Blood Runs Cold_A completely unputdownable mystery and suspense thriller

by Dylan Young

  When they’d gone, Holder went back to the shed and studied the rubbings. There were more in a trunk under some books. Dozens and dozens of them. Some very plain, others intricate and elaborate.

  ‘You have been a busy boy,’ whispered Holder.

  * * *

  Twenty-two minutes after she’d left, Khosa rang. Immediately he pressed accept; Holder knew instantly they’d found something.

  ‘Justin? This is it. The bloody jackpot! It’s a horror film set. A white van and a horse transporter in the barn. And there’s a cellar room. A bloody cellar room where he kept them. And it’s the one, Justin. It’s the one in Rosie’s and Blair’s images.’ Khosa’s voice was high and breathless.

  Holder heard doors slamming, crashes and bangs. ‘What the hell is going on?’

  ‘Starkey’s not here. There’s no one here. The house is empty. But Woakes has lost it. He’s gone ballistic, tearing the place apart.’

  ‘That’s a crime scene, for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘I’ve called it in. There are uniforms and Forensics on the way. But Woakes is threatening to come back and go through the house again.’

  ‘Shit. No. There might be more evidence here. He sounds out of control.’

  ‘What can I do? He’s the bloody sergeant.’

  ‘You come. Get in the car and leave him there.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Leave him, Ryia. Get out of there now.’

  Four long seconds of silence followed before Khosa said, ‘OK. I’m on my way.’

  Holder killed the call. They’d found their monster, but where was he? Where would Starkey have gone?

  Forty-Five

  Anna took Holder’s call when they were ten miles from the M4 junction on the way back to Bristol. They’d lost half an hour at least in the never-ending road works and were crawling along in single lane traffic once again.

  ‘What’s happening, Justin?’

  ‘I’m at Starkey’s house in Clevedon, ma’am. Nothing here, but you were right. Starkey’s our man. He has a cottage out towards Congresbury, too. Ryia’s there and there’s a soundproofed cellar with evidence of recent occupation.’

  Holder’s words seemed to make the world zoom out of focus before snapping back again. Anna’s foot pressed down on the accelerator unbidden and she eased off, trying to compose herself and concentrate. ‘Empty?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. We missed him.’ Anna heard the despondency in Holder’s voice.

  ‘What aren’t you telling me, Justin?’

  ‘Dave Woakes, ma’am. He insisted on muscling in. I had no choice.’

  ‘Shit. Is he with you now?’

  ‘No ma’am, he’s at Starkey’s cottage.’

  ‘OK, let him stay there. You’ve mobilised CSI?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  There was hesitation in Holder’s voice.

  ‘What, Justin?’

  ‘Sergeant Woakes. He thinks that Hawley warned Starkey.’

  Anna looked across at Hawley. He looked back at her, shaking his head. ‘Rubbish. I’ve been with him all day,’ Anna said. ‘Woakes is wrong. Forget it, Justin. Come on, I need you snappy. Is there anything there that might indicate to us where Starkey has gone?’

  ‘He’s into graveyards, ma’am.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He has a shed full of gravestone rubbings. Most of them have skulls and bones. It’s weird.’

  ‘Memento mori,’ Anna said.

  ‘Yeah, exactly what Trisha said when she looked them up.’

  ‘That’s not much use.’

  ‘No, ma’am. But there was a bone, too. In a drawer. I think it’s human.’

  ‘Shit. OK, so Rowsys think he’s off sick?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’’

  ‘Right. Get on to them. Tell them to text Starkey on his work phone, if he has one. Not phone him, text him. Some pretext. Something about where he was the day before. Another equipment malfunction. See if he responds. Do it now, Justin.’

  Anna kept driving, not looking at Hawley. Aware only that her passenger was sitting tense and rigid in his seat and knew she was feeling much the same way.

  Forty-Six

  Starkey uncovered the small pile of kit he’d stored from previous visits. Clear plastic sheeting, a couple of cheap duvets, plastic garden ties, box cutters and rope. All in preparation for what was to come. The excitement churned inside him.

  Almost there. With trembling hands, he unfolded the sheeting and began cutting it to size to line the floor.

  So much easier for cleaning up.

  He laid out the duvet, placed the ties and rope near the entrance to the chamber, checked the box of AA batteries for the lights.

  He took his time, savouring it all. Though it was cool in the crypt, he was sweating, a foetid body odour leaking out from his armpits that he knew had the tinge of lust about it. He stood, the stacked bones almost at hip level, and fetched some water. He drank thirstily, leaning with one hand against the wall, desperately trying to distract himself from the anticipation coursing through his veins. He drank the whole bottle and waited for the moment to subside. He’d have to watch that, control the urges, otherwise…

  Finally, satisfied, he retraced his steps up and out of the crypt to suck in some fresh air.

  Soon there would be more bones to add to the hallowed pile.

  Small bones.

  Exhilaration gushed up from deep in his gut, transporting him from this mundane world to the one he dreamed of. The one where he was king, where no one laughed at his obscene nakedness anymore. Where he could inflict the humiliations he’d suffered onto someone else.

  The buzz of his phone in his pocket threw him. Just the one vibration. A text.

  He fished it out and read the message from Sheryl, the service coordinator.

  Can you contact the Musgrove Park Hospital haematology dept ASAP? Calibration needed on two refrigerators.

  Starkey sighed. There was no peace. He texted back.

  Will do.

  But not yet. Now he had other things to occupy him.

  Forty-Seven

  Holder rang back exactly seven minutes after she’d issued instructions.

  ‘He’s responded, ma’am.’

  Anna squeezed her eyes shut and blew out air. ‘Right, it means he’s still got his phone on. Ring the super. He’ll authorise contacting the phone network’s SPOC team. Let’s find out where Starkey really is.’

  Hawley looked confused.

  ‘Single point of contact,’ said Anna by way of explanation. ‘It’s a designated team that works with the service providers to obtain live data on the location of a phone. The providers have staff who can respond to this sort of thing where sensitive enquiries for high-risk cases are concerned. They can tell us which towers and masts he’s connected to. But it all comes at a cost. That’s why we need it signed off.’

  Traffic was stop start. She watched a huge transporter half a mile away easing around a bend. A brake light blinked off in front of her. She drove on thirty yards and then came to another exasperating halt.

  Ten minutes later, Holder came back on the line again.

  ‘Ma’am, we have him located in the Chepstow Park Wood area.’

  ‘Chepstow?’ Anna glanced to her right at the flat farmland leading towards the estuary. Beyond that was the Welsh border. Chepstow was only twelve miles from where she was now.

  ‘Send me the location. I can be on the M48 in five minutes if these sodding roadworks ever come to an end. Chepstow in twenty. Have you any idea where he is exactly?’

  ‘We’re working on it.’

  ‘Contact Gwent Police. Let them know what’s happening. What’s Starkey driving?’

  ‘Black Renault Megane, ma’am. I’ll text you the number plate.’

  When he’d rung off, Hawley spoke.

  ‘This Starkey, do you think he killed Rosie?’

  ‘I don’t know for sure, but probably, yes.’

  Hawley nodded.

  ‘I
can drop you off at the services,’ Anna said.

  Hawley seemed not to hear. ‘I’ve wondered a lot about what I would do if I ever met the bloke who did all this. Partly because of what it did to me. But he’s done a lot worse to those kids, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Hawley’s face hardened. ‘Don’t waste any time dropping me off.’

  Anna didn’t argue. He was right. There was no time to waste. At last three lanes opened up and she manoeuvred out to overtake the slower traffic.

  It took her eighteen minutes to get to St Arvans. It took her another ten criss-crossing the access roads until, with Hawley’s help, they found the Megane parked discreetly off the road in one of the half-hidden car parks. She parked next to it and called Holder.

  ‘I’ve found the car. It’s a forestry car park a mile along the Devauden Road and half a mile in. I’ll send you a pin.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Hawley. ‘What’s Holder’s number?’

  Anna put Holder on speaker and he read off his number.

  ‘So, what now, Justin? He could be anywhere.’

  ‘I know, ma’am. Ryia’s got some ideas and we’re waiting for Trisha to get back to us. We’ve got some help coming from Gwent, too. They’re getting their chopper up.’

  ‘Good,’ Anna said. ‘But I’m not going to sit here like a lemon. If he’s here, I want to find him. Get back to me as soon as you hear anything.’ Anna got out of the car and walked around Starkey’s Renault, looking in through the windows. It was clean. Cleaner than any of her cars had ever been. Hawley got out too, looking around.

  ‘Have you ever been here before?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Never.’

  It was a Friday, a warm summer’s early afternoon. The forest looked cool and inviting. But Anna shivered at the thought of what might be going on somewhere in amongst all this cover, under these silently watching trees. Frustration gnawed at her.

  ‘Come on, Trisha, come on,’ she muttered. When her phone rang twenty seconds later, it came as no surprise. She knew there was no telepathic link between her and the analyst sitting back in their office in Portishead. It merely felt that way sometimes.

  ‘Speak to me, Trisha.’

  ‘Ryia sent me some details of a gravestone, ma’am.’

  ‘She did?’ A hundred questions formed in Anna’s head.

  ‘Yes, ma’am. From the birth and death date, I’ve been able to find some burial records. It shows that this grave is in St Wystone’s. It’s in the Chepstow Woods, ma’am. I’m sending you a map and coordinates now.’

  ‘Trisha, you’re amazing.’

  ‘Be careful, ma’am.’

  Anna waited while a PDF downloaded. She opened it onto a section of OS map. It took her a while to find the car park and Devauden Road. Hawley stood back, watching.

  ‘St Wystone’s chapel,’ she said, nodding in the direction of the surrounding forest. ‘In there. You stay here, tell whoever comes where I’ve gone.’

  ‘Can you read maps?’

  ‘Not my strongest point,’ Anna confessed. She kept looking towards the great sprawl of hillside and greenery, her sense of urgency now diamond-tipped.

  ‘Can I?’ He held out his hand.

  She thrust her phone towards him. He opened his up and scrolled to the compass, turning in a full circle before facing the corner of the parking area where a trail disappeared into the foliage. ‘It’s east and then north.’ He pointed towards the trail head. ‘That’s our best bet.’

  ‘Our best bet?’

  ‘This place is a rat’s nest. Best to navigate by GPS. From your map, it doesn’t look like there’s an established trail.’

  ‘No. You stay here. We don’t know what Starkey’s capable of.’

  ‘What if he has Blair?’

  His words caught her off guard. ‘What if he does?’

  ‘Then you might need me. I’m a medic, don’t forget.’

  She wanted to object but his words struck home. He was right. God knew what was waiting for them along this trail, and Hawley’s skills might well be needed. She hurried back to her car, popped the boot and took out a canister of PAVA spray, a telescopic baton and cuffs, and stuffed them into a small rucksack before slinging it over her shoulders. She turned back to Hawley.

  ‘Right, let’s go. Gwent Police are sending some air support as well as bodies on the ground. But if this guy does have Blair and she’s alive, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if we didn’t move now.’

  Forty-Eight

  Anna took the lead. Though the foliage surrounding them afforded little or no view of their surroundings, it did appear that someone had been there before them. The nettles and ferns were not broken, but they leaned forwards, pushed there by something large that had passed that way. Twice Hawley called her back and made her backtrack, unhappy with the way she’d taken. They talked little, Anna preferring to listen for any extraneous sounds while Hawley concentrated, issuing instructions only where a turn was needed. The stillness struck her as almost supernatural. As if they’d walked into a place that was out of normal time and untouched by the elements. She wasn’t dressed for hiking; she’d dressed for visiting a Cheltenham hospital. Sweat made her white shirt cling to her back under her backpack, and her shoes were already pinching.

  After twenty-five minutes along a winding trail, they emerged into a sunken track with the remnants of old walls dripping with moss either side. Anna waited for Hawley, who pointed to the map.

  ‘I think we’re here,’ he whispered. ‘The chapel is supposed to be over that ridge to our left.’

  ‘Who on earth would want to build a place of worship out here?’

  Hawley shrugged. ‘I have no idea. But maybe it’s been dedicated to someone or something. And we’re in Wales, now, too. Sometimes, nonconformists had to meet in remote places before it became more acceptable to worship their form of Christianity.’

  ‘Worship? I’d call this place godforsaken.’

  ‘We’re looking for a path to our left.’ Hawley walked on. They found it after another 50 yards, ascending through the forest where it briefly emerged at the top of a rise before descending again quickly into a dell. Hawley pointed down towards the remnants of a wooden walkway leading to the overgrown building, and beyond that, a dark pond covered by green algae.

  Everything was quiet. Nothing moved. It was warm as they emerged from under the canopy of trees but as they descended, the temperature began to drop. Even in summer, because of the height of the ridge, not much sun penetrated such a desolate spot.

  When they reached the rotten walkway, half-submerged by rockfall, Anna called a halt.

  ‘Is that it?’ she asked.

  ‘According to the map, yes. Not much of it left, is there?’

  ‘Enough, I suspect.’

  They were no more than fifty yards from the ruins. Anna checked her phone. One bar. The signal had slowly diminished with every few yards of descent along the ridge.

  Anna grabbed Hawley’s arm. ‘Ben, you need to stay here. I’m going over to take a look but I need you to be here in case the chopper comes over. If Justin’s done what I’ve asked him to, all hell will be breaking loose soon. But they need to know where we are.’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want me—’

  ‘Perfectly sure.’

  She left him out in the open and walked the remaining few yards, alert for any sound or movement but hearing and seeing none. She circled the building, registering the intact padlock on the door and the impenetrable foliage. She peered inside, noting the murky leaded lights in the windows, smelling the mushroom damp from the interior.

  Below her, the pond was an inky, motionless slick and she wrinkled her nose at its stagnant stench. She might have missed the gap in the surrounding wall were it not for a single broken branch of fern hanging, like a fractured limb, damaged by whatever had passed through that gap. Beckoning.

  Anna moved quickly but cautiously. Stood on the pile of broken stones in the remains of
an archway and saw the smaller building beyond. She took in the low hole in the wall, the removed metal grill lying to one side, and knew by the sudden juddering charge that shot through her arms and legs that this was the right place.

  She stepped lightly over the stones and leaned down to look in through the hole in the wall and the flagstone floor. Artificial light spilled out from a large opening. She stepped inside warily, walked across and peered down.

  Battery-operated lanterns, plastic sheeting on the floor, bones, hundreds of them, stacked and arranged neatly. She rocked back on her heels, sucking in air and blowing it out, knowing she was staring through a doorway into hell.

  Something, a muffled noise, drew her attention. She looked up, into the dark corner of the ruined building, not seeing it clearly but aware of something moving. Anna got up and peered into the murk. Nothing but a shape, leaning against the wall. A large, oblong rucksack in grey and green camouflage.

  ‘Blair?’ said Anna. ‘Blair, is that you?’

  The muffled sounds and movements increased in intensity. Another charge of adrenaline zipped through her and she quickly moved across.

  ‘It’s OK, Blair, it’s OK, I’m here to help. To get you out.’

  The noise that came back to her through the bag was impossible to make out, but Anna knew it was desperation. Someone terrified and gagged. She fumbled with toggles and zips, preoccupied and desperate. But her need to do something, to ease the suffering, was her undoing.

  For a big man, Starkey moved quickly. Anna felt hands grab her from behind. Felt herself lifted up and carried, feet flailing, clear off the floor, towards the opening. She struggled, kicking, hearing heavy breathing behind her, smelling sour breath and worse. She tried to find purchase on the lip of the opening, but something kicked at her knees and then she was tumbling through, ten feet to the floor beneath, landing heavily, trying to roll.

  Above her, she heard scraping. The noise of a metal ladder being dragged up and then the scraping of stone on stone.