Psychological Thriller Series: Adam Stanley Boxed Set: Behind Shadows, Positively Murder and Mind Bender

by Netta Newbound

  "Hello, sweetheart, I've been meaning to call you, but was just finalising some paperwork."

  "That's nice." My tone sounded flat. "I've got a headache and was just off to bed, thought I'd say goodnight."

  "Oh dear. Yeah, you get an early night. You'll feel better in the morning. Did you take any aspirin?"

  "I'll get a couple now and get my head down. Goodnight, Gavin." I gripped the phone to my ear as he said goodnight and hung up.

  I stripped off Gavin's sweats and threw them into the washer on a quick wash, then cleaned my shoes. Curling up on the sofa, I waited.

  ***

  Adam lay with one leg balanced on the back of the sofa, holding his phone to his ear, a cheesy grin plastered on his face.

  "So what do you want to do on Saturday?" he asked.

  "Anything. Although I don't think you could cope with another classic movie, do you?" Amanda laughed.

  "No! Definitely not. I think I'll be traumatized by the last one for weeks." He laughed too.

  "Oh well, you choose, I'm easy. You know the kids will be here this weekend so you won't be able to come back this time."

  "I gathered that. Shame though. I had a great time last week."

  "Me too, but we can anticipate next week," she said in a sexy, breathy voice.

  "I suggest you don't purr at me like that if you want me to be patient. Otherwise, I'll be over there in a flash, a-tap-tap-tapping on your window," he groaned.

  She squealed. "No, you can't do that. I'll behave, I promise."

  They'd had such a nice evening on Saturday. The last thing he'd expected to do was take their relationship further, but it seemed the most natural thing to do.

  His phone began buzzing in his ear.

  "I've gotta go, Mand, another call is coming in. Have a think about Saturday and I'll call you tomorrow night."

  The phone began ringing as soon as he hung up.

  "Stanley."

  "It's me," Frances said. "There's been a homicide in Pinevale West. Anthony Kingsley, 38. Hit by a car, twice. Witnesses say it was no accident."

  "I'll be right there. Send the address."

  Adam leapt from the sofa and into the bedroom, donning the clothes he'd got out of not half an hour ago.

  The victim was a broken mess.

  The first collision had shattered his bottom half—the second killed him outright, crushing his upper body and his head.

  One of the witnesses had seen him before the second impact and recognised him. The contents of the briefcase confirmed his identity.

  He found Susan Kingsley pacing in the lounge of their large terraced house.

  Adam introduced both himself and Frances and indicated she take a seat.

  "I can't sit down. Somebody needs to arrest Steven. Has anybody even gone over there yet?" she said, her voice irate.

  Relieved she wasn't a blubbering mess, Adam needed to take advantage before the tears set in.

  "Calm down, Mrs Kingsley. I haven't a clue what you’re talking about."

  "I already told the officer. Tony's brother, Steven. He's been bugging us for weeks now, wanting us to invest in some crazy business scheme or other. He knew I'd got an inheritance from my Gran and he wanted to get his greedy mitts on it."

  "Why do you think he would have gone to these extremes?" Adam asked.

  "Because Tony phoned him this morning and told him that he had no intention investing, that he'd chosen to use the money to expand our own business instead. Steven was angry. I could hear the abuse he dished out from the other side of the room."

  Adam nodded, glancing at Frances who raised her eyebrows.

  Susan continued. "It has to be him—the neighbour said she saw a blue car and Steven owns a blue car."

  "Okay, we'll get someone to check him out, I promise you. In the meantime, we need some more details. Can I get one of the officers to make you a cup of tea?" Adam said.

  She shook her head and sat on the edge of the sofa.

  "Could you tell me where your husband has been tonight, Mrs Kingsley?"

  "I dropped him off for a business meeting at a motel. The address is on a slip of paper in my car," she said.

  Adam nodded at the uniformed officer standing in the doorway. The officer nodded back and left.

  "Did you often take him to his appointments?" Frances asked.

  "His car broke down earlier. He said he'd get a taxi home as the motel wasn't far from here."

  "Your husband has his own business, is that correct?" Adam said.

  "Yes. He's an insurance broker."

  "Do you know if he has any enemies?"

  "No. Just his dodgy brother. Who else would want to hurt my poor Tony?" She began to wail.

  Adam found it astonishing the amount of ways there were to cry. He'd seen them all hundreds of times over. Most people, even in the deepest throes of grief, will cover their mouths and try to have a little self-respect. But some, including Susan Kingsley, just cry freely. Letting their mouths hang open.

  This type of grief embarrassed Adam. He clasped his hands and glanced at Frances, who was busy scribbling everything in her notebook.

  After a couple of minutes, he said. "Mrs Kingsley. I know you’ve had a terrible shock, but please, I need you to focus if we have any chance of catching the person responsible."

  She wiped her eyes and cleared her throat, and a triple hiccup escaped her.

  "Thank you. Now, we will need a list of your husband’s clients. Especially those who had made a recent claim," he said.

  "It's all at the office. I can get it for you, but the twins are in bed."

  "Tomorrow will do. Now is there anybody who can come to stay with you?"

  "Tony's other brother, Phil. Oh my God, I need to tell Phil." Another bout of sobs followed.

  The officer returned and handed Adam a piece of paper as he got to his feet. It had a name and address of the motel, he handed it to Frances.

  "Just one last thing, Mrs Kingsley. Do you know the name of the man your husband met at the motel?"

  "Yes, Gavin. Gavin May."

  "Thanks. If you give Officer Newly your brother-in-law's number, I'm sure he'll be happy to call him for you."

  Adam nodded to Frances and they headed out of the door.

  "Have you interviewed the witnesses?" he asked as they stepped out onto the street.

  "Yes. I have all their statements. None of them saw the first crash, the noise brought them all running. However, they all said the same thing—the car reversed and a couple of seconds later, as the victim slid to the ground, it slammed forward and finished the job."

  "Did anybody see the driver?"

  "Just that they wore a dark cap with gold lettering."

  "Number plate? Car details?"

  "A partial number plate, LM60 something, something, D. It was a navy blue, Toyota Camry. I've radioed the details through," Frances said.

  "Fancy accompanying me to see what Steven Kingsley has to say?"

  "Try stopping me." She smiled.

  The address wasn't too far away and nothing like Adam had imagined from Mrs Kingsley's description of the snivelling, money grabbing brother.

  The detached house sat on a nice sized plot on a tree-lined street. Adam whistled as they parked his Mondeo on the road.

  The property was in darkness.

  They climbed the steps and Adam rang the doorbell.

  Moments later a light came on upstairs followed by a series of bumps and somebody muttering to themselves behind the door as they hooked the chain in place.

  The door opened and a man in his forties peeked through the small gap.

  "Steven Kingsley?" Adam asked.

  The man nodded, his eyebrows screwed together.

  Adam flashed his badge and Frances did the same.

  "DI Adam Stanley and DS Holly Frances," Adam said. "Can we have a word with you, sir?"

  "What the hell for at this time of night?"

  "If we could just come in first, sir."

  Th
e door closed and Mr Kingsley removed the chain, before opening the door fully.

  Steven Kingsley wore a t-shirt and shorts. He ushered them into the first room on the right, off the impressive hallway, and switched on the main light.

  Quality furnishings adorned the immaculately presented, room. Greys, blacks and whites were broken up with the odd splash of burnt orange. It reminded Adam of something out of home and garden magazine.

  "Now what can I do for you, Detectives?" Steven asked.

  "We need to know your whereabouts at eight-thirty this evening, sir?" Adam said.

  "Here. Why?"

  "Do you have any witnesses to that?"

  "Yes, my wife and daughter. What's this all about?"

  "There was a hit and run this evening, sir. You have been named as a possible suspect."

  "Me? Is this some kind of a joke?"

  "I can assure you, it's no joke, sir," Adam said.

  "Who was it? I assume I must know them," Steven said.

  "Your brother—Anthony Kingsley."

  Steven gasped and shuffled back a couple of steps on unsteady feet, his hand flew to his throat. "Tony? Our Tony? Is he okay?"

  "I'm afraid not, sir. Mr Kingsley died at the scene."

  Steven Kingsley woke his wife, Carina, a woman at least fifteen years his junior. After a brief conversation with her and an inspection of their blue Mercedes, Adam and Frances left the house.

  "What a waste of time that was. Now what?" he asked.

  Frances flicked through her notes. We're just about to pass the motel if you want to check it out?"

  Adam nodded. "Why not."

  Soon after, they pulled into the motel carpark and Adam got out, heading for the reception.

  A buzzer sounded as he stepped inside and a flustered looking bald man in his late fifties stumbled out of the door behind the desk.

  "The sign says no vacancies," he snapped.

  "We're not after a room, sir," Adam said, flashing his badge. "Could you tell me which room Gavin May is in."

  The guy checked the diary. "Unit three. Is everything all right?"

  "Perfectly, thank you. Goodnight, sir."

  As Adam walked outside and noticed the expression on Frances' face. He turned to see what she was staring at.

  A navy blue Camry had been parked up at an angle with the front smashed in. On closer inspection, he could see blood and tissue in the grooves of the grill.

  Adam called the station for backup and within minutes the carpark was filled with flashing blue lights.

  Adam tapped on the door of unit three.

  Nothing.

  He tried once more, louder this time, and he heard movement inside.

  "One minute," a man's voice called out.

  The door was opened by a middle-aged man dressed in boxer shorts and a white vest. He squinted and blinked at Adam and Frances, and then at the mass of uniforms outside.

  "Mr May?"

  He nodded.

  "Mr Gavin May?"

  "Yes, what is it?"

  We'll need you to accompany us to the station, sir. Can you get your trousers on, please?"

  Adam pushed his way past Gavin and checked the room. Once satisfied Mr May wasn't a danger to them he waved to the uniformed officers.

  "I don't understand. What is this all about?"

  "Mr May, I am arresting you for the murder of Anthony Kingsley. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."

  Chapter 19

  "What the hell?" Gavin boomed. Stepping back and throwing his arms up to stop Frances from placing the handcuffs on his wrist.

  "I suggest you calm down, sir," Adam said, taking the handcuffs from Frances and squaring up to Gavin, who was at least a head shorter.

  "But, I haven't done anything. Tony left here in one piece--you can check with the cab office. I haven't left the room since."

  "Then you have nothing to worry about, sir. Please co-operate." Adam picked up the grey trousers from the chair next to the bed and shoved them towards Gavin. "Get them on."

  Gavin snatched the trousers and thrust each foot into them with exaggerated and erratic movements.

  "This is an injustice. I'm a respectable business man. Why the hell would I hurt anyone? Especially the client I've just signed up after months of trying."

  He grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair and put it on over his vest, before stamping into his shoes.

  "Turn 'round, please, sir." Adam held up the handcuffs.

  "There's no need for that, detective. I'm not going to be a problem."

  "Not an option, I'm afraid," Adam said as he placed one cuff on Gavin's right wrist.

  "For fuck's sake." Gavin turned and allowed Adam to cuff his left. "What about my stuff?"

  "It can stay here 'till later," Adam said.

  “Get away from there,” Gavin yelled at the crowd of officers around his car as they left the unit. The words seemed to stick in his throat as he clocked the damaged vehicle.

  "Who's done that to my car?" he said. His eyes were wide, the colour drained from his face as he shook his head.

  Adam opened his car door. "Get in please, sir."

  Once Gavin was in the car, Adam turned to Frances and raised his eyebrows.

  "Good acting?" she said.

  "Who knows? Bloody convincing though," Adam said.

  He stepped back into the unit and glanced around. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, a shirt on the back of a chair, a briefcase on the table, a few clothes hung in the wardrobe and an empty sports bag on the wardrobe floor. He picked up a bunch of car keys from the kitchen bench. This wasn't a crime scene. The car, however, was a different story.

  He left the unit, closing the door behind him.

  Adam and Frances stood outside the interview room watching Gavin pace the floor through the two-way mirror.

  As they were about to enter, a uniformed officer rushed into the corridor.

  "You may want to see this, sir," he said, passing Adam a pink pillowcase.

  Adam took it from him and glanced inside. He felt his stomach drop to his boots as the realisation dawned.

  "What?" Frances took the pillowcase. Her mouth gaped open. "Are you kidding me?"

  Adam shook his head in disbelief. "Arrange a DNA test of Mr May and get this to forensics," he said to the uniformed officer.

  "Yes, sir."

  "You ready for this?" Adam turned back to Frances.

  She nodded, clearly still distracted.

  "Let's do it." He strode ahead of her into the room.

  "About time," Gavin said. "Will somebody tell me what's happening?"

  "All in good time, Mr May," Frances said as she prepared the recording device for the interview.

  "Take a seat," Adam said.

  Gavin sat down on the vinyl covered seat. He scraped the metal chair legs across the floor making a loud noise.

  Adam sat next to Frances.

  Frances organised the tape recorder and stated their names before sitting next to Adam.

  "Okay, Mr May. Can we begin with the events of last night?" Adam said.

  "I told you. I met Tony Kingsley in the bar at the motel. He'd had a problem with his car and so we changed the location to suit him. After the meeting, we had a bite to eat and a couple of drinks."

  "And then what?" Adam said.

  "We went to my unit to sign the contract. Mr Kingsley rang for a taxi and left. End of."

  "What time was that?" Frances asked.

  "I'm not sure. Eight—half past—somewhere around there."

  "What did you do afterwards?" Adam said.

  "I still had paperwork to do regarding Tony's—sorry Mr Kingsley's business deal. That's how I spent the rest of the evening."

  "Did you see or speak to anybody after that?"

  "Just my wife. She called before she went to bed."

  "What time?"
/>
  "I'm not sure. It must have been—" he shrugged, "—tennish.”

  Adam cleared his throat. "Do you know a man called Carl Pilkington?"

  Gavin sucked in air too quickly and began to choke.

  Adam glanced at Frances and they both raised their eyebrows at each other.

  "So, Mr May. Can you answer the question, please?" Adam asked again once Gavin had stopped coughing.

  "Yes. I didn't know his name though until I saw him on the news."

  "But you knew him?"

  Gavin nodded.

  "Please Mr May, for the benefit of the tape," Frances said.

  "Yes. I met him the night he died," Gavin said.

  "What for?" Adam said.

  "Sorry?"

  "I said, what reason did you meet him and where?" Adam said.

  Gavin shook his head and shrugged.

  "It may help you to be honest with us if I tell you we're aware Mr Pilkington had had sexual intercourse before he died and will be able to match his partner with DNA results."

  Gavin, his face now turned a pallid white, shrugged again.

  "For the tape, Mr May is shrugging his shoulders," Frances said.

  "Mr May?" Adam pressed.

  "Yeah, all right. We met for sex, that doesn't mean I killed him though."

  Adam took a deep breath and sat back in his chair, stretching. Then he scratched his head.

  "I know what it looks like—but honestly—it’s got nothing to do with me," Gavin insisted.

  "How about Joseph Bates?"

  Gavin closed his eyes and sighed, sweat beading on his top lip.

  "Mr May?" Gavin said again.

  "I met him last week."

  "When?"

  "The night he died."

  "You do see why we might be having a problem believing you’re innocent in all of this—don't you?" Adam asked.

  Gavin nodded. "I know how it looks. I've been going over it since last week. In fact, I did consider contacting you myself but I knew I'd be in the frame. I'm not stupid."

  "Maybe you could explain to us then, how the murder weapon made it under the passenger seat of your car—the car used to murder Anthony Kingsley last night."

  "I don't know—it's not mine. I need to call my solicitor. Someone is fitting me up."