Basic Element: A dark gipping detective thriller (Crane and Anderson Book 2)

by Wendy Cartmell

  That’s what I crave.

  The next high.

  The next hit.

  The next partner.

  That’s it. I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid. There’s only one place where I could even hope to feel how I felt that first time. It’s so simple, I wonder why I didn’t realise it before.

  All I need to do is to recreate my encounter with Sally.

  Donna

  Donna was in the middle of tidying the flat, when a knock at the door made her jump. Still not entirely comfortable with being back at home, what with Sally’s murder and all, she had taken to cleaning over and over again. Almost as if she were scrubbing away any trace of the vile monster who had killed Sally. And she wasn’t using bleach. Even the faintest whiff of the stuff made her nauseous now. Glancing at her watch she wondered who it could be. Wishing she’d installed the spy hole Ciaran had told her to put into the door, she opened it slightly.

  “Hi, is Sally in?”

  Stood before her was a very personable young man, in his mid-twenties probably. He was asking about Sally? Donna hesitated.

  “I’ve been working overseas,” he said. “I lost my mobile phone, so haven’t been able to keep in touch. I told her I’d ring when I got back and we’d go out. Dinner or something.”

  This was the stuff of nightmares. How could she tell him Sally had died? “Um, hi, I’m her flat mate, Donna.”

  “Can I come in?”

  He began to walk through the door into the flat without giving her a chance to say no. But surely it would be alright? If he was a friend of Sally’s.

  Closing the door behind him, she turned and said, “I’m so sorry, I don’t know how to tell you this… but…”

  “What?”

  “Sally’s dead,” she blurted, all her training as an air hostess flying out of the window. So much for being discreet and professional.

  He sat down abruptly on the sofa. Donna wasn’t entirely happy with that either, but she couldn’t exactly grab hold of him and pull him up.

  “Have I seen you before?” she asked him. “I’m sure you look familiar.”

  “That’s probably because Sally and I had been seeing each other on and off, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know that. She never said.”

  “Well, it was more of an ‘off’ than an ‘on’ thing, you know? Christ, I can’t believe she’s dead. What happened? Was it an accident?”

  “No, she was …”

  That was it! That’s where she’d seen his face, from the sting at the Goose the other night. It was the man from the photo. “… murdered.” She managed to finish her sentence and made a grab for her mobile.

  “Waiting for a call from someone?” he said, and Donna was sure she heard a slightly sinister edge to his voice.

  “Yes, my boyfriend. He must have been delayed. I’m just checking to see if he’s sent a message.” Turning her back on her intruder, she called Ciaran’s number, then turned down the volume, turned off the screen and kept it in her hand.

  “It’s funny Sally never mentioned you,” she said. She wanted to keep him talking, to give Ciaran a chance to understand what was going on. He would understand. She was sure of it. Yes, definitely he would.

  “Well, you’re away so often, maybe I was around when you weren’t?”

  “Maybe. I wonder where Ciaran is?” she said, looking at her watch. “He’s normally so reliable. I can’t believe he hasn’t come over.” She really wanted to shout that bit for Ciaran’s benefit, but daren’t antagonise the man in front of her. “He’s in the police, you know?”

  “Oh. Local plod is he?” he said, the veiled sneer not lost on Donna.

  “No, major crimes actually. He’s a really interesting person. I’m sure you’d get on. He’s a very friendly bloke. What did you say your name was again?”

  “I didn’t. So is this where it happened?” he looked around the small living room.

  “Where what happened?”

  “Where Sally was killed?”

  “Um, it was in her bedroom.”

  “Show me.”

  “What?” Donna’s head jerked up from where she’d been looking at her phone again, not daring to turn the screen on in case he saw her phone was connected to Ciaran’s.

  “I said show me.”

  He grabbed at her arm and pushed her through the bedroom door in front of him.

  “Let go of me,” she shouted, “you’re hurting me.”

  “I’ll hurt you even more if you don’t shut up.”

  By now, Ciaran was flying down the stairs in Aldershot Police Station. He’d put out a call for an emergency response team to Donna’s address and was thanking all sorts of gods that, firstly she was only a few minutes’ drive away from the police station, and secondly that she’d had the initiative to call him. Throwing open the door of his car, he started the engine and pulled away before he’d even closed it behind him.

  He couldn’t believe what was happening. Had he put her in danger by going out with her? But then again how could that be? Wild thoughts raced through his mind as he sped through the streets. He wondered if the Choker, for that’s who it had to be, was armed. But no that was stupid. Aldershot wasn’t the USA where every man and his dog had a gun. The Choker hadn’t used a weapon before, as far as they were aware. But this time it was different. Donna wasn’t a willing participant.

  Ciaran wondered why the Choker had decided to go back to the scene of his first crime. Needing to recreate it perhaps? With Donna as a substitute for Sally? He moaned out loud and pressed down hard on the accelerator, with no thought for his own safety.

  Donna’s arms had just been tied to the bed when she heard them. Sirens. It seemed Ciaran had understood what was happening to her. She’d known she could depend on him but, if she was honest, her faith had wavered for a while there. She’d never been so frightened in all her life. It had all happened so fast. He’d pushed her into Sally’s room and as she’d stumbled, he’d grabbed her hair and dragged her onto the bed. She put up her arms to try and free her hair and that’s when he’d managed to hold onto first one and then the other of her wrists. He had pinned her body to the bed by kneeling on her chest, which had pushed all the air out of her lungs, so she was more interested in trying to breathe than with what he was doing to her arms. Now she was immobile. Struggle as she might, she couldn’t free her hands.

  Twisting her head to look up, she saw they were tied with plastic ties. Still looming over her, her attacker pulled a silk scarf out of his coat pocket. There was no doubt now, she was dealing with the Choker. He’d been pulling off her clothes when they heard the sirens. His head came up as he listened and realised what was happening.

  “You bitch,” he snarled and punched her in the face. Everything went black in an instant.

  When she came round, confused and disorientated, Ciaran was bending over her.

  “Donna, are you alright? Say something for God’s sake!”

  “Ciaran?” she mumbled through lips that were swelling and splitting. She tasted blood on her tongue.

  “It’s all over. He’s gone,” Ciaran said. “I was so frightened,” he whispered in her ear.

  “So was I!” She tried to grin, but her lip split even more and she had to stop.

  “Try not to talk,” he said. “The bastard punched you in the face. We’re going to get you to hospital and have you checked over. Did he do anything else to you?”

  She shook her head, then realised she was cold and shaking. Her jeans had gone and she was dressed only in her knickers and ripped tee-shirt. Ciaran tenderly untied each wrist and then put her hands in plastic bags before gently helping her bring her arms down to her side, as she couldn’t feel them. She groaned as the pins and needles started as the blood began to flow again.

  “Can you give us some room, sir,” a deep voice said behind Ciaran.

  “Yes, sorry,” she heard Ciaran say. Then his head bent to hers again. “It’s just the paramedics, they’re going to
take you to hospital. But you need to keep the plastic bags on your hands, until we can get samples from under your nails. There might be some skin cells under there.”

  “Alright, but don’t leave me,” she begged as her resolve to be brave dissolved and the tears came.

  “No chance. I’ll be right by your side.”

  Crane

  Derek, Crane and Holly were lounging in Derek’s office, looking at the photo of The Choker pinned up on the whiteboard and brainstorming what to do next. They were all still shocked from the events of the previous evening and were waiting for Ciaran to return with some decent coffee from a local specialist coffee shop, something Crane was looking forward to drinking. He knew it was a luxury and pricey, but had decided it was worth it. A decent shot of caffeine really helped him feel better, more alert and less in a fog with the pain. Okay so he was swapping one drug for another, but at least caffeine wasn’t so addictive. Or at least he hoped not.

  Ciaran hadn’t wanted to come to work, desperate to stay by Donna’s side, but she’d told him not to be so stupid and to pull himself together, so he could find the bastard who’d hurt her and killed Sally. When he’d appeared in the office he was a physical and emotional wreck, which is why Crane had sent him out for the coffees.

  Everyone in the team had been badly shaken by the Choker re-appearing at Sally’s apartment. But he’d got away again. The sirens had alerted him and whilst it had stopped him killing Donna, it had meant she’d been badly beaten for her treachery, before he’d slipped away into the night. Officers were going through local CCTV cameras but Crane didn’t hold out much hope. CCTV worked really well during the day, but at night? Not such good results.

  His introspection was broken by Derek asking, “What do you think, Crane?”

  “Think? Sorry, you’ll have to repeat that.”

  Derek huffed theatrically then said, “What do you think about releasing the photo of the killer to the media? I think we’re out of ideas to be honest. Going public is the only option left to us.”

  “If he sees it, it will alert him to the fact that we know what he looks like, but not who he is. He could change his look because of it.”

  “Change his look?”

  “Yeah, different hair colour, grow a beard, moustache, that sort of thing.”

  “Oh, I get you,” Holly said. “But surely if someone who knows him sees it, then they’ll respond to the request for help, won’t they?”

  “What about publishing it in the form of an e-fit?” said Derek.

  “An e-fit of who?” said Ciaran walking into the room and interrupting the discussion while they each grabbed their coffee from him and Holly picked up her green tea.

  “Our killer,” said Crane after a satisfying sip. “Rather than use his photo from the nanny cam, doctor it so it looks like an e-fit.”

  “What’s the point of that?”

  “So we can say it was an e-fit of a person described by a victim who survived.”

  “But it wouldn’t be,” said Holly.

  “But he wouldn’t know,” said Ciaran.

  “That’s lying,” she insisted.

  “That’s police work,” laughed Anderson. “That’s a great idea, Crane. Let’s see if we can’t rattle his cage a bit, make him worry, that’s when offenders tend to make mistakes.”

  “But he’s been very clever so far,” said Holly.

  “Who has?”

  Everyone turned to look at the speaker. It was Professor Dennison.

  “Him?” he asked as he stared at the photograph. “It can’t be.”

  “Professor, are you alright?” Crane reached out to hold the man’s elbow, but as that made the two of them unstable, Ciaran came to his aid and pushed a chair behind Dennison’s knees just as his legs gave way. He sat down with a small puff of air from the cushioned seat.

  Crane grabbed the back of the Professor’s chair with one hand and his stick with the other and just about managed to stay upright. “Why are you here?” he blurted.

  “I, um, came to apologise and to explain where I was on the nights of the murders. One of your colleagues showed me up. I felt it was the least I could do. A kind of penance because you’d wasted so much time investigating me. But now I’ve seen this… who is it?”

  “Our murderer.”

  “Are you sure?” Dennison’s voice was high and reedy, like an old man trying and failing to be assertive.

  “We’re sure,” said Derek. “Why? Do you recognise him?”

  “I’m very much afraid I do,” said Dennison, causing Crane to wobble and sit down on the nearest chair. Bugger standing up. He’d had a shock. They’d all had a shock.

  “How?”

  “Why?”

  “Who is he?”

  “Bloody hell.”

  They all spoke at once.

  Crane took several deep breaths and then a healthy slug of coffee to revive him.

  Anderson

  “He’s one of my students.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Who’d have thought?”

  “Christ.”

  “If you’ve all finished,” Anderson decided to take control of his team. “Professor, can you explain, please. Tell us everything you know about him.”

  After a deep breath he spoke. “He’s one of my students.”

  “Studying criminology?”

  “Yes. He’s also in my tutor group.”

  “So you know him well?” Anderson felt a bubble of excitement rising up through his chest. Although it could be trapped wind. His stomach was constantly clenched with stress these days, what with all the murders and Crane fucking about with those little pills of his, not to mention Ciaran mooning over someone connected to the case, and Holly turning out to be a regular Miss Marple. Anderson struggled to concentrate. The Professor’s revelation that he knew their killer had come so suddenly, he was having trouble focusing his thoughts. He felt like all the air had been forced out of his lungs, and for a moment was as unsteady on his feet as Crane usually was. He decided to stop fighting the feeling of vertigo and sat down himself.

  “What’s his name?” Derek asked the Professor.

  “Giles Acreman.”

  “We need to know everything about him.”

  The Professor nodded. “The best bet is his student file.”

  “Can you get me a copy?” Anderson, at last, was absorbing the shock and beginning to think more like a policeman and less like a drunk.

  “If I can go and get my laptop from the car, I can remotely log into the university intranet and access his records for you.”

  “That’s great,” said Holly. “I can copy the files and then print them out.”

  Professor Dennison stood and Anderson noticed he was still very unstable. He suddenly looked much older than in his late forties. He seemed to have aged ten years since walking in the door only ten minutes ago. “Ciaran will go with you,” Anderson said, “and carry your case.”

  The young DC sprung up. “This way, Professor. Would you like a coffee when we get back?”

  Satisfied that Profession Dennison was in good hands, Derek turned to Holly. “Get everything we’ve got on this Giles Acreman while we’re waiting.”

  “Yes, guv, although it might not be much. I’ll try social media as well, but as the facial recognition didn’t work…” Holly said and left the room.

  “Well I’ll be buggered,” he turned to Crane.

  “Who’d have thought it would be that easy. It almost feels like a let-down.”

  “That’s police work for you. But don’t be complacent. We haven’t got him in custody yet. Nor have we any evidence he killed Charlie and Dawn. Remember we only have him on the nanny cam killing Sally.”

  “Don’t forget that Donna can bring a complaint against him for attempted rape. I’m not letting him get away with that. So, what’s the plan for arresting him?”

  “That’s what we’ve got to work out. I’ve a few more questions for the Professor first and depending on tha
t, we’ll work out a plan.”

  Half an hour later they were organised. The Professor had had a restorative cup of tea, Holly had printed out the file, and they were all in Anderson’s office. Holly took the lead, at the request of Anderson, who figured Dennison still wasn’t at all steady on his feet, despite claims to the contrary. Anderson could feel they were coming to the end of the investigation. The danger was the team would relax. Be so thankful they knew who their killer was, they wouldn’t see the arrest of him as being a problem. Anderson hoped they wouldn’t encounter any difficulties, but you never knew.

  “Giles Acreman,” Holly was saying. “Student at Reading University, studying Criminology, which is a bit ironic to say the least.”

  “Stick to the facts please, Holly.”

  “Sorry, guv. Aged twenty-one, three years into a four year Honours Degree. Lives in a shared student house in Earley, giving him easy access to the university. Grades are good, looking at a 2.1 if his dissertation is good enough next year. We have his mobile phone number. I’m guessing he doesn’t have a car as he’s never applied for a parking permit. Parents both dead, his mother fifteen years ago, his father recently. No other family that I’ve been able to trace.”

  “Does he have a record?”

  “He’d been reported to the university authorities once for stalking, but has no police record at all, not even a warning or a caution.” Having finished, Holly sat down at the table with the others.

  “Stalking, eh?” said Crane. “That’s a good place to start. Shows he’s an obsessive personality.”

  “What do you make of him, Professor?” Anderson was keen to have a personal perspective.

  “Good student, always does his assignments, hands them in on time, gets good grades for them. If anything he’s a bit too quiet during tutor groups. Rather than joining in a discussion, he tends to sit there with a smirk on his face. As if he’s better than all of us, you know? It gives me the creeps sometimes. But I always saw it as a minor point. It was just his personality. I didn’t realise it was hiding something far darker. It looks like we were both concealing a darker side of ourselves.”