With Deadly Intent

by KA Richardson

  Before she knew it, they’d both left to deal with the car, and she was alone in her office once again.

  Cass looked up as Alex entered her office and sat down. He silently handed her a brown bag, then unwrapped his own sandwich and took a large bite. Cass was a little taken aback, not just by his presumption that she ‘d be hungry, but that that he had actually brought her some lunch.

  Catching her lack of manners, she said, ‘Thanks, Alex,’ and unwrapped the paper, revealing what appeared to be a chicken salad sandwich.

  ‘Hope that’s OK?’ mumbled Alex with his mouth full. Cass nodded, taking a bite. It wasn’t often she stopped for lunch at work, and it made a pleasant change. They ate together in comfortable silence for a few minutes, both lost in their own worlds.

  Cass liked Alex; there was some kind of chemistry between them that she didn’t quite understand, and in the rare moments of complete honesty it scared her. This, however, was not one of those moments, and Alex pulled her from her thoughts by crumpling his sandwich wrapper and accurately throwing it at the recycle bin in the corner. He knew she would have updated her staff and sent them on their merry way, and requested a quick update before filling her in on the investigation so far.

  Sunderland Royal Hospital

  After the lunch with Cass, Alex found himself sitting at traffic lights en route to the hospital, pondering his reasons for buying her lunch. He had seen the surprise in her eyes, and he thought he had seen something else.

  He frowned. Since Helen had left, there’d been no other women. He wasn’t the sort to go to the pubs and clubs, trawling for one-night stands to fulfil whatever needs he had. He much preferred a night at the pictures, quite happy to be one of those saddos who sit there alone munching on their popcorn. Films had always given him a release. From the time he was a troubled teenager, he would wander down to the local cinema and sit for hours working through his problems as he watched the stories unfold. He still often found himself sitting in the dark alone, watching as stories were shown on screens bigger than he ever imagined as a child that they would be.

  As he got older, he found dining out at one of his chosen restaurants in Sunderland or Ryhope alleviated some of the loneliness left by Helen, giving him the chance to talk to people who weren’t colleagues. Alex often contemplated upping sticks and moving back to Edinburgh, going to work with Alistair or James in the Lothian Police Force. They were always on his case to do that.

  But he never did.

  A horn blared behind him and he realised the light had turned green. He gave his head a shake, deciding he was way too tired to be contemplating such deep and meaningful things. He had most likely imagined whatever he thought he saw with Cass. There was no reason for someone like her to go for someone like him anyway. He knew the rumours surrounding dating officers – a different girl in every station etc. He wasn’t like that, but the stigma was still there.

  Pulling himself from his train of thought, he continued to the hospital and found a parking place. He had plenty of time before the post-mortem was due to start, but he always liked to check in with the pathologist prior to his intrinsic examination of the body. He had a lot of respect for Nigel Evans; he’d worked quite a few cases with the unusual doctor and always found him to be pleasant and open. He answered questions with ease and didn’t mind Alex suiting and booting up to be in the room with the body. Alex always had the option to stand in the viewing area of the morgue, but he had always liked to be in the thick of things. It was essentially how he processed what was happening.

  He made his way down the corridor, inhaling that metallic, chemical-enhanced smell that permeated the morgue. Pausing at the office, he signed the visitor register, noting that Kevin Lang and his team were already there. Alex nodded in satisfaction: early attendance might mean an early start.

  In the next room, Kevin stood talking to Nigel, with two members of the CSI team that Alex didn’t recognise.

  ‘Kevin, Nigel,’ he said. He waited to be introduced to the other members of staff.

  ‘Boss,’ said Kevin. ‘Billy, James, this is DCI McKay.’

  ‘Just call me Alex,’ he said, making quick eye contact with the CSIs. He always ensured people knew he was approachable. Many inspectors and sergeants demanded they were addressed by rank. In that respect Alex was completely different. He accepted boss or sir, merely because he knew some people liked the rank structure; but he preferred people to call him by his first name.

  Nigel shook Alex’s hand. ‘Shall we begin?’ Alex nodded, and they all followed as Nigel left the room.

  Once suited up, with blue plastic coverings over their shoes, and masks over their faces, they headed into the mortuary. Nigel didn’t bother introducing the mortuary technician by name. He was the only one currently employed by the hospital.

  Gordon Perkins was a funny little man. He had a shiny, balding head, with wisps of hair at the sides which he tried vainly to place strategically over his bald patch. The wisps, however, were far too fine and gave him a comical, old-man look, when in reality he was in his mid-forties. He dressed for the occasion in blue hospital scrubs and was armed with his tools. He stood back as Kevin took photographs of the clothed victim.

  Gordon then methodically undressed the body, encountering a little trouble as he removed Susan’s top and unhooked her bra. ‘Doesn’t matter how much practice you get, sometimes these suckers are stubborn,’ he joked lightly. The remnants of rigor mortis were still present and Susan’s body was obviously stiff as Gordon manoeuvred her back into position on the table. Her injuries were stark against the illumination in the mortuary. The body was rinsed and then the horrible sawing noise filled the room as Gordon deftly made a Y incision across Susan’s chest.

  Nigel stepped forward and the post-mortem began in earnest. Alex stood out of the way, allowing the doctor and the CSIs to do what they needed to do. He still found the post-mortem process enthralling to watch; it worked like a well-oiled machine with the ‘dirty’ CSI handling the samples passed by the doctor and handing them in tubs to the ‘clean’ CSI, who quickly packaged up the doctor’s exhibits. Kevin, as photographer, took snaps as he thought necessary and stood with Alex when he wasn’t needed.

  Nigel talked constantly throughout the examination, recording his thoughts on a Dictaphone. He lightened the mood slightly with his humour but made his respect for Susan obvious.

  Alex looked on as Nigel paused at the wound on Susan’s neck.

  ‘Tweezers,’ he said to Gordon, who handed him a sterile pair, a frown showing on his face. Nigel inserted the tapered ends into the wound on her neck and drew out something small and metallic. As he popped it into a small metal dish it made an audible ping and Kevin leant in with his camera, snapping away.

  Alex moved forward, wanting to see what it was they were looking at. Inside the dish lay a small, silver, bloodied triangle.

  ‘Looks like the tip of a knife,’ said Kevin, looking up at Alex.

  Nigel was frowning in the background. ‘Looks like, but I don’t think it is. It’s a deliberate wound, cutting through the jugular. There’s nothing in that section of the neck hard enough to damage steel.’

  ‘Are you saying you think this was placed there after her throat was cut?’ Alex asked.

  Nigel shook his head. ‘I’m saying it’s unlikely to have been placed there by a knife breaking while making the wound. It’s possible it was already in her neck; but if it had already been in there I would expect to see tissue growing around the object, which I don’t.’

  Alex nodded, concentration furrowing his brow. He continued to ponder the object as it was bagged and tagged, finding his mind wandering back to it through the rest of the PM.

  He rarely waited around after the post-mortem; he usually had all the information he needed by the end and plenty of other things to do, as was the case this time also – but despite this, Alex waited. Eventually, Kevin and his team came out from the morgue, and he saw Kevin motion the others to meet him back at
the station.

  ‘Mind if I grab a lift back to the nick with you?’ he asked Alex, already knowing the answer.

  Chapter Four

  Cass’s Cottage

  He was there. She could feel his presence. She knew he was watching her for the smallest sign she was awake. Struggling to control her breathing, in and out slowly, she tried to look relaxed. She could already smell the sweet tang of stale alcohol on his breath and suddenly her instincts went into overdrive – he knew she wasn’t sleeping. Her eyes flung open just in time to see his fist swinging towards her face.

  Cass woke with a jump, sweat drenching her forehead as the remnants of the nightmare left her. Frowning, she tried to steady the pounding in her chest. She hated those dreams. They crept up on her out of the blue. Worse still, she hated him. Hated him for giving her reason to dream, hated him for never letting her forget.

  Shaking, she drew in an unsteady breath and for a moment she let the memories flood through her mind. She remembered the sudden burst of pain as his fist had connected, and the warm flow of blood as it had streamed from her nose. She recalled the metallic taste as the red liquid oozed into the back of her throat causing her to gag. And she remembered the feeling of utter fear as he dragged her from the duvet by her hair. Cass had curled into a tight ball, trying to protect herself as he readied his foot and aimed for her ribs.

  Her breath caught in her throat as the most difficult memories threatened to escape and Cass forced them back into the box at the back of her mind. Her therapist had taught her the trick, telling her it was important to remember sometimes, but on her terms, when she could control them.

  Please stop shaking. She held her hands in front of her, trying to steady her breathing and slow the quivering.

  Ollie whined suddenly, startling her, and she realised he had his head on the bed beside her, silently asking if she was OK. She stroked the downy fur behind his ears.

  ‘I’m OK, boy,’ she whispered, looking into his chocolaty eyes. From the time he was a pup, she’d always loved how full of expression he was. He understood her every word and loved her with fierce loyalty.

  A flicker caught her eye as one of the numbers on the digital clock changed and she groaned as she registered the time. She’d only been in bed for a couple of hours.

  As exhausted as she was, she knew sleep wouldn’t return. Deciding it was time for coffee, she dragged herself from the bed, stepped over Ollie who had already decided it was much too early to get up and had curled back up in a ball beside the bed.

  The afternoon sun lit up the kitchen as Cass poured a large cup and inhaled the aroma gratefully. She couldn’t remember the point in her life when she’d first begun to enjoy the caffeine hit when she first got out of bed, but it had grown almost to the point of obsession. She allowed herself a moment to savour the rich, smooth taste of the first sip as it travelled down, warming her insides on its journey. Then she popped the mug on the side and grabbed the phone from its charger.

  As the slightly husky voice said hello, Cass smiled.

  ‘Hey, Mama. I haven’t woken you, have I?’ Her mother worked shifts and never knew from one day to the next what she’d be doing.

  ‘No, love,’ said her mum, clearing her throat softly. If Cass had, she wouldn’t have said anything.

  ‘How are you? I got your voicemail last night. I hate it when you get called out to God knows what in the middle of the night. Was it bad?’

  ‘Fairly. A woman was murdered. Not much evidence at the scene. I got home a few hours ago.’

  ‘A few hours? How come you’re not in bed? You’re not infallible you know.’

  ‘I was, Mum. I woke up. I’m heading back to work soon anyway.’

  Cass took a deep slurp of her coffee, already knowing what was coming next.

  ‘You had the dream again, didn’t you? Cass, I really wish you would just move back home. It’s not healthy living on your own in the middle of a forest. You need to be with people.’

  ‘Mama, it’s a wood not a forest. And I’m not on my own, I’ve got Ollie. I can’t move back. This is my home. You know that.’

  ‘I know.’ Sighed her mum, ‘But I can wish, can’t I? Is it still OK for me to come up next month? I’ve got the leave booked in from work.’

  ‘Yeah, course it is, Mama. I’m looking forward to it. Might still have to work but I’ll try to get some cover. You remember I told you Kevin’s missus has cancer? Well it doesn’t look like she’ll last much longer. I think he’s gonna need time off soon.’

  ‘Aw, the poor man. Cancer is awful. I hope you get some cover though. I’m looking forward to spoiling you with pancakes and shopping, my daughter.’

  Cass smiled into the phone. Calling her mum mama and being called daughter in return was their little thing.

  ‘Cass, that’s the doorbell. Ring me later. Love you lots and lots.’

  ‘Like Jelly Tots,’ said Cass into the phone as she ended the call.

  She wandered back into the bedroom with her coffee, grinning as she saw Ollie still flaked out beside the bed. It had taken her a while to wind down when she’d got home. She’d taken Ollie out for a well-deserved walk before crawling into bed.

  Ollie had been handed in at the police station when he was just a shaggy grey-haired pup. Cass had happened to walk into the front office and saw him in a cardboard box, waiting to be picked up by the local animal shelter. He had been shivering in terror, looking at her with his huge brown eyes, and she was lost. She had taken him home that night and stroked him comfortingly as he howled his fears every night for a week. She’d talked to him gently in hushed tones while stroking his downy puppy fur. Eventually he understood that she wasn’t going to leave him in a cardboard box or beat him as the constant cowering told her he had been. He settled in and Cass loved how he was always there when she got home. Because of her job, she’d invested in state-of-the-art technology for him: an electronic chip installed into his neck that acted as a swipe key for the hatch built in to her back door so he would have freedom of movement. The garden at the back was large and Ollie had never once tried to escape. He adored Cass with that unending loyalty that only dogs have. She could do no wrong in his eyes. For Ollie, life was perfect.

  She smiled down at him. Lazy dog. She wished she could sleep like him, always happy and for solid lengths of time. Cass had never been a good sleeper. She functioned well on a few hours; anything more than four was a welcomed rarity.

  Pulling on some joggers and a T-shirt, she grabbed the dog and headed out of the back door, walking him again before she returned to the office.

  At the back of her overgrown garden was a large gate leading to a track. The gate was blocked in place by foliage and Cass and Ollie both used the nearby stile to exit the garden. Winding through a large wooded area, the path came to an end at a field. Ollie loved the wood, he chased sticks and dug for rabbits, though if he ever encountered one for real, he just froze and stared in comical horror. Cass had always found it relaxing to walk him through the woods, walking for miles every day, probably a little out of guilt for leaving him on his own so much, but mostly because he loved the walks as much as she did.

  An hour later she returned home, Ollie panting loudly as his large pink tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. He took a drink of water from his bowl in the kitchen, left a trail of large wet drips all along the hall and stairs, and sloped back off to his bed. Cass glanced at him as she walked past to the bathroom. He really was the perfect dog for her, he loved his walks, was always there when she needed him and didn’t grumble or destroy the house when he was on his own. Which was a good thing – because it wasn’t long before Ollie was left to his own devices once more, as Cass headed back into the office.

  SL Motorbods, Sunderland

  He was satisfied.

  He’d come to the garage under the guise of having his vehicle fixed, and had been left alone enough to observe the proceedings within the forensic bay at the back of the garage itself. Not that hi
s vehicle needed repairs. He knew pretty much all he needed to and usually did any work himself. He could also sabotage when required. He grinned to himself as he remembered how easy it had been to access Susan’s car. He’d fed her a small untruth about an imaginary rattle, and she’d handed over her keys.

  Women! So stupid.

  Thinking ahead when he had left that morning, he’d worn a wig. Now sweaty and itchy, he had to resist the urge to scratch at the hemline.

  Obviously warm in the rare British autumn heat, the two women had left the shutter open to the partitioned bay and he overheard them giggling like school-girls at the young, blond mechanic who kept wandering past the door, asking if they needed anything and offering coffee; and he overheard the things they’d found, or hadn’t found as the case may be.

  He knew he hadn’t been careless; he was too good for that. But it felt good to be certain.

  The police had nothing to connect him to the crime. Well, nothing other than what he chose to give them. He smiled softly, finding humour in the puzzled looks he imagined on their faces at his little gift. He’d read in one of the many books he had perused throughout his lifetime, that leaving a signature was something most serial killers did. He hadn’t really been bothered but he knew the metal shard would puzzle the police and would continue to do so long after he had gone. And he loved the fact that they would never know what it meant. Especially seeing as how it didn’t actually mean anything – nothing other than him saying ‘I’m smarter than you are’.

  The mechanic who’d been dealing with his vehicle suddenly appeared. ‘Your pads were worn virtually to the metal. We’ve put you some new ones on, but you’ll need to give them chance to settle in so take it easy when braking for a few days. You can get your keys and pay at reception.’

  He smiled back at the mechanic, and for a moment allowed himself to appear completely stupid. The flush of pink on his cheeks, forced through him biting at his inside cheek, portrayed apparent embarrassment at his mistake. He did as he’d been told and paid at reception, before wandering back through the garage and getting into the car left behind by his mother when she died.