‘Beautiful,’ Dean had agreed, ogling Nina’s breasts through her T-shirt. Max had seen him do this and had nodded in agreement. Over drinks, Dean told them he was camping a few miles away, and as the night wore on, and they became drunk, he confided that he was in the area to sell drugs at the local folk festivals. Nina didn’t say much, and listened to the boys as they bonded over shared experiences growing up in children’s homes and foster care.
They stayed until last orders, and then there had been an odd moment when they all stumbled into the foyer. Max was between them, an arm slung over each and he’d pulled them together, their faces pressed against his. Dean had run his hand over Nina’s breasts, and then Max’s chest, breathing heavily with an intense love-light in his eyes.
‘I really want you, both,’ he’d slurred.
‘Go on, back to your campsite,’ Max had said. ‘You’ll keep.’
Nina wondered now, in the cold light of the next morning, if she had gone too far.
After an awkward breakfast, where Nina tried and failed to make conversation, Max decided that he did want to go for a hike. He told Nina to go and pack their rucksacks and he went outside to see Dean.
When she came back down fifteen minutes later, she found Max and Dean waiting for her on a bench outside the hotel. They were killing themselves laughing, but stopped when she reached them.
‘Everything okay?’ she asked, handing Max the larger of the two rucksacks.
He pulled it onto his shoulders. ‘Sure, everything is tickety-boo,’ he said, and they both burst out laughing again.
‘Tickety-boo! Who the fuck says tickety-boo!’ cried Dean, slapping his leg. When he laughed, it exposed his large teeth and sticky pink gums. Max reached down and picked up a small bottle of whisky from under the bench and took a slug. It was already half-empty.
‘Oh, I see what’s making everything tickety-boo,’ grinned Nina. Max offered her the bottle, but she shook her head.
They set off down from the pub, and over the moor. They had to cross a bridge over a small river, and then Dartmoor spread out in front of them. Max said there was a secluded little waterfall he wanted them to see, and they hiked for several miles. The boys polished off the rest of the whisky, and soon the conversation moved to sex, and in particular, the sort of stuff they’d done to women. Nina felt uncomfortable so she fell back a bit and watched the scenery. The moor was beautiful, and it was hot, but a light breeze pushed banks of cloud across the sky, and the sun kept vanishing and reappearing, casting everything in a bright steely glare.
Just after midday, they came to a deep dip in the moor, and followed a thin path down to where a waterfall seemed to emerge from the rocks and tumble down into a small deep pool surrounded by large boulders.
The boys were now red in the face and sweating from the heat and the booze, and they all drank from the waterfall. Max then took them to a creased seam in the rock, a little way from where the water cascaded. You couldn’t see it from the top of the dip. He shrugged off the rucksack and disappeared through a slim gap in the rock, about two feet wide and very tall.
‘Come on you two,’ he said, popping his head back out.
Dean placed his rucksack on the rocks and went in after him; Nina reluctantly followed.
A couple of steps into the gap, the light faded and she had to feel her way along, the rock on either side brushing her shoulders. As her eyes adjusted to the light the small passage opened out into a large cave with a domed ceiling. It was very dry inside, and the walls and floor were smooth. It was cool and protected from the heat.
‘Can you feel that?’ asked Max, putting a hand up to a hole in the ceiling. Nina moved over to them and looked up. The hole in the ceiling was black, and she couldn’t see where it went, but she could feel cool air flooding down onto them. ‘I think this is where the water used to come in, thousands of years ago, and it made this cave. See how the floor is smooth but full of ripples.’
‘It’s well cool,’ said Dean.
‘If I was ever on the run, this is where I’d hide out,’ joked Max.
Nina stepped away from the cool air and looked around. There was a pile of sticks and ash where someone had lit a long ago fire, and to one side, where the smooth rock bulged out and created a platform, there was graffiti. She shivered. Max appeared at her side and slung an arm around her neck, pulling her into his chest. Dean was standing a few feet away from them, and stared. Max put out his hand to Dean and pulled him in under his other arm. Nina could feel herself pressed against the two men. Max squeezed them together tighter and she felt a tingle of excitement and allowed herself to be sandwiched between them. Her chest pressed against Max, and she felt Dean’s tall wiry body pushing into her back, and a growing hardness pressing against her buttocks.
‘You two fancy a swim?’ she asked.
‘Okay, babe, whatever you want,’ said Max.
They broke apart and came back out of the cave into the blazing sunshine. The boys were brazen, and stripped off all their clothes, leaping from a low smooth rock at one side of the waterfall and into the deep pool of water below. Nina self-consciously took off her trousers until she had on her underwear and T-shirt. Max was doing backstroke in the pool, and Dean broke the surface, his dark hair slick against his head.
‘The water feels much better naked,’ shouted Max.
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, it’s so cold and fresh,’ said Dean.
Nina took a deep breath and stripped off her T-shirt and then her underwear. She moved to the edge of the rock and looked down into the water. It was very deep, and clear, and she could make out several large boulders in the deep blue depths.
‘Come on! Jump!’ shouted Max, slicing at the water and splashing her.
Nina screamed as the cold water hit her, then held her nose and jumped in.
‘It’s freezing!’ she gasped, breaking the surface a moment later. her long dark hair slick against her head. She doggy paddled out to the boys, but the water was painfully cold, so she turned and swam back, pulling herself back out and onto the long flat rock.
‘Come on, wimp!’ cried Max, splashing her again.
‘No! It’s fucking freezing. She shivered, crossing her hands over her naked body. She unrolled a rug from her little backpack and slung it around her shoulders.
‘There’s more whisky in the side pocket of my rucksack, it’ll warm you up,’ shouted Dean.
Nina found a small bottle and undid the cap, taking a long sip. She lay in the sun, drinking the whisky and watching the boys splash and fight in the water. She felt a pang of desire as they wrestled, naked, in the water; Max wrapping his legs around Dean, putting him in a headlock. He held him under and then, just as Nina screamed for him to stop, he let go of Dean who came to the surface and launched himself on Max.
A little while later they heaved themselves out and onto the rock, but they didn’t put their clothes on and lay naked beside her, forming a neat line: Nina, Max, then Dean. Drops of water pooled on their taut bellies and Nina shrugged off the blanket and tipped her head back. There was a silence as they looked at each other. Max leaned over and kissed Nina. She hesitated, then kissed him back. She could see that, unlike Max, Dean was circumcised, and he put his hand down and started to squeeze his penis.
‘You embarrassed, Nina?’ asked Max, stroking his fingers across her belly and pushing them down between her legs.
She tensed as she saw Dean was now masturbating. ‘I don’t know…’ She shrugged and sat up a little, crossing her arms over her chest and closing her legs.
‘Okay. What if I did this?’ said Max. He leaned over and kissed Dean, who responded enthusiastically. Nina’s mouth dropped open and she laughed. The boys started to grope at each other, hands exploring each other’s bodies, and this excited Nina. Max reached out his hand and pulled her between their writhing bodies.
Chapter Sixteen
Nina had sex with Max, while Dean watched them hungrily. When Max pulled away from her, th
ey were covered in sweat. He smiled, and stood, leaping over her into the water. She lay back catching her breath and wiped strands of hair away from her face. Dean was still watching her; he was still hard, and he had a wild look in his eyes. Nina sat up and covered herself with a corner of the rug.
‘No. I’m sorry, this was fun, but I don’t want to,’ she said.
He moved towards her with a predatory look in his eyes. His gangly naked body suddenly seemed obscene. Nina looked over to the pool but Max had dived under the water. There were just ripples spreading out across the surface.
‘Sorry, no, Dean,’ she said, putting one arm out, and crossing the other over her naked body.
He was masturbating furiously and kneeling over her. His eyes were crazy, unfocused. He placed a skinny knee between her legs. Just before he prised them apart she saw blood pouring out from a cut on his knee.
‘No!’ she cried, trying to get up. But he pushed himself on top of her, and she felt a stab of pain as he penetrated her and started to roughly thrust in and out. His face had changed, and he was no longer the funny, gangly guy. His lips were curled back showing those pink gums, his eyes were wide and, on his thin face, the veins threaded across his temple were pulsing. His hands gripped her upper arms painfully, and she could feel her hip bones slamming into the sharp rock underneath. Nina tried to see past him to the pool, but she couldn’t see Max. Dean pounded into her harder and as she tensed the pain was terrible. What had been daring and exciting a few short minutes ago was now terrifying. Just as he lifted one of his hands off her upper arm and started to squeeze at her throat, Nina suddenly felt the pressure ease as Dean’s body seemed to lift away from hers. She thought at first he had relented, but Max had him by the hair, with one arm hooked between his legs and he threw him down onto the rock. Dean leapt up, his face red and eyes bulging and he punched Max in the face. Max staggered back and almost fell into the pool, but he recovered and was on top of him on the bare rock, punching him over and over. Then he reached over, grabbed a rock and hit Dean over the head.
Dean lay still, blood running from his nose. Max took a deep breath and started to batter Dean’s head with the rock, reducing his face to a pulp.
Nina was in shock at how quickly it had happened. She didn’t cry out. She was frozen, her legs still wide open. Dean was on the rocks, lying very still, and she couldn’t see his face for all the blood. Max stood up slowly, still holding the rock in his hands. His face, arms and torso were spattered with blood. Nina glanced down and saw her skin was spotted with blood. She could just hear the sounds of the waterfall and birds singing in the breeze.
Max turned and dropped the rock into the deep water.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked, kneeling beside her and seeing the blood. Nina went to say something but felt her stomach contract and she threw up over the rocks beside her. Max dived in and washed himself off, breaking the surface and scrubbing at his bloody knuckles. He heaved himself back out onto the rock, dripping wet, and helped Nina up and, holding on to her arms, he lowered her into the water then pulled her back out, perching her on the edge of the rock. She shivered.
‘He was hurting you. I did it to protect you,’ he said in a matter-of-fact way.
‘No, no, no!’ whispered Nina. She looked back at Dean. He was still, and underneath all the blood, his body now looked like wax. Max pulled on a pair of shorts, his walking boots, and grabbed Dean by the ankles and dragged his body off the rock and away up the thin path, his head bouncing off the uneven path. Nina leaned over and threw up again, the little she had left in her stomach spreading out over the clear water.
Her next memory was of being dressed and walking along unsteadily behind Max. His bare back now red from the sun. Then she seemed to zone out and the next thing she heard was the sound of running water. Max had stopped by an ancient stone drinking trough beside a high pile of rocks. A metal pipe had been rigged up to catch the spring bubbling up from the rocks and it poured into the deep trough, overflowing onto the grass. Max leaned down and drank, and pulled Nina over to drink too.
‘You okay?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know,’ said Nina.
He stroked her long hair away from her sweaty face, and kissed her softly, then lifted her up, and placed her in the stone trough. Water slopped over the edges and she felt relief as she sank inside. When her shoes touched the bottom, the water level was at her shoulders.
‘Hold your breath,’ he said and he pushed her head under.
The cold water hit her scalp and she opened her eyes and could see down to the bottom, to the chisel marks in the rock when it was sculpted hundreds of years before. She felt the pressure of Max’s hand on the back of her head, and he lifted her out and sat her on the grass. Next to the trough was what looked like a mossy-shaped doughnut. It was such a vivid green colour, and it looked soft, almost edible. She leaned over and pulled at it, and tugged a piece away to reveal a piece of a smooth white millstone.
‘Where is he?’ asked Nina, another wave of fear and nausea overwhelming her.
‘There’s an old well, a deep hole, a little way from the waterfall. I chucked him in with his backpack, and then piled in a load of rocks. No one will find him.’
He crouched down and looked her in the eyes.
‘He was raping you, Nina, and he could have killed you… he told me before that he’d killed another lad when he was banged up in young offenders.’
Nina shook her head.
‘But you killed him.’
Max grabbed her face in his hands and shook her.
‘I acted in self-defence. He was going to kill you! You hear me?’ He let go. ‘Please, Nina. I love you. I did it for you, to save you.’
They were silent for a long time, and then Max said they should get going, to get back to the hotel before it got dark.
Chapter Seventeen
Wednesday, 4 October 2017
‘Could this be two people, two murderers, working together?’ said Detective Constable Brian Temple. He had a warm Scottish accent. Erika turned away from the crime scene photos on the whiteboard. ‘You did say there’s no stupid questions, ma’am,’ he added. His accent made ‘ma’am’ sound like ‘mum’.
‘I’m not your mother,’ said Erika. ‘I prefer boss.’
‘Okay, boss,’ he said, unfazed.
‘But it’s true, there are no stupid questions. What makes you think two people did this?’ Everyone in the incident room turned to look at Temple. He was a big bloke, and he sat forward in his chair, pointing at the crime scene photos with his pen.
‘It’s hard for one person to overpower two people. Thomas Hoffman was a big guy, Charlene Selby was a woman, no offence ladies, but you are in some ways the weaker sex.’
There were a few cold looks and snorts from the other women in the incident room: Moss, Marta and DC Knight.
‘He’s making a valid point,’ said Erika and indicated he should continue.
‘Thomas and Charlene have no marks whatsoever on their bodies to indicate they were shot, or drugged, or tied up.’
‘Charlene was stabbed, but we don’t know if this was before she was battered to death... Toxicology results show that she had high levels of cocaine and heroin in her blood, which could have made her easier to subdue,’ said Erika.
‘She was a habitual user. Her parents have confirmed this,’ said Moss.
‘And Thomas Hoffman was clean, apart from the drugs in his belly, but he wasn’t a user,’ said Temple. ‘So it takes us back to my theory of two people. What if two people picked them up in a car, took them somewhere quiet and quickly overpowered them? A lock-up perhaps?’
‘Why would they go willingly to some lock-up?’ asked Moss.
‘Zada, the woman I spoke to who’d smuggled drugs into the UK said that dealers expect people to drop off their stash immediately after they land,’ said Erika. ‘They usually meet them and take them to a place to do this. In her case it was a rented office block near Heathrow.’
‘That could explain them going willingly to a lock-up,’ said McGorry.
‘Who says that Thomas Hoffman was smuggling drugs into the UK, what if he was all prepped and ready to smuggle them out?’ added Moss. ‘Then whoever killed him might not have known the drugs were in his body.’
‘There’s too many ifs, buts and maybes for my liking,’ said Erika, moving back over to the whiteboards and looking at the large map of London and the river. ‘We need to find out if Thomas and Charlene were booked on a flight in or out of the country.’
‘I’ve put in a request,’ said Moss.
Erika paused and sighed. ‘Okay. And what about the Jaguar they borrowed for three days? Do we know where they went?’
‘I’ve also put in a request to the National ANPR Data Centre, the number plate would have been clocked by the CCTV in and around central London. I’m expecting the data asap.’
‘Good. It seems Moss is doing all the legwork,’ snapped Erika, eyeing the rest of the team.
‘To be fair, Boss, only officers of my rank and above can access records from ANPR. I’m the only Detective Inspector, with Peterson not being here…’
There was an awkward silence. Erika looked back at Thomas Hoffman’s passport photo on the whiteboard. He’d renewed his passport eighteen months previously: six months after his wife died. There was a blank, haunted look in his eyes which she identified with. She’d had to have her warrant card renewed when she returned to service after Mark’s death. Her photo had that same look. She then thought of Peterson, and wondered what he was doing. She pictured him on the sofa in his flat, his thin frame huddled in a blanket. She shook the thought away and turned and realised that Crane was now talking.
‘Thomas Hoffman’s Facebook profile was pretty sparse,’ he said. ‘There were very few updates. All he seemed to do was play games online, but this does give us the link to Charlene Selby. They met through Facebook three months ago, playing the Candy Crush Saga game online. They started to communicate through Facebook Messenger. They seemed to share common ground in that they were depressed, unemployed and unmotivated. They discovered they lived close together: Thomas in Dollis Hill, and Charlene was sleeping on a friend’s couch in Willesden Green. They exchanged phone numbers and then stopped talking through Messenger. We’re still waiting on their mobile phone records so we can access their text messages.’
Cold Blood: A gripping serial killer thriller that will take your breath away (Detective Erika Foster Book 5) Page 8