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

by Caroline Mitchell

  ‘There’s only one way to find out,’ Frank said, the smile leaving his face.

  Sam stared, then shook his head. ‘You’re shitting me,’ he said, flicking his ash onto the floor.

  ‘And you’re scared,’ Frank said, with an icy edge to his voice. Lately restlessness had been crawling under his skin, whispering, demanding; an army of flesh-covered wants and needs. His friendship with Sam had distracted him, but the kid was of no use to him if he wasn’t capable of joining in. Frank wanted someone to share the thrill, an apprentice to his murderous ways.

  ‘No, I’m not,’ Sam said. ‘All that stuff I did down at the graveyard was real. You saw the newspaper reports.’

  Frank snickered, ‘Yeah but messing about with dead bodies isn't the same as putting them there.’

  Sam drew on his joint, locking the smoke into his lungs before releasing it through the corner of his mouth. ‘Look. All this time you’ve been hinting that you’ve killed people, but I’m beginning to wonder if you’re not full of crap. I’ve spent time in police custody and nobody has ever talked about you.’

  Frank felt his hackles rise. He tightened his grip on the can and leaned forward to speak. He needed to keep control. He didn’t want to kill the only friend he had. The kid had potential, and could prove a useful sidekick, or a scapegoat, whichever way you looked at it.

  ‘I didn’t get caught because I’m good.’

  ‘Talk is cheap. Maybe it’s your turn to prove it,’ Sam said, his bravado enhanced by the cider and cannabis invading his system.

  ‘You think you’re ready for it?’ Frank said, a smile creeping back to his lips.

  ‘What are you planning?’

  ‘I might let you in on it. I have to know I can trust you first.’

  ‘I’m hardly gonna tell the cops am I?’

  Sam offered the joint to Frank and he inhaled deeply, relaxing back into the sofa. ‘I don’t want you telling your friends.’

  ‘I don’t even see those junkies anymore. There’s nobody to tell.’

  Frank clasped Sam’s thigh and gave it a squeeze. It was a quick movement, but enough to send a thrill through Sam, as he felt the warmth of his hand through the rip in his jeans.

  ‘Well Sam, it’s like this. Deep down most people reach a time in their lives where they want to kill someone, but something holds them back. Their enforced morals, feelings of guilt, fears of getting caught, or they just don’t have the courage. Can you imagine if they didn’t have any of those feelings?’

  Sam stared, captive to the speech Frank had rehearsed in his mind countless times before.

  ‘The ability to execute another is very powerful. Animals do it, why can’t we? If we’re not meant to carry out such acts then why are human beings so hard to live with? The answer is that we’re not here to be nice to each other. We are here to experience life in its fullest form. Death will come to the wicked and immoral. And I am more than willing to carry out their punishment.’ Frank smiled. ‘This is your chance to step up to the mark, Sam, to be a man. But I warn you, once you’ve made your decision there’s no going back. You’re either with me or against me.’ Frank patted Sam’s knee again before getting up to leave.

  The young man was plunged into a tailspin of hormones, his admiration for Frank muffling the voice at the back of his mind that screamed, this is murder, you’re talking about murder. Sam smiled as he got up and shook Frank’s hand, anything for a few more seconds of delicious contact.

  ‘In that case, count me in.’

  22 Chapter Twenty-two

  ‘Come in,’ Shelly croaked, as Jennifer pushed open the door of the flat. The fact that it was off the latch made her nervous, and the feeling of foreboding grew stronger as she pushed it open. Another raspy phone call from an unknown number had heightened her sense of danger, and Jennifer thought it was best to check on Shelly and see if she was okay. She made a mental note to keep the door ajar. One of the first rules of policing – always ensure you have a point of escape. The birth of a headache pounded against her temples as a stench assailed her nostrils. She had smelt it before, the last time she seen Charlie alive.

  Shelly sat in a red armchair, with one leg slung over the ragged arm. Jennifer was shocked at the pitiful sight before her. She had seen better-looking corpses. Shelly’s greasy hair hung down on her face, which was dotted with pus-filled sores.

  ‘You look awful, do you need a doctor?’ Jennifer said, her stomach lurching at the sight before her.

  Shelly cackled as she played with the stringy length of hair, and the voice that spoke was not her own. ‘Don’t you think she’s pretty? “When merry winds do blow and rain makes trees look fresh, an overpowering staleness holds this mortal flesh.”’

  Jennifer sucked her lips back in disgust. ‘Shelly, let me help you.’

  ‘Aw, little Jenny, so thoughtful, so kind, worried about the whore.’ She picked at a scab on her arm and a blossom of blood grew under her fingernail. ‘It’s lean times for Shelly, looking like this. Even horny old Wilfred couldn’t get it up. Can you imagine that? He gave it a go, but the smell, you know.’ Shelly pinched her nose and waved a bony hand in front of her face.

  A cold breeze danced around Jennifer, sending a shiver down her spine. ‘Who are you?’ she said.

  ‘You do hurt my feelings, pretending you don’t know me, when I’ve been a friend of the family for such a long time.’ Shelly scratched her crotch, her long nails tearing into the thin fabric of her jeans. ‘It’s lean pickings indeed. Perhaps you would like a go yourself? Feel free, it’s my pleasure.’ Shelly began to circle her nipples through her orange vest, leering at Jennifer with a mocking smile.

  ‘You’re not worth my time,’ Jennifer said, turning to leave. She knew that whatever was within Shelly had a power beyond her understanding, but she needed answers and the entity would not want her to go.

  Shelly’s scrawny body rose from the chair, a fire of fury behind her dark hollowed eyes. Her limbs dangled as she stood, a marionette, in the center of the room. ‘Don’t you turn your back on me. Have you forgotten the debts you owe? Who did you think you were praying to, in the boathouse all those years ago?’

  The colour drained from Jennifer’s face as suppressed memories returned to haunt her. Thoughts of that night in the boathouse made her want to run outside and breathe in clean gulps of air, expelling the suffocating memories of the past.

  Shelly’s eyes glinted, two daggers piercing her soul. ‘You remember that night, shamelessly begging for your father’s death! Even I was impressed. What God would answer such a prayer, as your sister slept so innocently in her bed?’

  ‘That’s not true, I loved my father,’ Jennifer said, guilt and shame raining down on her.

  Shelly pointed her finger fiendishly. ‘Yes you did. And the night he crept into your bed, clawing at your nightgown, you wanted to be a daddy’s girl more than anything. But then he went and ruined it all, by crying out your mother’s name.’

  ‘No! I didn’t want that! He was drunk, he didn’t know what he was doing.’

  ‘So you pushed him away and while he stumbled downstairs, you dropped to your knees and pleaded for his death.’

  ‘No! I just wanted him gone!’

  Shelly waved her finger in a tick-tock fashion in front of her. ‘Now now, don’t lie. You wanted him dead, admit it.’

  ‘Yes.’ The answer came in a whisper.

  ‘Louder! I want to hear you say it. You wanted him dead,’ Shelly spat the words.

  ‘Yes, I wanted him dead! Because I hated him. I hated him so much!’ Jennifer clasped her hands to her face as tears fell through her fingers.

  Shelly’s body collapsed into the armchair. ‘Hate is such a powerful emotion, isn’t it? But when you pray with hate in your heart, you get listened to. Such a shame your father had to go and spoil it by waking as the fire tickled his skin. But don’t worry. It’ll be our little secret – as long as you carry out your end of the bargain.’

  ‘You want
to kill me? Is that what you want?’ Jennifer asked, swallowing back her tears.

  Shelly cackled. ‘Oh no dear, I don’t want to kill you, at least not any more. I want to be you. You and me, we’re different from everyone else. To them you’re a freak. But to me, you’re more powerful than they could ever imagine. It’s time we fulfilled your potential.’

  Jennifer squared back her shoulders, as if preparing for battle. Jabbing her finger towards Shelly, she spat her words. ‘You can go back to hell where you came from.’

  ‘Oh c’mon now,’ Shelly cracked her neck, ‘I need a decent body. These are shit. They don’t last.’

  ‘If that’s what you want, why are you even asking me?’ Jennifer said.

  Shelly sighed. ‘Unfortunately I need you to give yourself freely. Addicts will agree to anything if you feed them what they want. But look at this!’ Shelly prodded her chest, ‘She’s rotting from the inside. That’s the smell, you know. Now, your body would be powerful. Think of the things we could achieve if we combine our resources. Don't you want to bring the world to justice?’

  ‘It’s not going to happen.’

  ‘Don’t be so hasty. You’d be surprised what people will do for the ones they love. Take little Josh, for example.’ Shelly’s tongue lolled as she began to pant like a dog.

  Jennifer’s heartbeat quickened as fear swept through her like a bitter wind. She didn’t like where the conversation was going, but she couldn’t leave now. The thought of Joshua, so sweet and innocent, having anything to do with this … thing sickened her to the core. ’What do you mean?’

  Shelly rolled her eyes to the back of her head and groaned. Her head fell back, mouth gaping, revealing black gaps where her teeth had once been. A gravelly moan emitted through her dry cracked lips.

  ‘I said, what do you mean? Answer me!’

  Shelly baulked as her stomach enlarged. Jennifer stood, frozen to the spot, as Shelly lurched forward and vomited a putrid sludge on the fringed rug before her. She gripped her stomach and bent forward, her hair hanging thinly down her face.

  ‘Shelly, talk to me,’ Jennifer said, side stepping the vomit to crouch down beside her.

  Shelly turned her bloodshot eyes towards Jennifer and a look of confusion flashed across her face. ‘Who are you?’ she groaned.

  ‘Shelly I’m the police, you were about to tell me something.’ But Jennifer knew that whatever had vacated Shelly’s body was gone. Shelly was back, and in urgent need of medical assistance. Jennifer squeezed her hand as she whispered her name. ‘Shelly, speak to me.’

  ‘Oh God, help me, I’m dying.’

  Jennifer pressed the talk button on her police radio, as Shelly groaned. A nasal voice came on the other line, and she requested an ambulance.

  She went outside to guide the paramedics in, and discussed Shelly’s condition as they climbed the stairs. Jennifer scanned the empty flat on her return. Shelly had vanished without a trace. Jennifer checked the window, which was tightly closed. The only sign that Shelly had been there was a pool of vomit on the floor.

  Jennifer stood at the open office door, and DI James Allison waved her inside. ‘Ah Jennifer, sorry I’ve not had much time to talk, I’ve been very busy with one thing and another.’ He rubbed his face, looking tired and drawn.

  ‘That’s OK, can you spare me five minutes now?’ Jennifer said, setting two cups of tea on the desk. She didn’t ask for his time very often, and knew he would not turn her away.

  James took the phone off the hook and switched his mobile on silent before resting it on the table. ‘Consider it done.’

  A nervous feeling fluttered in her chest as she prepared to put her case to the DI. It felt silly, being nervous of a man who had known her all her life, but in a work setting, he was in charge. Laura’s recent revelation about the problems he had caused for her father was not lost on her either, but she knew from experience that there were two sides to every story and she was not about to let past events cloud her judgement. DI Allison had the power to make or break her career, and she certainly wasn’t heading for promotion any time soon.

  ‘I wanted to ask you about an old case mum was involved with. The serial killer known as the ‘Grim Reaper’.’

  DI Allison nodded thoughtfully. ‘I see. What do you need to know?’

  ‘Just some background information. I’d like to do some digging on it if that’s OK, look up old case files.’

  He took a mouthful of tea. ‘To be honest it was an open and shut case. If the accomplice … oh, what was his name now?’

  ‘Sam Beswick,’ Jennifer said.

  James clicked his fingers. ‘Yes, Beswick. If he hadn’t come forward and told the police, we would never have been any the wiser. Why are you interested, anyway?’

  ‘Em, it’s a bit worrying really,’ Jennifer stuttered, ‘I’m concerned about the recent spate of deaths in our area.’ She toyed with the cross around her neck. ‘I believe there’s a pattern emerging.’

  ‘It’s news to me. Go on, I’m listening.’

  ‘Well, first Johnny Mallet died …’

  ‘Committed suicide. We attended the scene, remember?’

  Jennifer frowned as her internal monologue piped up. Of course, I remember, what do you think I am, stupid? ‘Sir, if you’ll let me finish.’

  DI Allison raised his eyebrows at her curtness. ‘Go ahead.’

  She opened the journal resting on her lap. ‘Johnny Mallet died of an apparent suicide by hanging, very similar to Michael Osborne, whose death was also believed to be suicide by hanging until Foster admitted to his murder. Both victims were known criminals and drug addicts.’ Jennifer turned the page of her journal. ‘Then Charlie Taylor, my ex-teacher, died in a mysterious fire. Stanley Rogers was a teacher, also killed by Foster, also in a house fire.’ She sighed as she caught James looking at his watch. ‘Next was Barbara Harris, a retired woman who was thought to have died from a severe asthma attack. However, Foster later admitted being responsible for attempting to smother the woman. Similarly, a woman named Joan Connelly recently died suddenly, due to a suspected heart attack.’

  James opened his mouth to speak, and Jennifer raised her hand. ‘I’ve just got one more, sir. Martina Jackson, a known prostitute. Frank assisted in the murder, and her body was discovered in a suitcase in a river. I’m very worried about Shelly Easton, girlfriend of Johnny Mallet, also a drug user and prostitute. I visited her the other day, and she wasn’t well at all. I called an ambulance, but she had disappeared by the time they got there. Sir, with your permission, I’d like to open a line of investigation on this case.’

  DI Allison folded his arms. ‘Let me get this clear. Are you saying we have a copycat killer on our hands? Because Frank Foster is dead, and Beswick is banged up.’

  ‘Oh. No, I ... didn’t know,’ Jennifer said, taken aback by the harshness of his voice. She should have researched Foster’s whereabouts and been more prepared. ‘I just feel uncomfortable about it, and I’d like to look into it further.’

  ‘May I?’ James asked, reaching across the desk for her journal. He scanned the page, his frown deepening. ‘You’re taking this all out of context. Suicides are commonplace when dealing with our customers. And as for Charlie Taylor, he was also an alcoholic, who had too much to drink and most likely set himself alight. As I remember, Stanley Rogers was a paedophile, and this was the main reason Foster cited for killing him.’

  DI Allison jabbed the names written on the page. ‘Foster killed Osborne for revenge. Barbara Harris died of natural causes. Foster was not charged with her murder, despite the fact that he tried to take the credit for it. How old was your Joan Connelly?’

  ‘Eighty-five,’ Jennifer said in a very small voice.

  ‘Eighty-five! I take it she died of natural causes?’

  Jennifer nodded, wishing the ground would swallow her up.

  DI Allison shook his head. ‘As for Tina, Sam Beswick was responsible for her death, not Frank Foster. There’s no link to Shelly, who, as
far as I’m aware, is still out plying her trade. I really don’t know why you’re wasting my time with this when you’ve got better things to do.’ DI Allison slammed the journal down in front of Jennifer, his face flushed in annoyance.

  Jennifer took a deep breath. She had one more question that needed answering. ‘Sir, you mentioned Tina? Are you referring to Martina Jackson?’

  ‘Yes, of course I am.’ James rubbed the bridge of his nose between his fingers as silence descended between them. ‘I’m sorry for snapping, but I want to see you move forward with your career and concentrate on the cases in front of you. It’s not that long since you were on restricted duties, and given the amount of probationers chomping at the bit, you’re very fortunate to have a role in CID at all. Now forget all this nonsense and you’ll be back dealing with proper jobs before you know it.’

  ‘Yes of course, when you put it like that …’ Jennifer bit her lip as she gathered up her courage. ‘It was just, when I spoke to Johnny, Charlie and Shelly they spoke with a similar voice. And they said stuff about my past that nobody else could have known.’

  ‘It’s called a personality disorder, lots of our suspects suffer from it,’ the DI said. ‘You’re not going to start talking about this hocus pocus stuff are you, because if I’m honest, I’m getting a bit worried about you.’

  Jennifer took the journal and curled her fingers tightly around it. ‘No, of course not. Investigating my mum’s case made me feel closer to her. I guess I got a bit carried away. Nothing to worry about here, I promise.’

  The DI sighed. ‘It wasn’t even her case; she just thought it was because she got dragged into a couple of interviews. This isn’t your fight, so my advice is to let it drop. I don’t want you using police time to look up things that don’t have any bearing on your current investigations. It’s very easy to get the sack for misuse of the PNC and I wouldn’t want that to happen to you.’

  Jennifer knew only too well that unauthorised use of the police national computer could lead to her dismissal.