Don't Turn Around: A dark, thrilling, page-turner of a crime novel (Detective Jennifer Knight Crime Thriller Series Book 1)

by Caroline Mitchell

  ‘It’s a long time ago, but rumour on the street was that he overdosed her. Go and shank the old bastard, I don’t care, just let me go.’

  Frank gripped the knife and stared intently at the veins bulging on her neck. What would it be like to slice into it? To watch as her lifeblood drained away. But not yet. Not when he had so much work to do. ‘If you tell anyone about this I’ll be back to finish the job. Understand?’ He pushed the blade further into her skin and a film of blood seeped red.

  Tina drew a sharp breath at the sting of pain. ‘I swear, I won’t say a word.’

  Frank reluctantly lowered the blade. ‘Go on, get lost. Just remember what I said.’

  With shaking hands, Tina grabbed the cash on the table before gathering up her things and running barefoot out the door.

  In all of his eighteen years, Frank had never felt so alive. He walked with silent footsteps as he stalked the dark alley, waiting for Osborne to appear. Frank slung his rucksack on one shoulder, the anticipation lending him a heightened sense of perception. This was no practice run. This time it was for real, and he was ready for it. He had been ready all his life.

  The thin, shabby figure crossed the road towards him, his black beady eyes cast greedily over his drugs purchase. If his routine played out as normal, Osborne would go inside the derelict building and shoot up. In about ten minutes, he would be sky high.

  Completely oblivious to his stalker, Osborne’s feet splashed carelessly through the dirty puddles leading to the rear of the large vacant house.

  Frank’s breath quickened as he followed, each footstep bringing him nearer his prey. He had tried to stem these feelings, as society taught him they were wrong, abhorrent. But the exhilaration as he finally surrendered to the monster inside him was like no other.

  Frank’s hands trembled as he waited outside and pulled the plastic covers over his boots. The back door was barely on its hinges, and Frank pushed his shoulder against the chipped paintwork. He picked his way through the debris littered on the floor.

  A rat scuttled past an empty milk bottle, causing it to spin. Frank moved only to grip the knife in his pocket. If Osborne came out to investigate, he would be ready for him.

  Frank steadied his breath and walked into the remnants of a living room. The ceiling blossomed with black damp spores, which reached out to a glass chandelier, a hint of the grandness this house had once harboured. Splinters of wood cracked and spat from the fireplace, casting light into the dingy space. The damp pores invaded Frank’s lungs. He resisted the urge to cough.

  In the corner of the room Osborne lay on a mattress, his head tilted back as a soft moan emitted from his lips. A rubber band wrapped around his skeletal arm confirmed that he had taken a hit. Frank stared at the pimp intently, years of frustration fuelling his hatred. The feel of his leather gloves lent him a certain satisfaction as he clenched his fists. How good it would feel to end his worthless life.

  Osborne lay with fingers extended and eyes closed, still holding the empty needle.

  Adrenalin pumped through Frank’s veins as he strode towards him, and Osborne raised his head, squinting in the flickering light.

  ‘Whatdaya want? I ain’t got nothing.’ The man’s voice echoed haplessly, and was greeted with silence as the dark figure above threw his rucksack on the ground.

  Frank worked swiftly. Pulling the heavy hemp rope from his bag, he threw it over the beam. He tugged it twice, satisfied it would hold. His hands worked purposefully as he knotted the top half into a loop. The noose was already lovingly prepared. The legs of the wooden chair dragged on the thinly carpeted floor as he pulled it into position. It was a good thing one chair had escaped the fire, although Frank would have found a way if things hadn’t gone to plan. He was twice the size of Osborne to start with. He smirked. It would be like snapping a twig.

  Osborne dropped the needle and forced himself to sit up. He flailed his arms in an effort to chase away the intruder. ‘I said, fuck off and leave me alone.’

  Frank’s lip curled in a sneer. Kicking the bag out of the way, he marched over to the man. Osborne’s eyes grew wide as he pushed his hand under his mattress, grasping for something that was no longer there.

  ‘Looking for this?’ Frank said, waving the knife in front of him. ‘I took it yesterday. Now be quiet and this won’t be too painful.’

  Osborne tried to stand, but his useless legs crumpled beneath him. Using one hand, Frank grabbed him by the throat and lifted him up. Osborne’s eyes bulged as he fought to breathe, clawing at Frank’s muscled arms. Frank punched him in the mouth, knocking out two of his front teeth. ‘I said, be quiet. Now, do I need to tell you again?’

  ‘Pleath messr, pleath don’t hurth me.’ The words whistled through the bubbles of blood, pouring from his gums into his ragged beard.

  ‘Did Glo say please?’ Frank said, shoving him into the mattress and binding his wrists. Frank wiped his brow. He flipped Osborne around and shoved a rag into his mouth.

  ‘Did Glo ask you to stop as you pinned her down and injected your poison into her?’

  He pulled Osborne up and held him at arm’s length.

  Osborne almost looked pitiful – but it was too late. Frank had seen the guilt in his eyes.

  He dragged him to the center of the room and placed the noose over his head.

  ‘Blindfold? No? Glo didn’t have a blindfold when you killed her, did she, you murderous bastard.’ The irony was completely lost on Frank as he pulled a length of rope tighter over the rafter, stretching Osborne to his full height.

  ‘Guaarghh,’ Osborne gurgled, his bloodied tooth nestled in his greying beard. Frank wrapped the rope around his arm and lifted Osborne onto the chair. He flopped like a fish out of water, fighting his grip.

  ‘Let’s see how long you can keep your balance.’ Frank said, as he pulled the rope tighter over the beam, tying a double knot. He giggled manically as his fantasy reached fruition. Somewhere in the back of his brain, a voice spoke to him. It was his father. You don’t have to do this Frankie, it’s not too late. Just cut him down and tell him you were teaching him a lesson. He won’t tell a soul.

  Frank stood back and took one last look at the man, dancing on his toes on the chair. The truth was, he didn’t want to back out. He had imagined the scene so many times, it had already happened. With one swift kick, Frank sent the chair skidding onto the floor. Osborne’s body jerked and wriggled as Frank burned the image into his memory. Soon the only noise was the creaking rope as the body became limp and swung from side to side.

  Taking out a pair of scissors from his rucksack, Frank cut the binding from Osborne’s wrists. He tutted at the red marks they left behind. The bloodied nose, the red wrists – Osborne had fought more than he had expected. He paced the room, mumbling under his breath. He gathered up the bindings and bloodstained blanket from the mattress, throwing them onto the fire. It roared into flame and he stepped back, still holding the gag. A trickle of sweat ran down his back as he decided what to do with it. Frank shoved it in his pocket. With any luck, the body would not be discovered for weeks, maybe months. By then the bruises would not show.

  He ran home, expecting to hear sirens screaming behind him. The faint glow of the upstairs light could be seen from the road, which meant mother was awake. Frank panted heavily, rooting for his back door key buried deep in his jeans pocket. He had to get inside without arousing suspicion. She was his only alibi.

  He peeled off his damp sweaty clothes and lit the gas hob for the kettle.

  ‘Frank? Is that you? Where have you been?’

  Frank quickly slipped into the spare set of pajamas he had hidden in the clothes basket. Racing up the stairs, he flicked on his mother’s light, gaining some satisfaction as the 100 watt bulb hurt her eyes.

  ‘What do you want?’

  Viv rubbed her eyes and turned on the bedside lamp. ‘Turn off that effing light, for starters. Where were you? I called for you and you didn’t answer.’

  Frank rubbed
the back of his neck. ‘Yes well, call louder next time, I didn’t hear you.’ There was nothing wrong with his mother’s hearing as she cocked her head to one side at the noise of the kettle whistling on the hob downstairs.

  ‘Be a good boy and make your mother a cup of tea, my legs are giving me gyp tonight.’

  Frank nodded and closed the door behind him. He paused as the floorboard creaked under the weight of his foot. He would have to get that fixed. Couldn’t have her waking up again, not when he was going out on the prowl.

  Fixing her tea, he smiled to himself. He’d done it. He’d actually killed that pathetic excuse for a man. He wondered if his mother would be pleased when she heard. His heart skipped a beat as he recalled the scene. Not exactly how he had rehearsed it, but close enough. He had been careful. Nobody had seen him. And nobody would see him the next time.

  9 Chapter Nine

  The cell door rattled, punctuated by sharp cries of despair. Jennifer ignored the noise as she waited in a queue to speak to Sergeant Greaves, the custody sergeant. A jolly man, his tufts of grey hair spiked the edges of his bald patch, which matched the pinkness of his cheeks. He smiled mischievously as he encouraged a young probationer to search the ginger-haired male he had just arrested for shoplifting.

  ‘Don’t forget the scanner.’ Sergeant Greaves handed the large black wand over the counter to the officer.

  ‘What’s that for?’ the prisoner asked, as the officer waved the metal detector over him.

  ‘It’s to make sure you aren’t lying,’ Sergeant Greaves replied, with a twinkle in his eye. The prisoner stiffened, then realised technology had not advanced that far yet and relaxed his posture.

  Jennifer rolled her eyes to Lara, the detention officer who was removing cigarettes from her trouser pocket for a sneaky puff outside. The short stout woman gave her a weary look. ‘Can you sort your mate out? He’s a right pain.’

  ‘My mate? For goodness sake, who is it now?’ Jennifer asked.

  Lara scratched her head. ‘It’s em, what’s his name … Charlie, that’s it. Charlie Taylor. He’s been asking for you all day. Said he’s a friend of yours.’

  Jennifer’s mouth gaped at the mention of the name. ‘No … it can’t be. What’s he in here for?’ Another murderous scream from the custody cell. The young prisoner gulped nervously.

  ‘Bet you wish you hadn’t stolen that Twix bar now, eh mate?’ Sergeant Greaves interjected, positively enjoying the look of terror on the young boy’s face. ‘I’ve heard that chap is lonely, fancy keeping him company?’

  The prisoner paled. “Don’t I get a cell to myself?’ he croaked, removing his trainers for the searching officer.

  ‘That depends on whether you tell the truth or not,’ Sergeant Greaves said with a wink.

  ‘Oh for God’s sake Greavesy, give the kid a break,’ Jennifer laughed. It was like watching a game of cat and mouse.

  ‘He knows I’m only joking. Now can you please go and see your angry friend? He’s only been nicked for breach of the peace, but we can’t let him out until he calms down a bit.’

  ‘Anything for you Sergeant, as long as I don’t lose my place in the queue.’ Jennifer turned towards the cells, feeling his eyes on her bottom as she walked down the stale smelling corridor, passing empty cells one and two.

  Silence descended upon cell five as she approached it. Jennifer took the keys she had borrowed from Lara to open the door; quite happy that her old school teacher would never harm her. She cast her mind back to the dinner parties her parents used to have for Charlie Taylor and his wife, and how happy they had all seemed to the outside world.

  The temperature dropped with each step Jennifer took towards cell nine. She strained to listen outside the metal door, not wanting to catch him on the stainless steel toilet that graced the corner of the cell. ‘Mr. Taylor, it’s Jennifer. Are you OK?’

  No response. She put the key in the door and paused. Something wasn’t right. Looking through the peephole, she made out the figure of a man crouched whimpering in the corner, his face hidden from view. She removed the key from the door and undid the small serving hatch instead.

  ‘Charlie, are you OK?’

  The man turned around, his voice weak and feeble. ‘Jenny, is that you? Help me, please.’

  Overwhelming sadness bore down on Jennifer at the pitiful sight before her. Tears stained the man’s face. He pulled together the filthy rags that passed for clothes and shivered. Charlie had always described himself as a happy alcoholic, and he normally kept himself reasonably clean and fed. His usual cheery expression was replaced by a look of pure bewilderment, as much out of place as the silvery white hair, which was now dirty and unkempt.

  ‘What’s happened to you?’

  ‘I shouldn’t have listened, why did I listen?’ he whispered as he threaded his fingers through his hair.

  ‘What are you talking about? Has someone hurt you?’ Jennifer’s face was etched with concern.

  Charlie sat on the bench, his breath coming thick and fast. He grabbed his head in his hands and let out a blood-curdling scream.

  ‘Calm down. I’m going to speak to the custody officer for you, OK? We’ll get you a doctor, then you can be released.’

  He emitted a low moan, his face twisted in an agonizing stare. ‘I don’t want to die,’ he snivelled.

  ‘It’s only a breach of the peace, you’re not facing the firing squad. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a minute.’

  As she turned to walk away, a voice snaked through the air, ‘Jenn-i-fer, I told you we’d meet again.’

  It was the same slick voice that had spoken through Johnny the one that enunciated her name and felt like grease against her skin. She turned back to the open hatch.

  Charlie wore a smile of contempt. His dark stare was hypnotic, and Jennifer felt the pull, deep into another world. Her heart plummeted as the horror unraveled before her. ‘Charlie, tell me what’s happened to you.’

  The man growled a response. ‘You know this isn’t Charlie, you little bitch.’

  ‘I ... I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Jennifer said as the hairs stood sentry on the back of her neck.

  ‘Don’t lie to me. If you want to play games, I have ways of making you listen,’ he hissed.

  The man in the cell clicked his fingers and grinned wildly. ‘I know, like for like. What about that?’

  ‘Have you lost your mind?’

  ‘Why don’t you open that door and we can find out.’ Charlie’s eyes narrowed and his yellowed teeth flashed in the dim cell.

  ‘Not until you explain what’s going on.’

  ‘Relax, it’s me, Charlie, I won’t hurt you,’ he purred.

  Jennifer knew she was not talking to Charlie anymore. She shot a look down the empty corridor, and back to the man in the cell. ‘Who are you?’ Jennifer whispered. ‘And what do you want?’

  ‘Oh Jennifer, you know who I am … now stop being coy.’

  Jennifer rubbed her forehead. Her veins pulsed under her fingers and stabbing pain made her head feel like it was in a vice. ‘I don’t have time for this. Whoever you are, just leave Charlie alone.’

  ‘Or else what?’ Charlie laughed. ‘You? A slip of a girl afraid to let down her defenses? You’re only good for one thing.’ Charlie’s gaze travelled down the length of her body. ‘Just think, if I can give you a headache just by talking to you, what I could do if I were …’

  ‘I’m not listening to this shit anymore.’ The door hatch slammed shut as Jennifer turned on her heel and walked away.

  The voice echoed down the corridor as she walked.

  Jennifer strode to custody, leaving the keys on the counter. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but he’s not the Charlie I used to know.’

  The jukebox in the corner sang out ‘Don’t You (Forget About Me)’ by Simple Minds and Jennifer wondered how she had allowed her shift partner Will to talk her into a drink after work.

  ‘C’mon, what’s say we go out on the lash
? You could do with letting your hair down,’ he said, his grin embellished by the coffee froth clinging to his ridiculous beard.

  ‘I’m sorry, mate. I’ve just got a lot going on right now.’

  ‘Jennifer, you’re single. You’re financially sound and you have no dependents, not even a cat. What do you have going on in your life that is so important you can’t stay a bit longer? We could go for a bite to eat, my treat?’

  Jennifer stared into her drink as if it was the most fascinating thing she had ever seen. Her worries were bubbling over, threatening to spill out at any moment. But confiding in Will brought its own set of problems. Not least of which was that he was a die-hard sceptic, and refused to open his mind to anything that wasn’t grounded in science. The alternative was keeping him at arm’s length, which betrayed their friendship.

  Will wasn’t stupid, and if Jennifer was not going to tell him what was wrong then he would come to his own conclusions. ‘Are you …’ he lowered his voice to a whisper, ‘are you hearing voices again?’

  Jennifer’s felt a stab of pain as Will jumped to the conclusion that her mental health was at fault. But she desperately needed to confide in someone, and a sympathetic voice was better than none at all. Her eyes flicked around the empty bar and she nodded slowly. ‘I’m trying to keep them out, but it’s so bloody hard.’

  ‘You should have said. Are you worried about work finding out?’

  She chewed her lip. ‘Something like that. You can’t breathe a word of this or I’ll lose my place on the department.’

  ‘There must be something we can do. Have you tried ignoring them?’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say. You don’t hear these damn whispers when you’re trying to sleep at night.’ Jennifer took a breath to elaborate, but decided against it and looked out the rain-dappled window instead. Blurred outlines of people milled by, all wrapped up in their own problems.

  Will placed his hand on hers and to her surprise, she turned her hand palm upwards and wrapped her fingers around his. The warmth of his skin seeped comfort into her soul. It had been a long time since she had felt the touch of a man and she relaxed into it. Perhaps it was time to trust him with the truth.