Dark Tides Thrillers Box Set

by Tony Hutchinson

  Ed’s elbows were on the wheel, his head resting in his hands. Sam’s silence indicated he could now start the car.

  ‘Ed, there’s so much information, so many victims and broken windows, we need to keep on top of it all. A nice visual timeline will help everyone. Get an analyst into the HOLMES room to pull together a Sequence of Events. Amber was attacked in the early hours of the Saturday morning. Crowther was out and about that night.’

  She looked out of the window, her brain spinning with all the information.

  When she turned back to face Ed, he caught sight of the fierce determination in her eyes. Had he not seen it, the tone of her voice would have made it just as clear. ‘And I want no mention of Amber to anyone. Not a soul. Lay it on thick with Bev Summers and Dave Johnson. Tell them they are the only people who know about this. I don’t want it getting out. If it does, I’ll be gunning for them. I’ve already warned them, but I want you to reinforce it. The CSI supervisor won’t say anything. I’ve warned him as well. If Jason Stroud is our rapist, and I hope to God he’s not, then let him believe that Amber hasn’t reported.’

  ‘Okay,’ Ed agreed.

  ‘And another thing: we need to bring Terry Crowther in, but we’ve nothing on him. If he sits and refuses to answer any questions, we’ll have to let him go. To say that the circumstantial around the theft of Danielle’s knickers is thin is an understatement. Other than that, we’ve got nothing. It’s not a crime to deliver pizzas and eye up the customers. It may not be pleasant and he might be a creep, but it’s not an offence. It’s not against the law to be out jogging in the early hours, either. We need to get something else. One way or the other we need to eliminate him.’

  ‘Or get him charged,’ Ed responded, taking one hand off the wheel and rubbing his eye.

  ‘Absolutely. And what about Duncan Todd? Why did Brian Banks, if Todd’s to be believed, have him beaten up? Does Banks know something we don’t? Let’s have someone pay a visit to Todd. Why doesn’t he want to make a complaint? Why does he think Brian Banks was behind it?’ Sam asked.

  ‘And Jason Stroud. We know he’s got a mask.’

  Sam stared ahead, thinking through the implications.

  ‘Jason. I can’t get him out of my head either. And how’s the rapist getting to and from the scene of the attacks? That Mr Noble, opposite Danielle, is adamant that he heard no vehicle. Is he on foot?’

  ‘Could be,’ Ed offered. ‘Makes sense. On foot you hear police cars, other vehicles. It’s the easiest thing in the world to hide behind a wall. Burglars have been doing it for years. And as you said, Terry Crowther was stop-checked jogging the night Amber was raped.’

  ‘Terry Crowther. Back to him again,’ Sam said.

  ‘And we’ve got the local sex offenders to eliminate,’ Ed reminded, exhaling loudly as he pulled away from the traffic lights. ‘The problem here is if we’re not careful, we’ll have detectives running around like terriers in a field full of rabbits.’

  ‘That’s where we earn our money,’ Sam told him. ‘Keeping the whole investigation on track.’

  The talking stopped. Sam ran a mental checklist through her head, satisfying herself that she hadn’t missed anything obvious. She needed to catch this man.

  ‘He’s getting more confident, Ed,’ she murmured.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Kirsty had her window broken four months ago. Three months ago he rapes Kelly. He’s waited over two months before attacking Amber but only three weeks before raping Danielle. The gap between attacks is decreasing. He’s getting more confident.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Sam leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes. She knew they had to work fast but she was acutely aware that any procedural mistakes would see the offender walk free from court. Everything had to be lawful. It had to pass the scrutiny of barristers, sitting in chambers or court, far removed from the realities of a fast moving investigation. If a judge ordered an acquittal on the grounds of a procedural breach, the only thing Sam, as the SIO, would be able to look forward to was a sideways shunt into an office job, separating those paper clips, or whatever it was some police officers did.

  Sam was a woman in a hurry as she strode through the police station, Ed matching her stride for stride, Sam’s words as brisk as her walk.

  ‘Let’s hope because Amber’s attack’s not been in the media, he thinks she’s not reported. Until today he would have been right. If it’s Jason Stroud, he knows she’s not reported. We can use it to our advantage, whoever is responsible. If we decide to ask one of the victims to meet up with him, he’s less likely to think it’s a trap if he thinks she hasn’t reported. That means it must be Amber.’

  She stopped and Ed instinctively stopped beside her. Sam turned her head and looked into Ed’s eyes. ‘God, at times I hate this job. What we ask people to do.’

  Sam took a deep breath and started walking again. ‘So, we keep it out of the media and away from the team until we’ve exhausted the possibility of a meet.’

  In the HOLMES room, Dave Johnson looked up from his computer and told Sam and Ed of the theft of a pair of ladies knickers from the municipal swimming baths on Monday night.

  ‘Get someone down there to view the CCTV. I know they have it on reception,’ Ed said.

  ‘Ahead of you. They’re on the way there as we speak.’

  ‘Great,’ Sam said. ‘I know it’s a bit of a long shot but keep us posted. Back to the rapes, get an analyst to do a ‘sequence of events’ with what we know already. I want it to show dates and times of the attacks, and the broken windows, and cross-ref that with Crowther’s known movements. Ed and I will prepare an elimination strategy for those we’re going to make TIEs. The usual… forensic elimination, followed by elimination by description, then elimination by alibi provided by someone independent, then alibi by family member, and finally alibi by spouse. You know the score, Dave.’

  He spent that morning walking around the Gull Estate and watched a ‘Mrs Muck Out’ cleaner enter three houses. The third house was exactly what he needed. He knew the woman who lived there, older than he would normally go for, probably mid-30s, but single and fit. A bit posh, always wearing suits, always ‘well turned out’.

  He watched the cleaner leave the house and drive away. It was a big house, not dissimilar to his own. The mock cobbled driveway led to an integrated garage and the green front door, with high green bushes planted down both sides of the drive providing cover from everyone except those directly opposite the house.

  He glanced in all directions, satisfying himself that the street was empty of pedestrians, passing cars, and nosey bastards at their windows. He walked up the drive, bent down by the plant pot next to the front door and found the key underneath. He put the key in his right-hand-side trouser pocket and walked away. The theft had taken less than 15 seconds.

  Less than two hours later, he was back. The street was still quiet. He rubbed the key clean of any fingerprints with his handkerchief and replaced it under the plant pot.

  He headed back towards the footpath confident that no one had seen him. He put his hand inside the inner pocket of his coat and caressed the copy key. His arousal was instantaneous, forcing him to remove his hand from his pocket. He could sort that later.

  Getting the key cut had been simplicity itself. Driving to a North Yorkshire market town about 45 miles south of Seaton St George, he was surprised at how many shops copied keys.

  He opted for a market stall, which he hoped would make it much more difficult for the police to trace the transaction, if they ever got to the stage. It had been a bonus for him to discover that the town had a market on the High Street every Wednesday.

  He would be in no rush to use the key. Certainly not tonight, perhaps not even the weekend.

  What he would do was take every opportunity to build a collection of keys, each one providing entry to their homes, another tangible reminder of past or future conquests, each piece of worthless metal now Midas gold.
What was more valuable than intimacy guaranteed?

  He grinned. The keys would add another dimension to future sessions of self-pleasure as well.

  He returned to his car, retrieved a small bunch of flowers, and stood them up against one of the front doors on the Gull Estate. That would give her something to think about.

  Sam and Ed stopped talking as Dave Johnson walked into Sam’s office, immaculate as ever. His suits may not have a designer label, but they were always crisp and neat.

  ‘Great long shot. The results of the CCTV at the swimming baths.’

  ‘Tell me,’ Sam said, shuffling in her chair.

  ‘Ten minutes after the victim and her friends leave, Terry Crowther walks out. We’re checking to see what time he went in.’

  Sliding the chair out from underneath the desk, Sam bounced to her feet.

  ‘Brilliant! Well done. Thanks Dave. Keep us posted.’

  As Dave walked away, Sam let out a two-second-long ‘Yessss’ and shook a raised, clenched right fist.

  ‘Now we can lock him up. Theft. Search his house. Shake the tree and see what apples fall out, so to speak. But first let’s see if we can flush him out.’

  ‘Go on,’ Ed said, with an idea where this was going.

  ‘Let’s see if Amber has had a request for a meet. If she has, let’s see if we can talk her into going.’

  ‘That’s a big ask, Sam.’

  ‘It is, but it’s our best chance at the moment. Amber has said she’ll help us as much as she can. I don’t like asking any more than you do but it could be a game changer.’

  ‘I think you need to be the one to put it to her. Explain how it will work. And tell her there’s a huge chance he won’t turn up.’

  Sam gave Ed the full power of her gaze.

  ‘You think it’s too risky? Another long shot? Too much of a long shot this time?’

  Ed met her eye, matching the intensity, as he remembered very different days.

  ‘I’ll let you into a secret,’ he told Sam. ‘It worked for me many years ago. Rapist calls up his victim asking for a meet. At the time I didn’t think he would turn up, but the bastard did! Can you believe it? Things have changed now, I know. We have a duty of care towards Amber that was unheard of back in the early ‘80s. What we did then was very much off the cuff. Now you know the hoops we need to jump through.’

  Sam’s smile was thin and fleeting .

  ‘Tell me later about yours turning up,’ she said. ‘Sounds fascinating. But what if this one does, Ed? We’ll go through all the hoops, of course. If Amber goes for it, we’ll have the surveillance team and we’ll choose the meeting place.’

  She made no effort to contain the enthusiasm in her voice. She leaned across the desk, bent towards Ed. ‘If he turns up, we’ll have him. We’ve probably got Crowther on the knickers at the swimming baths. We’ve possibly got him going to every victim’s house with a pizza, but what we don’t have is him connected to them in any other way. We can’t put him in their houses. The condom wrapper might do that, but we cannot put everything on hold while we wait for the results. We can’t put all our eggs in one basket, but if he turns up, we’ve got him bang to rights. If someone else turns up, we’ve eliminated Crowther and still got the rapist.’

  She walked away from the desk. Ed stood up.

  ‘It’s a potential win-win, Ed.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll get in touch with the surveillance team. See what they’ve got on. Let them pick the meeting place. Let them start to plan it. If he goes for it, we’ll need to move quickly, before he gets spooked or bottles it. We should tell him to meet within an hour of us sending the text. That way we pressure him into making a decision. The pressure might make him do something he wouldn’t normally do.’

  Sam nodded, adrenaline spiking and a picture of the trap closing jumping into her mind.

  ‘Sounds good. I like it. You do that. I’ll wait for the results of the examination on Amber’s phone. If he has contacted it I’ll go and see Amber again.’

  ‘Before I go.’ Ed’s voice was discernibly quieter. ‘I’ve checked Jason Stroud’s hours of work over the last four months. He wasn’t at work when any of the attacks took place and he wasn’t on annual leave, either. We’re going to have to speak to him. Obviously you told Celine our conversation with her was in confidence.’

  Sam nodded but didn’t interrupt.

  ‘We can’t speak to Jason until we tell Celine that we’ll have to disclose what she’s told us,’ said Ed.

  ‘Leave it with me,’ Sam said. ‘I’ll contact her. She came to us in the first place with her concerns so hopefully I’ll be able to convince her.’

  Ed clenched his fists, his forearms rigid. ‘The quicker we eliminate people, the faster we’ll catch this bastard.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Brian Banks finished work and was in the Golden Eagle by 6pm. The former coaching inn was in a small village a few miles north of the Gull Estate and had a reputation for its real ales.

  Banks looked like a country squire in his light brown highly polished brogues and brown-checked Tweed suit. His ruddy complexion, shaved head, barrel chest, and forearms like Popeye, made him an imposing figure. His booming voice dominated any conversation.

  The roaring coal fire pumped smoke up the chimney into cold air above the rooftops, wrapping the village in a damp, musky smell, like a newly opened bag of smoky bacon crisps. The old, stained oak wooden bar top, in need of a new coat of varnish, had an array of hand-pulled beers from both large, long-established, breweries and new micro outfits that had been springing up more and more. Each and every ale was kept in top condition by a landlord who really knew the ropes.

  The red, flocked wallpaper displayed old black-and-white photographs of the pub, framed in faded gilt, depicting the occasional motor vehicle from a bygone age.

  A dozen people, all known to each other but acquaintances rather than friends and bonded together through their common enjoyment of a pint, stood on a patterned carpet so threadbare not even the oldest local could remember its original colour.

  Banks asked who wanted what and bought four pints of Theakston’s. He passed the drinks around and joined one of the circles of customers.

  As soon as there was lull in the conversation he spoke in a low quiet voice, his gaze moving from one face to another. ‘Our Danielle’s living back at home. Some bastard broke into her house and raped her.’

  A gasp went around the group and then questions were quickly fired, each asked out of concern but asked so rapidly not all were answered or even heard.

  When did it happen? How’s Danielle? Is she coping? Has she reported it to the police? Have they caught him?

  ‘Yes, she’s reported it, but no, they haven’t caught anyone. It was Saturday night.’

  Banks’s body had visibly tensed. His sledgehammer hands were white-knuckled fists and the bulging veins in his neck and forehead looked ready to burst.

  The low sound of his voice through clenched teeth carried only simmering hatred and menace.

  ‘If I get my hands on the fuckin’ twat, he’ll wish he hadn’t been born. Twat was wearing a fuckin’ ski mask! A fuckin’ ski mask! Threatened her with a fuckin’ knife! I’ll fuckin’ kill him, kill him if I get my hands on him, but not before I cut his cock off and stick it down his fuckin’ throat! I’ll rip his eyes out and piss in the fuckin’ sockets.’

  The group stood, staring open mouthed. It was the doctor among them who spoke, his soothing quiet voice trying to calm Banks. ‘How’s Danielle coping Brian?’

  Banks shook his head as his fury ebbed.

  ‘How does any girl, any woman, cope with it? No physical injuries to repair, but what must be going on in her head? Jesus Christ. Her mother’s doing her best for her, but she’s devastated as well.’

  Raising his voice and a red flush of anger rising again, he said: ‘I thought that fuckin’ ex-boyfriend of hers might’ve had something to do with it. He got what was coming to him, but the missus sa
id Danielle knew it wasn’t him. Anyway, Todd needed a kickin’ for bloody punching her.’

  ‘Walls have ears, Brian. You shouldn’t be talking about beating people up,’ one of the group warned. ‘Not in public.’

  Brian Banks took a deep breath and lowered his voice. ‘Yeah, point taken. Anyway I’ve put the word out. Five grand to anyone who tips the twat up. Then he’ll be down the yard. I’ll fuckin’ sort him. Breaking into her house. Believe me, the twat’ll pay for what he did to our Danielle.’

  He wrapped his lips around his glass and gulped his way through the pint, not taking his mouth away until he had downed the last drop.

  The pub had become a library. No one was under any illusions about what would happen if Banks discovered the identity of the rapist before the police did. Everyone sipped their drinks in silence, each imagining what type of burning and crushing equipment was kept in the scrap yard.

  Not that Brian Banks’s hands would get dirty. He would be in the company of enough law-abiding citizens, people like them, to provide him with a cast-iron alibi.

  Bev Summers had collected Amber’s mobile phone. The subsequent forensic examination showed four missed calls and 11 texts from the mobile that belonged to the rapist. Same number used to contact the other girls; same number the rapist called when he used the victims’ phones in their homes. He hadn’t left a voicemail message, but in all the texts he had asked to meet up. The texts were identical.

  ‘Wood like a meet text me time and place if u fancy’

  Bev excitedly notified Sam. ‘I’m getting the breakdown of when they were sent.’

  ‘Great!’ Sam said.

  ‘He’s persistent, though,’ Bev went on. ‘Plenty of texts. Not just one. And four calls.’

  ‘He is, he certainly is,’ Sam said, considering his persistence as she headed to see Amber.