Murderland

by Pamela Murray

  MURDERLAND

  Pamela Murray

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright © 2019 Pamela Murray

  The right of Pamela Murray to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in 2019 by Bloodhound Books

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  www.bloodhoundbooks.com

  This book is dedicated to my son, Stewart, and his wonderful family.

  Prologue

  ‘Hello?’ she called out in the darkness. ‘Is anybody there?’

  The only sound was the echo of her own voice, then deadly silence. Maybe she’d been mistaken, but she was almost certain that there’d been a sound coming from over in the far corner of the warehouse. Although not of a nervous disposition, Jennifer Grayson had always felt a degree of discomfort when closing up for the night when the only source of light came from the green illuminated exit sign next to the door at the back of the building. Franklin Electronics in Boldon Business Park, Tyne and Wear, was one of those rare companies who had never had a break-in. This was probably due to the high degree of security installed on the premises, one the owner had paid an arm and a leg for, as she recalled. It included a security guard patrolling the perimeter every couple of hours so statistically there was really very little chance of a break-in ever happening.

  Maybe it had just been a noise from the outside of the building. John, the security guard, would be starting his shift right about now, and it could have easily been him parking up and closing the car door behind him before walking past the part of the warehouse she was in now, on his way to the porta cabin at the front of the building. She put that down as the answer and breathed a huge sigh of relief. She chastised herself for even thinking that anyone could get in here in the first place. It was extremely unlikely; the building didn’t have public access at all, but was a closed warehouse with offices. If not John moving about outside then it was probably one of the many boxes in there settling, as she knew that they sometimes did. Surely that was all it could possibly be?

  The company had thrived in the last few years, and its range of electronic goods was in demand not only in the UK but also in Europe, where a subsidiary company had been set-up to handle delivery throughout the continent. Just over a year ago, Jennifer had been appointed deputy European manager, and had even travelled abroad with her colleague, John Scott, who was head of European distribution, to oversee everything… with all expenses paid too.

  Even so, when her turn came on the rota to close shop for the night, she always had this niggling feeling in the back of her mind that there was a possibility, even though it was a highly unlikely one, that anyone could have somehow crept into the premises and hid in one of the many corners behind the boxes. And they could have remained there until all the staff had gone. Then they could have a field day amongst the stock and make off with whatever they wanted. Jennifer was fully aware that Christmas was coming up, and anyone of a thieving disposition would steal anything they could get their hands on to sell for cash either on the Internet, or even to family and friends, as long as they could get a good source of income out of what they’d pilfered. Or they could keep the goods for themselves, if that was what they’d been stolen for. A nice little Christmas gift for somebody, she thought. How many people actually ask online if what they are buying is genuinely owned by the seller? But there again, her imagination had gone into overdrive. As she was one of the three keyholders and therefore responsible for ensuring everything was all safely and securely closed down for the night, she didn’t want to be the one to let the company down by being lax and not doing her job properly. She valued her job; jobs were hard to come by in these parts, and she’d been very lucky in getting such a good one with great pay and benefits.

  Then she heard it again; a clank from the same corner. Jennifer reached inside her bag for the torch she always carried with her on these dark evenings. It was an invaluable accessory when trying to get her car key in the lock. She’d suffered too many scratches on the paintwork in the past with her fumbling about in the darkness. On this occasion, she was glad it was there.

  The torch lit up the darkness when she slid the on button across, and she pointed it towards the corner where she thought she’d heard the noise coming from. Thick dust particles fluttered through the beam. A warehouse filled with boxes was never going to be one of the cleanest of places on the face of the earth, but as long as what was in the boxes was protected, that was all that mattered. Still nothing. She felt reluctant to go any closer but felt obliged to do so. Taking a deep breath, she moved to where she thought she’d heard the noise.

  Heart now pounding, she shone the torch down the space behind the row of boxes, and was filled with such an overwhelming relief to find nothing there.

  In truth, she had no idea what she would have done if she’d found anyone lurking there behind them. She really should have found the time to get her phone out beforehand and punched in the numbers 999 so she was ready to press the green call button if need be. Her quickened heartbeat began to slowly subside and she laughed nervously to herself.

  ‘Idiot!’ she said, turning to go. As she made her way to the exit, the sound of her shoes seemed to suddenly echo on the concrete behind her. Her blood chilled as she realised that someone was following her and she quickly reached in her bag to find her phone. As she was rummaging around, she felt something being forced against the backs of her calves and she fell awkwardly to the ground. Her head hit the concrete and pain exploded all down the left-hand side of her face. She could feel the swelling start almost immediately around her eye and cheek. With the wind taken out of her and unable to shout out or even move, she could only lie and listen to what happened next. There was an odd metallic sound, as if something made of steel was being scraped along the ground, then a sharp, sudden burning pain unlike anything else she had ever felt in her life. Then darkness…

  Her head lay a few feet away, face up, blank eyes staring into space. After giving it a fleeting glance, the attacker flicked something into the widening pool of blood that had now almost surrounded her body, then walked towards the illuminated exit sign at the far end of the warehouse and out into the cold evening air.

  1

  Detective Inspector Joe Burton and his partner, Detective Sergeant Sally Fielding, were sitting in his car downing the remnants of the coffees they’d bought at a drive-through Costa about ten minutes previously, when the call came through. It had been a couple o
f hours since they’d agreed it had already been a long day. This had been their second pit stop of the evening at this particular watering hole. Not too far from the Greater Manchester Police Headquarters on Northampton Road, it was ideally situated for a quick pull-in, order their beverages on the crackling microphone, and then pick up the drinks at the next window. It was one they’d frequented more times than they cared to think about, and not only when they’d been out and about in the car.

  ‘Beats station coffee,’ Burton declared every time he took the first sip of his now regular caffeine fix, and Fielding couldn’t disagree with that sentiment. It was worth every penny of the fortune they’d just paid for it, despite the fact that they could have easily bought several jars of instant with the same amount of money. Burton’s regular coffee of choice was a double espresso latte, occasionally with the added delights of a hazelnut or gingerbread flavouring depending on the season, and hers a regular cappuccino with a hefty dusting of chocolate on the top.

  Truth be told, she would have settled with a cup full of the thick, creamy froth that came with that particular choice of drink as she probably loved that just as much as the coffee itself. ‘It’s supposed to be a topping and not the actual drink or face decoration!’ he had teased her whenever she took a sip and saw that she had more of it on her top lip than in her mouth. This was the nectar of the gods by comparison to what they served up in the canteen or dispensed from the drinks machines at work. What was the best term to describe the station coffee? Could it even be called coffee, she thought to herself. A better term would be pigswill!

  Despite their being DI and DS respectively, Burton and Fielding were friends in addition to being partnered detectives. It was a friendship which had steadily built up over the last seven years they had been assigned to one another. Fielding only referred to her superior officer as “sir” when operating in their official capacity, otherwise it was simply “Joe”.

  Although she had lived and worked in Manchester for the past thirteen years, Fielding was born and bred in the north east of England in a little semi-rural village called Boldon, midway between the cities of Sunderland and Newcastle and the seaside town of South Shields. Her father, a police officer, had died of a heart attack while on duty when she was a mere sixteen-year-old.

  When Fielding had declared to her mother that she intended to follow in her father’s footsteps after her A-levels, all hell broke loose. Fielding never spoke to either her mother or her elder sister again.

  With a temperament more in tune with her father’s, rather than her mother’s or sibling’s, she knew her own mind and what she wanted to achieve – and if that meant alienating herself from her family, then so be it. She hoped they would eventually come around, but sadly, in her thirteen years away from them, neither had come around to understanding – or wanting to understand – her way of thinking. In fact, there had been no contact whatsoever. After all this time, giving in and making contact seemed to her to be out of the question, as the longer they had waited the more impossible it would be to do. Neither, it seemed, could swallow their pride and make the first move.

  She had seen her sister’s name a few times in newspapers and in some of the glossy home decorating magazines, and she’d even seen her on television a couple of times on those reality makeover shows, but that was as near as she had got to either of them. As her dad had originally come from Manchester and had relatives in and around the area, she had applied to Manchester’s Police College and left the nest as quickly as she could take flight from it, finding solace with her new-found family down there. They had all welcomed her into the fold and supported her in her choice of career – unlike her mother and sister.

  Thirty-eight-year-old Joe Burton had also moved to Manchester from his native roots. Originally hailing from north London, he and his then long-term partner had moved up to the Midlands eight years ago when she had successfully applied for and gained a very lucrative promotion within her financial consultancy firm. Even though it had meant uprooting themselves from the lovely little house that they’d made for themselves in Muswell Hill, Burton hadn’t minded changing cities and simply made an internal application with the force to make the move further north.

  He’d made some good friends in his home town and would certainly miss them, but knew that he’d make more again when he’d settled in his new home in Manchester. He was the sort of man who was good at making friends with people. Everything had been rosy at first, and life was better than good until his partner decided to play footsie and then house with another colleague of hers – and that was that.

  The split had been immediate. Burton wasn’t going to be made a fool of, and had thrown himself into his job. He swore that he would never allow himself to be in that position again. Despite having the odd girlfriend now and then, which were, more often than not, blind dates set-up for him by concerned friends and work colleagues anxious to see him happily settled down, he never allowed himself to fully trust another woman again. His partnership with Fielding was the closest he had come to any sort of relationship over the past seven years.

  During this time, they had successfully tackled some of the hardest cases known to either of them, and had gained unending praise from their superiors along the way. But the case they had just finished working on had been a long and particularly arduous one, and had taken up nearly all of their resources. Finding the motive for the murder of a young homeless man living on the city’s streets had turned out to be a very unusual and bizarre case. It had finally been cracked wide open yesterday, thanks to the great detective work and joint efforts of their entire team. Although they were very much a young team of detectives, Burton knew that what they perhaps lacked in age they certainly made up for in enthusiasm and dogged determination. They tackled anything that he threw at them head-on, never giving up or letting go until they’d reached a successful conclusion – no matter what. He perhaps didn’t tell them as often as he should have done, but he was extremely proud of all of them.

  Today had been mainly tidying up and completing paperwork. Plus, they could finally release the body to the man’s family. Their celebratory cup of coffee marked the end of a trying few weeks on a case which had proved to be more emotionally stressful than usual. It also marked the end of their shift for the day. Buying a coffee had become the norm for them each evening before heading off to their homes.

  Weeknights on duty in Manchester’s city centre were relatively quiet ones. It was the Friday and Saturday night shifts that were the worst when the hardcore binge drinkers came out, and not all of them of the male variety either these days, as a steadily increasing number of female drinkers seemed to be competing with their male counterparts. Burton and Fielding had seen it all: from the skimpily clad ladies of the hen night party and the boisterous testosterone-fuelled stag night posse, the latter all macho and muscles, to the regular weekend drinkers out looking for – and always finding – a fight with either another of a like mind or with some poor unsuspecting sod who either said something they didn’t like or just looked at them in a funny way. Fight Club… for real… not tucked away in some underground lair but alive and well and living on the streets of Manchester.

  Alcohol, thought Burton, nectar of idiots. A few bevvies in and all sense leaves the building. He felt sorry for the on-duty uniformed officers caught in the crossfire outside the city’s many pubs, clubs and wine bars, with fists and expletives flying all around them for most of the evening while they tried to maintain some modicum of peace against all odds. Along with Fielding, he had, on more than one occasion, found himself caught up in the drinkers’ affray, coming away with bumps and bruises and even, on a couple of occasions, a fractured rib or two. Funny, neither of them remembered it ever being like that when they were young and out on the town.

  Fielding wasn’t a heavy drinker anyway, and only ever on special occasions. And despite Burton’s own relationship disaster in the past when he could have easily sat and drowned his sorrows, he just
didn’t feel the need to resort to alcohol to the same degree as these hardened drinkers did. A couple of beers now and again perhaps, but not to the extent that he didn’t know either where he was or even who he was. That was just stupid in his mind, and a complete waste of money.

  So, when their police radio crackled into action and a dispatcher’s voice addressed them personally, they were taken completely off guard. Why on earth would there be any calls patched through to them as they’d already signed off their shift and informed dispatch before leaving the station twenty minutes earlier?

  ‘We’re off duty!’ Burton had bellowed into the communication system’s handset he picked up from the car’s dashboard, giving Fielding such a surprise that she gave him a sideways look and a raised eyebrow. Surely they weren’t being called out to separate a few over-enthusiastic Hallowe’en drinkers? There were plenty of on-duty police constables on the beat available for that.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ the dispatcher apologised. ‘I know that you are, but there’s nobody else available at the moment, and the detective chief inspector has asked for a team of detectives to attend a possible crime scene as soon as possible.’

  ‘There must be somebody else available at the station. Can’t you get in touch with them? We’re just about home.’ Burton lied about the last bit but pushed to try to get another pair of detectives to attend the scene, knowing that both himself and Fielding had already gone way over their shift finish time.