Kiss and Hell (DI Olivia Austin Book 3)

by Nic Roberts

  Cathy lowered herself down, thin legs neatly crossed to the side, and nodded at everyone.

  “I’m sure you’re aware and were informed that identifying remains can take a number of weeks.” She glanced at Olivia again.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Linda answered. “So, you don’t have an answer?”

  Cathy took a deep breath.

  “It’s unfortunately not as simple as that,” she pointed out. “Do they know who the body belongs to yet? No, they don’t.”

  This garnered a groan from Geoff who buried his head in his hands.

  The FLO gave him a sympathetic look.

  “That’s not to say I don’t have information,” she added. “Due to how important this case is with many senior members of staff, many of whom covered the case in their previous roles, and of course, our colleague Olivia being closely related, identification was fast-tracked as much as possible.”

  Liv felt her chest warm.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I... we honestly appreciate it. If you’re unsure who the body is... was, what were you able to find out?”

  Cathy nodded, taking in every word with a gentle smile.

  “We were able to confirm that, based on the skeletal remains found, Alexander Austin has been ruled out as the unfortunate victim.” She pursed her lips and let the news settle.

  The words felt like a slap, unexpected and stunning. It was as if the air was sucked out of the conservatory for a moment; Olivia looked around at her family, trying to gain understanding from their faces. Everyone looked as befuddled as she felt inside.

  “I’m sorry—can you say that again?” Olivia’s father’s voice stuttered as he spoke, and Olivia noticed that his cheeks were streaked with two parallel lines.

  “I can indeed,” Cathy answered and despite her gentle tone, she sounded so clinical, so detached. Is that what Olivia sounded like when she delivered news to grieving families? “The body we recovered is not your son. I’m sorry that you were contacted prematurely.”

  Olivia didn’t know whether her shoulders were trembling because she was laughing or crying.

  “How?” she heard herself ask. “How did they know without a full profile?”

  Cathy clasped her palms together, the emerald ring on her wedding finger matching her eyes slightly. Her office persona had evaporated entirely, and she barely recognised the gentle soft-spoken woman in front of her. A world away from the energetic, ‘loud-laugher’ she’d heard at work loitering around the kitchen when anyone brought cake in.

  “Because this is an active case,” her colleague answered with a hint of ‘you should know this already’ we can’t provide you with too much more information at this time, but I can say that on examination of the remains, it was confirmed that the body is in fact female.”

  “Well, very definitive!” Mills added positively. “I mean, there won’t be any going back on this confirmation will there? Alex was very much a boy.”

  Her statement made the corners of the FLO’s mouth turn up slightly.

  “Absolutely,” she agreed. “This conclusion is wholly accurate.”

  Silently, Olivia watched the emotion on her mother’s face. Tired, weary eyes unsure where to look or how to feel and she felt for her. She read did. All those years ago, someone, somewhere knew what happened, and the more time that passed, the more unlikely it was that they’d ever uncover the truth. Keys. The word popped into her head as she eyed her father’s on the coffee table.

  She turned to her colleague who was issuing some words of comfort to her sister.

  “Sorry, what about the keys?” she asked, her interruption silencing the room. All eyes were on her now.

  “Of course,” Linda breathed. “The keys. We were told the ones found with the body were similar to my son’s?”

  Cathy chewed the corner of her lip.

  “We’re working on that,” she answered eventually. “It could be a case of it being a similar keyring, but as soon as we understand more, we’ll let you know. I promise.” She stressed the last part slowly, looking at each person in turn. Her eyes lingered on Olivia a little longer than the rest. “Is there anything else I can help you with before I go? Any other questions? I know and understand this news has caused mixed emotions and that you’ll want me to leave so you can process them, but here’s my number. I want you to call me if you think or feel anything. We’ll work this out together.”

  She opened her bag, took out a small business card and put it on the table.

  Olivia tracked the movement, suddenly feeling so very empty inside. Spent was the better word. Devoid of any and all energy.

  “Thank you for everything,” was all she managed, her mouth barely able to open and speak amidst the dryness.

  “Yes, thank you,” Linda echoed standing up. She walked over and squeezed Cathy’s hand. “Thank you.”

  Everyone took their turn thanking the FLO, and Max offered to see her out.

  Silence descended on the room. There was only the sound of the clock on the wall and the call of birds out of the open window. Somewhere in the house, most probably the kitchen, the radio was on, and the hum of the dryer did little to mask the unrestrained sense of dread.

  Nobody spoke until they heard the click of the front door and Max came back into the room.

  “I knew he wasn’t dead,” Olivia’s mum whispered, her red rimmed eyes wide with dangerous hope. “I knew my boy wouldn’t be lost in the ground all of these years.”

  Liv still didn’t know how to feel; her heart felt marginally better knowing that Alex was still out there still. That maybe, against all odds, he was still alive. But the nagging feeling in her head, the rational part couldn’t part from the idea that it might been better to simply lay him to rest today.

  “A mother’s intuition, right?” Mills chimed in, doing her best to elegantly wipe tears off her face without ruining her makeup. “You told us. We should have listened.”

  Max crossed the room to stand beside her.

  Silence again.

  “I have to admit, I’m relieved,” Claire Williams muttered unprompted. It took everything in Olivia not to scream bloody murder in her face; she shouldn’t have a say as far as Liv was concerned. She’d singlehandedly managed to blow an Alex-sized hole in everyone's life and easily moved on with hers. She didn’t get to sit at the table with bated breath alongside the rest of them.

  “I’m just glad we all got the news together,” Max interjected, ever the diplomat. Ever the pillar of strength. He was rubbing Mills’ arms reassuringly but made a point to glance at everyone in the room as well.

  He was holding them all together so well, but just the look on his face told Olivia he was hurting too. He’d been good friends with Alex. He’d loved him as though they were brothers.

  She could see it all now. She could picture Max with his surfboard, racing Alexander to the water’s edge. See them burrowed away in her brother’s bedroom with the Nintendo console on while a bored Mills huffed impatiently. The bike rides, the camping trips, the barbeques on the beach and watching the way he would cuddle into Claire Williams as though she was the most precious thing on the planet...

  Suddenly, everything felt too crowded for Olivia, too hot. There were too many people, and there wasn’t enough fresh air. Her cheeks raged fire as tears finally overflowed.

  “I’ve got to get back to my case,” she blurted out abruptly.

  “Please no, Livvie, stay awhile longer,” her mother urged, grabbing at her hands. Olivia pulled them away before she could be restrained to this conservatory any longer and allow them all to see how deep her pain was.

  “It’s okay, Mum,” Mills whispered, reaching across to pat her mother’s shoulder. “Livvie’s always coped differently than us. Besides, she has important work to get to, don’t you?” Her green eyes pierced Olivia at that moment—full of contempt that she was leaving, but also full of urgency that she get out while she still could. Camilla had a way of knowing her better than she knew
herself sometimes.

  Her mother nodded knowingly, the shared feeling of loss radiating between them.

  “I love you all,” Olivia declared hurriedly, furiously wiping her tears away. She quickly gathered her coat and bag, racing out into the hallway before anyone could try and embrace her.

  As she stormed down the hallway, she knew they were talking about her. Pitying her for everything that she’d been through. Discussing how hard she had it and how she always ran when things hurt too much. Maybe they were right.

  She was halfway down the street before she remembered that she didn’t have a car at the house.

  “Fuck!” she whispered so she wouldn’t scream. Vision blurred, she rummaged around in her pocket until she found her phone. He was on speed dial, thank goodness.

  He picked up halfway through the second ring.

  “Olivia,” Lawrence breathed, voice full of anticipation.

  “Can you pick me up?” she asked, grasping for a sense of normalcy despite the fact that normal was anything but nearby.

  “I—yes,” he answered, and she could hear rustling on the other end of the phone. “Olivia.” She wished he would stop saying her name like that, like he was afraid he was about to break her.

  “It wasn’t him,” she whispered. Was that defeat in her voice? She wasn’t sure what anything was, which direction was up, let alone how she felt about the news that after fifteen fucking years, they still had no idea what had happened to Alex. Only that the body they’d found wasn’t his.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Lawrence spoke. “I’m on my way to you—you’re at your sister’s?”

  Olivia hummed in affirmation.

  “I think I know where that is—can you text me her address?”

  She could tell he was trying to keep her grounded, to stay calm despite the quick clack she could hear in the background of his shoes against tile.

  “Yeah,” Olivia agreed, absentmindedly running her hand through her hair again. “I can do that.”

  They stayed on the line in silence as Olivia sent Lawrence her location and as Lawrence started the car. About a minute in, Olivia realized she was standing halfway into the road. I should get onto the pavement, she thought, but the idea of moving her feet felt excruciating.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Lawrence’s question brought Olivia back to the present.

  “Not right now,” she whispered.

  “That’s okay,” Lawrence reassured her. “If you want, we can just stay on the line until I get to you. Satnav says eleven minutes.”

  “Okay,” Olivia sighed, squeezing her eyes shut to ward off any more waves of emotion. She needed to just float for a bit. “I’ll see you then.”

  Eventually, Olivia made her way over to the same oak she had leaned against when she first arrived at her sister’s, once again gazing upon the Austin-Hudson household. In her ear, the steady thrum of Lawrence’s car provided a calm backdrop to her worries.

  She thought about asking him about the case, or maybe telling him about all of the conflicting thoughts swirling around in her head. Instead, she just listened, tuned into the different ways each road sounded, the clicking of the turn signal every once in a while, the way the engine accelerated.

  He arrived without a word, quickly jumping out of the car to come to Olivia’s side. Reaching out a hand, he helped her to her feet. His embrace was quick this time, unlike the one back at the crime scene, and before she knew it, Olivia was being ushered into the passenger seat.

  “I’m glad you called me,” he whispered as he pulled himself into the driver’s side.

  “Me too,” she muttered. Me too.

  7

  “How’s the case?” She asked it because it was easy, because it was horrific but entirely different from her own personal horror. Lawrence gave her a measured look. Was he making sure she could take it, or was it just his habit, to always give her a glance before diving into specifics?

  “Not pretty,” he sighed with the shake of his head. “I took a look at the video footage and sent it over to Clara to see what she could get from it.”

  Olivia smiled at the mention of the bubbly tech analyst, full of life and bright colours.

  “I’m hoping she’ll catch something I couldn’t,” he continued. “Our victim entered the hotel lobby at approximately 11 p.m., loitered at the hotel bar for about half an hour, and then stumbled to the elevator. She seemed to be checking her phone quite a bit. Part of me wonders if the receptionist was right and she was an escort of some kind.”

  Olivia nodded.

  “It would make sense. Sex work is a high-risk occupation.” She sighed. “And if he was looking for easy targets, that would be a good place to start.”

  “Agreed,” Lawrence replied. “I have a contact from when I covered sex crimes. I sent her a photo from the security footage to see if she knew our victim, and if she does to let her friends know to keep vigilant.”

  “That’s smart,” Olivia breathed, almost succeeding at burying her earlier heartache. “Have we gotten anywhere on the credit card that paid for the room?”

  Lawrence paused whilst he navigated a busy junction.

  “Unfortunately, it’s a dead end,” he answered. “Card was reported stolen from a high-traffic café yesterday. The charge went through online before its owner called the bank.”

  Olivia looked to her partner.

  “This fucker’s smart,” she blurted out, anger coating her voice. “But we’ve got to be able to outsmart him.”

  Lawrence nodded his agreement.

  “I had Clara start combing through footage of the hotel lobby to isolate everyone coming in and out. If Dr. James is right and our perp took organs with him, plus bloody clothes, we should be able to find him on the hotel video.”

  Olivia agreed.

  “Is he so controlled by his desire to eat flesh,” she winced as she brought up the cannibalism, “that he doesn’t care whether or not he left bite marks, or is he convinced we won’t be able to ID him from dentistry alone?”

  Lawrence glanced at her.

  “He seems exceptionally calculated. My guess is he isn’t in any sort of criminal database, but we could see if Clara can cross-reference other systems.” Lawrence had been thinking this through; Olivia could tell.

  “Certainly,” she responded. “We have to have other things to go on besides the hotel lobby footage and his teeth marks.”

  She rested her head back against her seat and sighed at the mountain of work that faced them.

  “We’ve got uniformed officers going door to door at the hotel to corroborate a timeline,” Lawrence offered. “We can borrow DC Epson to head that.”

  “Good idea,” Olivia pointed out. “Also, one other thing I’ve been thinking about: establishing whether he hired her as an escort or just wanted a one-night stand, there’s a good chance he met this woman online.”

  Lawrence raised an eyebrow.

  “You think?” he asked.

  “She was dressed up for a sexy evening. It’s possible she was a co-worker or an acquaintance, but if I was a murderer prowling for victims, I think I’d start online. Someone I didn’t know would be easier to massacre than someone who has a direct link back to me.”

  A smile edged out on her partners lips.

  “I like it,” he agreed. “We can call Clara, have her take a look on some apps and forums.”

  “One last thing,” Olivia breathed, her chest tightening at the thought of having to address it. “We should consult with Collins and the head of communications. I don't know if we should go public with this or try and keep it tightly under wraps.”

  “I get it,” Lawrence offered. “I made sure that no officers discussed the case openly.”

  “Good,” Olivia sighed. “One thing we don’t need is public outcry.”

  They settled into a comfortable silence as they continued the drive back to Newquay Police Station, Olivia glancing out over the busy streets the closer they got.


  “Dean, I’ll...” she piped up, nervously looking toward her partner.

  “Yes?” Lawrence answered, diverting his attention from the road for a moment to look at her.

  The sun momentarily broke through the clouds and bathed the car in yellow light. A sign, perhaps?

  “I’ll let you know when I’m ready to talk about it,” she half whispered.

  Lawrence nodded.

  “And I’ll be here when you’re ready,” he offered. “Until then, you won’t hear a word from me about it. I respect that.”

  Warmth flooded Olivia’s chest at the gesture; she was so used to the prying nature of those around her, ready to pounce with questions at any given moment. Lawrence just let her express herself at her own pace. It was an amazing change of pace. A weight lifted off her chest.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, turning to look out the window.

  “Any time, Liv.”

  8

  “Any more luck on ID-ing our victim?” Olivia called out across the station’s open planned office. Within the confines of their own room, desks were shoved haphazardly around, and a large cork board adorned the far end wall, lit by the harsh fluorescents. Normally a quiet place, the former incident room and their makeshift office had become a bustling hub of activity.

  After a quick consult with Det. Supt. Collins the afternoon of the discovery, he had easily authorised extra officers dedicated to the case, which they were tentatively dubbing the Hotel Hannibal Case. Lord help us if the press gets a hold of that nickname, Olivia thought to herself once the team started circulating the term. It was bad enough that they were deliberately hiding the fact that they had a sophisticated murderer in town, although she knew it was for the sake of safety. But to dub him something as terrible as Hotel Hannibal? It made her stomach curdle.

  Four days had passed since the body had been discovered by the hotel maid, and it still it felt as though they’d barely made any progress, despite the extra hands on deck. Olivia hadn’t commanded a task force this large since her days in London; a haggard Lawrence was clearly unaccustomed to the size of their current team, too. Still, he handled himself well under pressure, despite what his three-day old scraggle may have to say otherwise.