.’

  Once more he damned his total honesty to her that night. Yes, he had taken a little extra salary for himself. He had deserved it and the girls hadn't missed it. Their basic needs had been covered at all times.

  The disgust in the face of his wife found its way to a heart that refused to let her go. Croft’s immediate reaction was to strike back. To hurt her in a way that would provoke any measure of feeling.

  He tipped his head and smiled. ‘Well, at least I have someone prepared to offer me love, even if my wife will not.’

  Richard held his breath. Any reaction that contained real emotion would be welcome. Anything that would indicate the remnants of what they once had.

  She laughed out loud. It was not a sound born of joy or happiness. ‘You mean Marta?’

  This was not the reaction he’d expected. A sly smile was creeping across her face.

  The room started to close in on him. ‘You ... you know about Marta?’

  ‘Know about it, my sweet ...? I pay very handsomely for it.’

  Richard stepped back as though she had slapped him. She was lying. She had to be.

  ‘Oh Richard, you ridiculous old fool. Marta has a large family back in Bulgaria that she supports with this job. Her annual salary ensures that they eat. Her erm ... overtime sends both her brothers to school, so if she seems eager to have sex with you it’s be
cause she gets paid by the hour. And I am happy to pay, because she deserves every single penny.’

  Richard could feel the colour infusing his face as the ugly truth registered. Earlier today Marta had been quite insistent.

  ‘You cold-hearted bitch.’

  Nina ignored the insult and turned to the coffee machine. ‘I’ve told you before that I will not have even the hint of scandal attached to my name. I have worked very hard to achieve the life that I live and because of your public standing in the community I don’t mind having you along as a passenger. As long as you travel silently.’

  Richard felt the disgust at his life wash over him. His only use to his wife was the vicarious kudos of his standing as a member of parliament; a career which gave her an element of respectability that counter-balanced her unsavoury clientele.

  ‘Don’t look so shocked, my dear. It is an arrangement that has worked well and should continue to do so.’

  His skin crawled at the thought of sharing a bed with Marta after what he had learned. At times, Richard had felt they had a genuine connection and yet he had been nothing more than a salary enhancement.

  ‘But why Marta?’ he asked, still stunned from her admission.

  ‘My image is everything and I will not allow you to tarnish it. You are a man and you have certain needs but I would never tolerate you screwing some diseased whore out on the streets and putting my children in danger.’

  He watched as Nina took out her mobile phone. ‘Now, run along like a good boy while I continue to clean up your mess.’

  Richard stood on the cusp of a decision. His hands were clenched at his sides. He could turn and walk away, out of this house, away from Nina’s coldness and control.

  He could go straight to the police and release the burden inside him. He could be free of this woman and the life he led.

  He considered his meagre MP’s salary of £65,000. Even creative accounting with his expenses left daylight between him and a six-figure income. His monthly pay barely covered the house utility bills. The salary of his wife paid for the mortgage, the cars and the £5,000 pocket money that landed in his account on the first of each month.

  Richard’s clenched hands fell to his sides. He turned and walked into the study, carrying his balls on a nine-carat-gold dinner plate.