This year autumn appeared to have bypassed the UK entirely, and winter seemed to have taken the Hertfordshire town of Haverbridge, where she worked, into its relentless clutches much earlier than anticipated.
The large town had a population just short of 100,000 people and was situated some thirty miles from London. Haverbridge had grown over the years, becoming a commuters’ paradise for those who worked in the capital but didn’t want the bright lights of the colourful city in their backyard at home time. They wanted to say goodnight and really mean it.
Haverbridge was beautiful, yet ugly in so many ways – not dissimilar to other towns and cities up and down the UK – but Haverbridge had a different side to it. It was exceptionally beautiful in the darker months. What made it so striking, you couldn’t easily describe; it just was.
The summer sun had long disappeared and the threat of early snowfall was a very real one.
For Claire, it was bad news. It made her fall easily into an abyss of self-loathing and bitterness, something she was prone to. The cold haunted her like a restless spirit and the chill was not good for her bones.
She glanced at the clock on the dash. She’d be a little late, but she knew Stefan would understand. She took the road leading to the motorway, and as she travelled at a steady 60mph, she looked at the road ahead, bright lights and traffic rushing past, through eyes that didn’t quite feel like her own.
One day earlier
The man glanced around the car park and stifled a yawn as he looked down at his watch. He snuggled down further in the driver’s seat; his thick padded coat was warm and inviting. He was sleepy and wished he could close his eyes.
The body in the boot – it’s now or never.
His car was the only one there, almost hidden in the darkness. The cold air hit his face when he emerged from the car. It caught him unawares and he gasped instinctively, clasping his hands tightly together, rubbing them for warmth.
When he stood in front of the boot, his hand hovered over it as if he had second thoughts about what he was about to do, as if the final act were any worse than what came before it.
The light inside the boot cast a dull light on what was inside. He looked down at the black bin liners, wrapped crudely around the majority of the body. Only the bottom half of the legs were left uncovered.
The once soft skin now looked waxy. He thought back to when those legs had kicked out at him, before he’d secured them together.
Shame, really.
This one had had such spirit.
His hands reached in and grabbed cold limbs. He began to haul the body carefully out onto the frozen ground.
CHAPTER 2
5th November
There was a huge whizz followed by a violent crack in the night sky as the firework exploded high above their heads.
Claire jumped, instinctively closing the gap between herself and Detective Inspector Stefan Fletcher. He glanced down at her, his tall thin frame buried in an oversized padded coat against the cold. He saw her tense, and ease herself a step or two away from his personal space.
He smiled inwardly.
Aloof and sometimes proud, with walls built so high that they could rarely be penetrated. These were Claire’s bad points, but she wore the traits with pride, giving off the impression that nothing could faze her.
Stefan knew different though.
After a high-profile case the previous year, Claire had put Haverbridge back on the map. Not always for the right reasons, but in Claire’s case, any publicity had turned out to be fairly good publicity. She’d become one of Haverbridge CID’s best, and had ridden out the storm, forging some close allies amongst her team, and Stefan was one of those people.
Despite Claire’s misgivings about herself, she was extremely good at her job, and respected. No one would’ve been justified in calling her incompetent, or an easy target.
But Stefan had seen the signs, seen the cracks appear since that investigation. It had exhausted her, changed her forever in some ways.
The murdered priest case – how could anyone come back from that completely unscathed?
More fireworks whizzed skywards, drawing appreciation from the assembled mass around them. Stefan watched Claire from the corner of his eye. Whilst she looked to the heavens with everyone else, he saw the glassy look of her eyes. She was there in body but the mind was elsewhere.
‘The kids would’ve loved this,’ he said, his blue eyes scrutinising every twitch in her face when she heard him speak.
She glanced at him, gave a weak smile.
Stefan would normally take his kids to Haverbridge Lake’s annual firework display, but his ex had changed her plans and he was expected to fall in line. He felt sad at not seeing his children but, surprisingly, he was very glad to have Claire’s company.
In the past, Claire had had a few detective sergeants as her subordinates. Most hadn’t lived up to her expectations but Stefan had been different. Having watched him come into his own, and making DI in recent years, she’d relished the chance to work alongside him permanently, where possible, as an equal, despite the difference in rank.
‘They wouldn’t have liked the cold, Fletch’ she said, at length. ‘The kids I mean.’
Stefan shook his head. ‘Kids are tougher than they look.’
He saw her bite her lip. Claire didn’t have children, or was ever likely to. Sometimes he felt like he was walking on eggshells in the last year. He didn’t know what might upset her, so topics of conversation sometimes felt stilted.
Claire had her vulnerabilities as much as the next person. She had closed the gap between them earlier, something she’d never admit to if he called her out on it.
He’d noticed her weight loss, although he’d never say so. Her face had become more chiseled, cheek bones sharp.
Those ice-blue eyes looked permanently sad.
Stefan pushed his hands deeper into his pockets, trying to draw the life back into them. The night air was bone-chilling and the breath of the eager crowd hung in the air like thick white smoke.
He breathed in deeply; the air was heavy with the smell of bonfire smoke and fast food. He followed the line of people surrounding the huge lake and caught sight of the fast food stands. His stomach growled.
‘Do you want anything to eat?’
Claire was rubbing her gloved hands together for warmth and her breath cast out in clouds around her face. She shook her head.
‘Mind if I?’
Claire either didn’t hear him or was too cold to answer. He shrugged and pushed his way through the crowd.
When he returned, hotdog in hand, Claire saw he looked troubled.
‘What’s wrong?’
Stefan gave half a shrug as he bit into his hotdog. ‘I wanted to talk about DS Crest.’
Claire waved her hand, dismissing the very mention of his name. ‘Not while I’m enjoying myself.’
‘He speaks highly of you too.’
‘Look, I really don’t need this right now.’ Her voice turned hard. ‘I couldn’t care less what that Armani-wearing-metrosexual-walking-cliché thinks of me.’ She turned to face him.
Detective Sergeant Elias Crest was a new addition to her team.
The last man Detective Superintendent Clifton Donahue had placed under Claire’s watchful eye had lasted barely six months. Claire had hoped DS Crest would be different, but they hadn’t exactly hit it off.
Elias had transferred from Merseyside after spending five years in Liverpool South’s CID team. There were official reasons given for the transfer, but the real reason wasn’t quite so clear cut.
Claire knew that more than anyone.
A steeliness had returned to her voice. ‘I take it by you mentioning him, he’s been kicking off?’
‘He’s found a few things out about you from your reputation alone. He thinks you hate him.’
‘He’s close… Hate is such a terrible word. He knows where the door is and it’s open any time, day or night, if he wants to walk…�
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Stefan nodded to himself, taking in her words. Then his eyes met hers. He saw the seriousness in her face.
‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ he said. ‘Just wanted you to know he’s not happy.’
‘Boo-fucking-hoo.’ Stefan rolled his eyes and she leaned in closer to him. ‘I’m not going to apologise for who I am, Fletch. I have to be hard and when arrogant screw-ups like him are sent my way, they need to learn to toe the line.’
Stefan narrowed his eyes. ‘Screw-ups?’
She fell silent.
‘Is it something to do with why he was transferred? ’Cos you do realise not everybody is buying into the close-to-family excuse.’
She kept her face neutral.
Stefan shrugged. ‘People talk, that’s all I’m saying.’
‘It’s nothing, Fletch, forget I said anything.’ She felt the weight of his stare but avoided his eyes. ‘So,’ she said, trying to deflect attention away from Crest, ‘what happened to that girl you were dating? Doesn’t she like fireworks?’
Stefan grimaced. ‘Leigh couldn’t make it. I think she’s about to chuck me anyway.’
‘Really?’
Stefan gave a mock laugh. ‘Don’t pretend to care.’
‘You’re questioning my sincerity?’
‘Personally, I always thought that divorce of yours left you dead inside.’
She gave half a smile. ‘Touché, Stefan.’
‘Oh, first name for once. I’m flattered. Did I touch a nerve?’
‘Simon didn’t cut it enough as a husband to even come close to touching a nerve, Fletcher.’
Stefan glanced at her. ‘I heard DCI Forester is dating again.’
Claire raised an eyebrow and sniffed with indifference. ‘You shouldn’t listen to gossip.’ She knew he was talking in jest and on the surface she grinned, but inside she felt a little sad.
Claire had been married to DCI Simon Forester for three years. He served at Welwyn Garden City police station, some eight miles from Haverbridge. They’d met at a charity ball, and after a brief engagement, they’d married too quickly without really knowing anything about each other.
The relationship had turned sour after the first year and the pressure of their jobs helped drive a wedge between them, and they became more friends than lovers.
When Claire had risked an affair with another man, they became even less than that and it was Claire who filed for divorce, and immediately reverted back to her maiden name.
Surprisingly, despite feeling little for Simon, she felt the twinge of jealousy. It wasn’t as if her love life was flourishing. Her dedication to her job didn’t allow much time for a personal life, but she hated the thought there could be anyone else in her ex’s life. Certainly not someone who could compare to her anyway.
As more fireworks erupted overhead, Claire pushed Stefan towards the edge of the lake, until they stood just feet from the edge of the frozen water.
He shoved the rest of his hotdog into his mouth and grinned. ‘You’re aware you’re supposed to be playing the part of the submissive Leigh, aren’t you?’
‘Submissive? You’re well shot of her, Fletch, by the sounds of it.’
‘When I spend my working days with you, I need dominant like a hole in the head.’
‘It’s less crowded here, stop moaning,’ Claire said. Then she saw Stefan’s eye was trained on something else off to their left.
‘You see that?’ he said.
CHAPTER 3
The group of teenage boys continued to shove each other, shouting and laughing, goading each other towards the lake’s frozen edge. One of them, Sean, who was much fatter than the rest, shoved his shoulder into his friend, Harry, with such brute force that the boy spilt his drink.
‘You fat fucker,’ Harry said, wiping the beer from his jeans.
‘Such a hard man,’ Sean jeered, the rest of the pack laughing and jumping around in a drunken mess. ‘Too scared to go on the ice.’
‘Don’t see you on it, you fat twat,’ Harry said, shoving his fist hard into an ample shoulder. Standing a good head taller than Harry, who was thin and wiry, Sean squared his large frame up to his opponent.
‘Twenty quid says you’re a fucking wimp.’ His voice was low and the alcohol seemed to roll off his tongue in an invisible boozy haze. Harry looked over Sean’s shoulder at their peers.
One boy was trying to chat to a group of young girls, who clearly weren’t interested. The rest were lighting up, drinking or pushing each other closer to the lake’s edge, laughing like a pack of hyenas.
Looking back into Sean’s eyes, Harry raised his chin. ‘Make it thirty. You’d better have the money.’
*
‘You see that?’ he said.
Claire followed Stefan’s gaze and sighed.
A boy, aged around thirteen, was walking on the ice, about twenty feet from the embankment. Even from this distance, they could see that the ice grew thin towards the middle of the lake.
Claire shook her head. ‘Why are kids so bloody stupid?’
Stefan sighed and dusted his hands free of crumbs. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘we’d better break this up.’
*
Harry, the boy on the ice, barely registered any fear, even when the ice underneath his feet started to crack. He looked back to his friends on the bank and laughed.
Trying to play the hard man, he took another step towards the middle of the lake and slipped, crashing down on the ice with brute force.
He felt the cold seep through his clothes almost immediately. He looked towards the embankment and heard his friends shouting.
A sea of faces now watched him in horror, just as he heard a cracking sound underneath him.
Before he could think, the ice gave way and he sank into the freezing cold water.
His head disappeared under the ice.
He gasped involuntarily with shock, his mouth filling with water. He kicked his legs until his head broke the surface, spitting the water from his mouth, before he went under again.
On the embankment, Stefan had slowly begun to edge himself out onto the ice, trying to distribute his weight evenly, while Claire called for an ambulance.
Harry was growing tired, his body shutting down, but he still managed to grab hold of the edge of the ice, trying to haul his body from the water.
Stefan heard the ice creaking under his own weight. He paused, dropped slowly to his knees and straightened his body out along the ice and shuffled closer on his belly.
Harry’s head went under water again, and Stefan moved faster, putting the sound of the creaking ice to the back of his mind.
Underneath the water, Harry was losing the fight.
His body ached to shut down, as the cold tore through his flesh. He was holding his breath, lungs aching for air.
Then he felt something against his foot catch and drag him. He kicked out, his foot colliding against something solid.
He risked opening his eyes and peered down. The light from the fireworks overhead sent down little chinks of light that fractured in the water.
He saw a face, pale and ghost-like.
Instinct caught him.
He opened his mouth to scream, water flooding into his airways, as he stared down into dark dead eyes.
Scared, and knowing this would be his last effort, he mustered his last ounce of strength and kicked his legs hard.
On the surface, Stefan was shivering, his breath coming in short sharp bursts as he edged as close as he dared to the hole in the ice.
Harry’s head then broke the surface, his body propelling forward, landing with his arms outstretched, flailing for something to grasp on the slippery surface. He began to slip back down again, but Stefan grasped his wrist.
‘Kick with your legs!’ he shouted, reaching out his other hand to grip the boy’s right arm. Harry kicked again and again, and even when his body was out on the ice, clear of the water, he didn’t stop.
Stefan pulled him to the embankment.
&nbs
p; ‘I need blankets,’ Claire shouted out to the gathered crowd. ‘Coats, anything.’
A few men took theirs off and started to wrap them around Harry. He’d been in the water less than ninety seconds, but to Harry it had felt like hours of having needles pushed underneath his skin.
He coughed up some water when Claire sat him forward, and before she could speak, she heard his rasping voice from behind his chattering teeth.
‘B… b… body.’
Stefan looked confused and lowered his face to the boy’s eye level. ‘What did you say?’
Harry grabbed Claire’s hand and looked deep into her eyes.
‘Body… in the water… Dead. Body.’
Claire saw the fear in his eyes, just before they closed and he fell unconscious in her arms.
Four Days Earlier
1st November – 11:02 p.m.
‘It’s your time.’
He stood watching her from the street corner, icy rain soaking him to the bone. He could have gone back to his car, chosen another night, but no matter how hard reason pleaded with him, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
Everything about her disgusted him. The way she walked, the way she dressed, the way she talked.
Everything.
To him, her whole life was just a game determined by how much someone was willing to pay for her. The fact she was now with child complicated things, but also gave further justification to carry out what he’d planned for her.
Nola Grant stood at the side of the road. Her lanky, painfully thin frame cut a sombre stance under the street lamp. The fluorescent light cast shadows across her face but strangers could still see her wide-eyed vacant stare. She was tall and her bones jutted out at sharp angles, which were further exaggerated by her tight-fitting clothes.
She wore a low-rise, sleeveless top, no coat despite the cold, flaunting her many tattoos. The ink covered nearly all the flesh up both arms, and also found its way over her left shoulder and down onto her breast. Her light brown skin made the faded designs appear more muted in colour, but still made her stand out more than the other girls. Many men seemed intrigued to know just where else she had been scarred by the tattooist’s needle.
The Principle of Evil: A Fast-Paced Serial Killer Thriller (DCI Claire Winters, Book 2) Page 2