The Killer's Girl: A completely nail-biting crime thriller (Detective Morgan Brookes Book 2)

by Helen Phifer

  As she brushed her teeth, she decided she would go and see her as long as she had a little bit of time to spare, and maybe it was time to get some real help with the bad dreams. Did she need to see a counsellor or a psychotherapist? Maybe they would be able to help her out.

  An image of Gabby Stevens’s dead, bloating body filled her mind and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force it out. Today there was a lot to do, lots of enquiries to follow up on, and she wished she didn’t feel like crap. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Dark circles under her green eyes, and she was sure there were a few lines that had appeared around her eyelids that she didn’t have a couple of months ago. Christ, at this rate she’d look like she was fifty before she reached twenty-five. Was this the price she had to pay for her career choice? They don’t mention that on the application form when you apply to the police… may prematurely age you, but there are some great benefits.

  She decided to make herself a hearty breakfast; today was going to be another long one. They had a killer to apprehend. First though, she would have another go at this walk-jogging thing. Picking up her phone, she noticed she had a notification of a text message. Opening it up, she didn’t recognise the number and there was just one word.

  Hi.

  It must be a wrong number. She didn’t think anything of it as she got dressed and laced up her trainers. The roads and streets of Rydal Falls were deserted and as she walked, walked faster, and then attempted to jog, a message came through the earbuds she was wearing in the robotic voice.

  Message from unknown number; are you not speaking to me?

  Morgan stopped in the middle of the road to take her phone out of the armband and look at it. It was the same number. Who was this? A horn blared and she jumped. Lifting a hand in apology, she crossed to the pavement and typed back.

  Who is this?

  G.

  Sorry, I don’t know you. I think you have the wrong number.

  She tucked her phone back into the armband and carried on, red-faced, almost back at her apartment. It felt much better now she wasn’t the only person living in the renovated Georgian house. A woman around her age had moved into the top-floor apartment a couple of weeks ago and it was nice knowing she finally had a neighbour. They were a bit like passing ships, but they both stopped for a chat whenever they did see each other in the communal hallway, and she had the cutest little sausage dog.

  Going inside, Morgan stripped off and had a quick shower, then dressed for work. When she checked her phone again, the message had been read. Good, whoever it was obviously realised they were texting the wrong person. She began to grill the tomatoes and mushrooms she’d promised herself, popping two slices of bread in the toaster. She ate her breakfast whilst continuing reading the book from last night. She might drive Ben mad with her comments about killers and their motives, but she wasn’t going to stop. If it helped this case, it was worth all the funny looks and stares in the world.

  Driving to work her phone beeped again; if it was G, whoever that was, they could do one; she didn’t know anyone called G. Once she’d parked her car, she took her phone out of her bag and stared at the screen.

  That’s not nice, we only just met and you’ve already forgot me.

  Baffled wasn’t the word. This time she ignored it. Whoever it was would get blocked if they messaged again; she didn’t have time for this kind of crap. They must either work nights or not have to go to work at all if they were up texting random strangers at all hours. She was annoyed now, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle.

  She walked into the office, usually the first in on an early shift, so she was surprised to see Ben’s office light on. Unless he’d forgotten to switch it off last night. She threw her bag onto her desk and crossed the room. Knocking on the door, not expecting an answer, she jumped when he threw open the door.

  ‘Good morning.’

  ‘You scared me, morning.’

  ‘How, you knocked on my door?’

  She shrugged. ‘I didn’t actually think you were in there. Why are you here?’

  ‘I work here?’

  ‘Very funny; why are you here so early?’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about Gabby Stevens. I want to know if anything is missing from her room. It’s been bothering me since you mentioned it at the briefing yesterday.’

  ‘The only way you’ll know is if you let her parents go in and have a look.’

  ‘I know.’

  She nodded. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Yes, please. As soon as it’s a respectable hour, we’ll pay them a visit and ask them to check. Why are you here this early?’

  Morgan, who had turned to go and put the kettle on, looked over her shoulder. ‘For the fun of it.’

  He laughed. ‘I can think of much better things to do for fun. Hey, talking of fun, do you ever subject yourself to smearing gloop all over your face to make yourself look beautiful?’

  She squinted one eye at him. ‘What? Like a face mask?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Occasionally, if my skin is looking a bit tired or spotty. Why the sudden interest in my beauty routines? Are you saying I need all the help I can get?’

  He was shaking his head. ‘Amazing, you just don’t know, do you?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The friends last night; Gabby’s friends answered the door looking like bright blue Smurfs and Amy reckons it’s a common thing amongst women. I’m intrigued to know how common.’

  ‘That’s weird.’

  ‘Yeah, Amy said something like that. Hurry up with my coffee, I need something to kick-start my brain. It feels as if it’s died inside of my skull.’

  ‘Then I’m suggesting you need much more than the tin of dried-up Nescafé in the brew cupboard that you have to scrape with a knife to get some out. Let’s face it, it’s seen better days.’

  ‘Haven’t we all?’ He sighed, turned around and shut the door.

  Charming, Morgan thought to herself and went to make the drinks.

  After passing Ben his and sitting at her desk with her mug, she opened the drawer and saw the gift bag from Dan. Letting out a sigh, she picked it up: maybe Stan was right and she was being too hard on him. Untying the bow, she took out the cream box with ‘Pandora’ stamped on it. Carefully opening it, she saw a pair of small, silver angel wing earrings with a tiny diamanté stud. They were cute and the sort of thing she would wear; he’d chosen wisely.

  Amy walked through the office door, and she slammed the box shut. Dropping it back into the drawer, she closed it, not wanting to spend the rest of the day being teased because Dan had bought her an apology gift. She felt herself warming to him a little more and decided to call a truce and thank him.

  Amy was followed by the DCI and they had a team briefing. Ben had already scrubbed the extra-large whiteboard clean and Blu-tacked a picture of Gabby Stevens’s laughing face on it, below one of her very dead face. Morgan knew he did this to ensure no one on the team forgot the horror of what they were dealing with. She stared at the picture of Gabby laughing. She was almost the same age as her and this was a small town, yet she didn’t remember her from school. Although Morgan didn’t really attend much school the last year because her mum had died and she’d gone off the rails a little.

  She let out a loud yawn. Ben stopped talking; his gaze fell on her.

  ‘Am I keeping you up?’

  ‘No, definitely not. I’m sorry.’

  Amy smiled at her and whispered: ‘Busy night? Did you see Dan?’

  Morgan couldn’t stop the look of horror that spread across her face at the thought of her and Dan being more than friends. She glared at her, shaking her head then turned to look at Ben and asked: ‘What did task force find when they searched her bedroom? Where was her phone? Did she not have a chance to call for help? Do we know the last person she spoke to?’

  Ben looked at the A4 sheet of handwritten notes.

  ‘No phone. They seized an iPad, laptop
and a Kindle which have all been sent up to the high-tech unit at headquarters.’ He ran his finger along the itemised list again.

  ‘Definitely no phone on here. I’m gutted to say that the fingerprint results off the key were negative; the rubbish bagged up in the park is still being processed, but it’s unlikely we’re going to get a hit back off any of that either. It’s a long shot.’

  ‘Well, did they check in her handbags, coats, trouser pockets? I can’t believe she didn’t have a phone. Not many twenty-three-year-olds don’t have phones, and that photo on the board is a selfie, so that would have been taken with one.’

  ‘You’re right, well spotted. Maybe it’s broken and being fixed. We’ll ask her parents. Morgan, you can come with me and we’ll ask them to go through her personal belongings to see if anything is missing like you suggested.’

  Ben began to talk and she found herself staring at the photo once more.

  That’s not nice, we only just met and you’ve already forgot me.

  Who is this?

  G

  She jumped up; the colour had drained from her face.

  ‘I think I know where her phone is.’

  Ben was looking at her as if she’d gone mad but she didn’t care, and Tom had a mild look of amusement on his face. Grabbing her phone off the desk, she opened the messages from the unknown number and thrust the screen in front of Ben’s eyes.

  He read them, then looked at her. ‘Surely not; isn’t this just a wrong number?’

  Morgan showed the phone to Amy.

  ‘Why would I suddenly get a text message off a wrong number in the middle of the night, from someone who signed off as G? I don’t know anyone called G, and I definitely don’t know that number. We need to find out Gabby’s phone number.’

  Ben nodded. ‘How does whoever this is have your phone number? That’s what worries me more.’

  Morgan hadn’t thought of the consequences of a killer sending her messages. Her knees gave way as she flopped down onto the nearest chair. The room was too hot and she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She heard Ben’s concerned voice but it sounded really far away.

  ‘Morgan, Morgan, are you okay?’

  Amy began to speak. ‘Christ, give her some space; she needs a couple of minutes, that’s all. No wonder she can’t breathe with you two suffocating her. Go on, you may be in charge but sometimes you have no common sense. Go grab a coffee and give us a few minutes, gentlemen.’

  Morgan felt a hand on her back. ‘Bend your head between your knees, it will pass. Take some slow, deep breaths.’

  She bent down and began to slowly inhale through her nose and exhale through her mouth until the room stopped spinning. Feeling better, she slowly lifted her head and looked around. Amy smiled at her.

  ‘That’s one way to clear a room. What a pack of fannies. Honestly, you should have seen the panic on Ben’s and Tom’s faces. Are you okay?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. Why did that just happen? I feel stupid.’

  ‘Tiredness, shock. Have you eaten breakfast?’

  ‘I’m beyond tired. I never sleep past four twenty-five. I haven’t for years but this morning it was so hard to get up.’

  ‘No wonder. Why do you wake up at that time?’

  She shrugged. ‘I have since my mum died. I have these bad dreams, only I can’t remember what they are except for a few glimpses of the same woman.’

  ‘You need to speak to someone. I know who can help actually.’

  ‘I’m not going to see a psychiatrist. I’m not that bad and I don’t know if counselling will help. I don’t know what the dreams are about so I can’t tell them what’s bothering me.’

  ‘My cousin’s boyfriend is a psychotherapist and an excellent one. Highly recommended, he deals with stuff like trauma and childhood issues. I’ll give you his number, it might help, and what have you got to lose?’

  Amy rooted around in her desk drawers. Finally finding a crumpled business card, she passed it to Morgan. ‘He’s worth a shot. You could go and see him for a free consultation and if you don’t think it’s for you at least you tried.’

  Morgan clutched the card in her hand, looking down at the name Isaac Cross. Tucking the card into her pocket she smiled.

  ‘Thanks, I’ll give him a ring.’

  Amy nodded. ‘You’re welcome. Should I let the guys back in?’

  Morgan felt her cheeks begin to burn. ‘How embarrassing. Yes, I suppose you better had.’

  Amy disappeared, and she stared at her phone on the desk. How had a killer got her phone number and why was he texting her?

  Ben followed Tom back into the room. Neither of them said anything to her and she realised Amy had probably told them to leave it.

  ‘Morgan, we may need to seize your phone. I’ve just got off the phone to Charlotte Stevens and I have Gabby’s phone number, her mum said she had a cracked iPhone 8.’

  She picked up her phone and opened the messages. He rhymed off the same number the messages had been sent from and she nodded.

  ‘It’s her number.’

  ‘Sick bastard,’ Amy murmured.

  ‘Yes, very. But also not very clever; we can track the phone and hopefully it will lead us straight to his front door. With a bit of luck, we could have him in cuffs in the next few hours. This could be the break we need to catch whoever it is.’ There was excitement in Tom’s voice.

  Morgan didn’t say anything but she didn’t think the killer was stupid; if anything, he was probably far cleverer than they were giving him credit for. He must know that phones can be traced and tracked. For a start, there’s Find My iPhone then Snapchat and other apps have location trackers on them. Why would he risk it? He must have Gabby’s password, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d put the phone onto airplane mode and deleted all her social media apps.

  ‘Sarge, I don’t think this is some random act of stupidity by a killer with a huge ego. I think this is a cleverly thought out move. The crime scene looked disorganised because of the mess, but it wasn’t. He wants us to think that, but in fact he is highly organised. He knew she was alone in the house; he’d been watching her; he got inside without arousing her suspicion. I wouldn’t be surprised if he picked her because she fit some kind of profile. I think he has a type and specifically chose her because she met those requirements. The same way he has chosen to communicate with me. Maybe not because I’m his type – I’m a redhead and Gabby was blonde, but I’m the same age and he wants me to feel threatened without directly threatening me. If anything, this is showing us how clever he is. You won’t be able to track the phone or if you can it will be a false lead.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Morgan, you don’t know this – any of this.’ Ben’s cheeks were flushed red and he had almost hissed the words at her.

  ‘No, I don’t. I’m not an expert, but…’

  ‘But what?’

  Everyone was staring at her and her mouth had never felt so dry. She wished she could get up and walk out of this room that was too hot and stuffy.

  ‘I think we need to keep a watch on the Stevens’ house. Killers like this, they revisit the crime scenes; he may go back or try to involve himself in this one somehow.’

  She stood up. ‘Excuse me, I need some fresh air.’

  She walked out of the office. She needed some breathing space because she had just been dragged into the middle of a murder investigation by a killer who liked to play games and she didn’t know what that meant for her. She also knew she’d managed to make her superiors angry with her because of her outspoken opinions. But she had to tell them. This was a small town, but it didn’t mean whoever was doing this didn’t have a big-city mind and an even bigger agenda. Rural Cumbria might not seem like the ideal place for a serial killer, but if they didn’t take any of this into account how many more women might die? No matter what the cost was to her, she couldn’t sit there and watch that happen. Uncurling her clenched fingers, she realised she still had the card Amy had given to her. Before she cou
ld change her mind, she went to the front office.

  ‘Morning, Brenda, can I use the phone?’

  ‘Morning, lovey, of course you can.’

  The bell rang, signalling someone was at the front counter. Brenda got up and left her to it. Morgan spoke to Isaac Cross. When she told him she got his number off Amy and worked with her, he managed to squeeze her in for a chat at four o’clock that afternoon. She thanked him and hung up, not sure if she was doing the right thing but it had to be worth a try. She had never felt so physically exhausted or drained and now she had to worry about a killer who had her phone number. Did that also mean he knew where she lived? That thought slammed into her, knocking every last ounce of fight from her. She walked outside to sit on one of the benches for some fresh air.

  SIXTEEN

  Ben looked at Amy and Tom, who was shaking his head, and asked: ‘Now what do we do? This is not what I was expecting to have to deal with today.’

  Tom’s phone rang and he excused himself, leaving them alone. Amy waited until the door closed behind him.

  ‘You can be as annoyed with Morgan as you want, but what she’s talking about makes sense. This is more than some drunken idiot who decided to have a good time at Gabby Stevens’s expense. For a start, we have to keep an eye on Morgan as well. I don’t like it. Why choose her to contact and not you? It’s a power thing; he must get off on having power over women, especially women in their early twenties.’

  ‘We need to get Morgan’s phone sent off.’

  ‘Yes, but if you do that he won’t be able to contact her. Get someone to come here and get what evidence they can from it today, so she still has access to it. I’m worried about her, Ben. She’s not sleeping and now this. After what happened last time, she can’t be left alone. She either needs to stay with someone or have someone stay with her.’