A Second Chance: A British Crime Thriller (A DCI Pilgrim Thriller Book 5)

by A L Fraine

  Later, Kate walked into his office as he worked on his PC.

  “Travis wasn’t at the flat,” she stated.

  Jon leaned back and rubbed his face. “Bloody hell.”

  “We’ve put out a call to have him brought in if he turns up. We’ve got an officer at the flat, and SOCOs will be there later to have a hunt through.”

  “Is Connie still downstairs?”

  “No, we’ve moved her to the hotel. Do you think it’s him? Travis?”

  Jon sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe. He has a motive, but he’d be doing the same thing to Emily’s son that had happened to him. I’m not sure that makes sense.”

  “When does anything that a serial killer or kidnapper does make sense? But in his mind, maybe that’s the point. She didn’t care about him, in his mind, so he’s trying to teach her a lesson?”

  “Does this mean that the person who called and left the message was Travis?” Jon asked. “I guess he’d know at least some of the details he mentioned in the call.”

  “It kind of fits,” Kate admitted.

  “Right then, now we’ve just got to find him.”

  “His name and photo have been handed out to patrols. Hopefully, it won’t be too long.”

  “Great work.”

  “Are you nearly done for the night? You said we’d get a curry.”

  “Yeah, I did. You still want to?”

  “Of course,” she answered, coming to sit beside him, perching on the edge of his desk.

  “Alright, let’s head home. It’s late.”

  Ten minutes later, they were out of the building, and another twenty after that, they’d pulled up at Jon’s house, having put in an order via phone on their drive over. Getting out of the car, Jon turned towards his house and spotted a man standing on the pavement, waiting outside his house.

  Jon paused and frowned as Kate joined him and followed his gaze. She leaned in. “That’s Scott, the reporter who collared me in the pub.”

  “Oh, is it?” Jon remarked. He’d had several doorstep encounters since moving into this house, and was wary of having more.

  “Detective Pilgrim,” Scott began as they approached. “Can you tell me why Connie Young came to the station today? Why was she there? Was it to do with the Milo Kay case?”

  “Listen, Scott, showing up on my doorstep is not going to exactly endear you to me. So you can turn around and piss off, frankly. I’m not answering your questions here.”

  “Sydney said you might say that,” Scott said as Jon stormed towards his front door.

  He stopped, and looked back. “You what?”

  “No more questions for today,” Scott replied, with a smile. The man turned and walked off, with a smug smile on his face, leaving Jon slack-jawed in his front garden.

  “Shite,” Kate whispered.

  “Did he say what I think he said?”

  “Sydney,” Kate said in hushed tones. “Or, Ariadne as we now know her.”

  “God damn it.”

  19

  He stood on the street, staring at the house, at the lights that were dancing around inside it on the ground floor. A small group of people lingered out front smoking, nodding along to the thumping music as smoke curled up in the night air.

  He felt nothing but disgust for them. They were grotesque, and now was the time to show them where the power really was, how vulnerable they really were.

  Nothing could stop him. Tonight, they would know.

  He relished that idea. Finally, after all this time, he was getting his moment. His revenge. His justice.

  But he wasn’t impatient. He had time, and the perfect moment would soon arrive. He had no doubt about that, so he watched and waited, observing the debauchery, the drinking, and the drug use.

  Eventually, the music died away, and most of the guests left, leaving just a few in the front room, dancing and getting smashed out of their minds.

  They were scum, and as time went on, they did what scum like this always did. They took enough drugs to send themselves into a stupor.

  He kept a close eye on them. Walking up and down the street, passing the house, or hiding close by. Watching and waiting. As the moment neared, he began to test how alert they were. He walked into the garden, peeking through the front room window, watching and listening.

  He could see them, laid about the front room, oblivious to the world around them. There were empty beer cans and partly drunk bottles strewn around. On the coffee table in the middle of the room, a plastic tray held the detritus of drug use, including several needles, half of which had been used, but at least two of them were still fully loaded.

  He smiled, pulled on his mask, and tried the front door. As he suspected, it swung open easily, making just a slight noise.

  Perfect.

  He sneaked in, treading lightly, moving past the living room on his left and making for the stairs.

  As he approached the bottom step, he heard sudden movement. Turning, he saw a woman in the doorway to the lounge.

  “…hey…” she muttered, her voice slurred and her eyes wheeling around wildly.

  He strode right up to her, grabbed her by the throat and pushed her into the front room. She fell back and he followed her down keeping a tight grip on her neck as she struggled weakly.

  Looking up, he surveyed the room. The others seemed out for the count. Oblivious. Nearby, one of them woke up, saw him and the woman, and broke into peals of laughter before collapsing.

  He grunted at the idiot and refocused on the woman while she writhed. Then his eyes fell on the needles.

  He looked back down at her and smiled. She couldn’t see his grin even if she could focus on him, which was unlikely in her state.

  He scooped up the needle and lightly pressed the plunger until a tiny squirt of the muddy liquid shot from the point.

  “Perfect,” he smiled, before jabbing the thing in the base of her neck, just below where his thumb gripped her. He pushed the plunger right in, causing her to moan as the drugs flooded her system. He contemplated pulling the needle out but decided she could do that herself.

  He left her to flop about on the floor. She tried to grab the needle, but her lack of coordination sabotaged her efforts.

  He retreated and returned to the base of the stairs.

  All was quiet, but he knew they were up there. They were probably used to this kind of behaviour and knew better than to disturb it.

  He smiled to himself and started to climb the stairs.

  20

  Nathan relaxed in the back room of his house, a clean, boxy, modern affair with minimal furniture and moody lighting. Relaxing into his comfortable seat with his feet up and a scotch held lightly in the fingers of his right hand, he gazed out to the shadowy garden beyond the floor to ceiling windows. Solar-powered garden lights used the energy they’d stored during the day, and lit up the grass, bushes and trees, creating a magical vista that he often enjoyed. Losing himself from the comfort of this chair.

  But the soothing classical background music and the lazy undulations of the foliage outside did little to ease his frustrations from the day and the dead end he found himself following after the lead Rory had given him.

  He’d felt sure that this Kendel, whoever he was, was their man. It all seemed to fit. The weird behaviour, the vendetta against Rory’s family that he took out on Ben, the boy’s disappearance, it was all perfect.

  But, who was Kendel? There was no such name within the suspects so far, or in their extended families, and besides, he had fallen off the grid seventeen years ago, and had never reappeared.

  Unless he’d changed his identity and was living under an assumed name.

  Nathan shook his head and sipped on his drink, savouring the rich, burning sensation as he swallowed the liquid.

  He’d try again tomorrow and dive into those murky depths once more in case he’d missed some vital clue. But in the meantime, Nathan relaxed, rested his head back against the chair and closed his eyes as he tried to empty his
mind. He’d learnt a few yoga and meditation techniques over the years, and used them now to help him relax and rest, allowing his mind to wander into the ethereal heavens.

  The doorbell sounded.

  Nathan opened his eyes and frowned as he looked over at the clock.

  It was nearly eleven o’clock. Who on earth would call on him at this hour? Pilgrim maybe? Had there been a development in the case?

  Taking another sip from the scotch, he placed the glass on the table and walked through to the front door, taking his time and hoping whoever it was would go away.

  But they didn’t.

  Nathan grumbled to himself on seeing the dark figure through the windows of the door, and opened it.

  On the other side, a woman in a long black coat looked up slowly and smiled. She was pretty, with long blonde hair, dusky yet piercing eyes and pale skin. He didn’t recognise her at all.

  “Good evening,” the woman said, with slightly accented English. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I was wondering if we might talk?”

  Nathan eyed the woman curiously as she smiled at him. Who on earth was this person? He’d never seen her before in his life. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Serena Marchand.”

  “I’ve never heard of you,” Nathan said, still not keen on showing her in. Despite her congenial attitude, there was an edge to her that raised a red flag in the back of Nathan’s mind, but he couldn’t really say why.

  “And nor should you have, Mr Halliwell. I am a private citizen. But, I think I might be able to help you.”

  “Oh, how?”

  “You visited the graves of Mr and Mrs Darby today, did you not?”

  Nathan frowned as several more alarm bells sounded in his head. “And if I did?”

  “I know you did. My people saw you and followed you.”

  “Why?”

  “I tend to those graves, Mr Halliwell. I leave flowers on them and look after them. It’s only right that I do this for Kendel’s dear parents. But please, may I come in? These matters shouldn’t be discussed on the doorstep.

  Nathan frowned at the woman, but she just smiled at him, her gaze meeting his. For a moment, he nearly lost himself in those eyes, and after a moment of doubt, he reconsidered and saw no reason not to invite her in “Sure. Please, come in.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and moved into the hall as Nathan stepped out of the way.

  “Drink?”

  “Not for me. But please, feel free.”

  Nathan shrugged. “Okay. If you’d like to come through?” He led her into the back room where he snatched up his drink and turned to face the woman. She’d removed her coat and had placed it on the counter of his kitchenette, revealing a slender black dress beneath.

  “My word, Mr Halliwell. This house is magnificent,” she said, and moved to admire the garden through the glass.

  “Thank you, Miss Marchand. Is it Miss, or Mrs?”

  “Miss,” she replied, and turned to face him with a smile. “Ever the detective, I see.”

  Nathan shrugged. “You knew Kendel Darby?”

  “I did indeed. You see, I see myself as a Samaritan. I’m lucky enough to be wealthy and can do with my life… whatever I choose. So I choose to help others with the privileges that my life has brought me.”

  “People like Kendel?”

  “I take people in, Mr Halliwell. I give those who don’t have a home, a roof over their heads and do my best to teach them the value of a hard day’s work. In other words, I try to rehabilitate them and make them functioning members of society.”

  “Did you do that for Kendel?”

  “I attempted to, yes. I found him on the streets, in the same way I find many of the people I help—looking lost. This was seventeen years ago, Mr Halliwell, when I took him in and tried to help him. He was clearly a lost soul, and I hoped that somehow I might be able to lift him out of the funk he found himself in.”

  “Did you not watch the news at the time?”

  “No,” she said, and turned to him, ambling across the room. “I have little time for that. Television is mindless drivel most of the time anyway, and I have no need to know the day to day issues in the news. I have people for that.”

  Nathan felt a little bewildered by her rant, but recovered quickly. “Well, he’d gone missing and his parents were looking for him. I’m sure what you thought you were doing was helping him, but…”

  “Mr Halliwell.” She was standing right before him, and her tone was stern. “I spoke to him at length when I took him in, which by the way, was his choice. I do not force anyone. Anyway, he told me that he just wanted to get away, and I respected that.”

  “Okay, so what happened?”

  “He was beyond my help, Mr Halliwell. His mind was already warped and twisted out of shape. He was a danger to others, so despite my best efforts, I was forced to ask him to leave. Which he did.”

  “Do you know where he went, or what happened to him? Is he still alive?”

  “Alas, I’m afraid, I do not know, and I made no attempt to follow him. His life was his to live as he pleased.”

  Nathan sighed. “This is a fascinating story, Miss Marchand, but I don’t know how much to believe. I’m not even sure you look old enough to have done what you say.”

  “Looks can be deceptive, Mr Halliwell,” she said as she picked up her coat and pulled it on. “You of all people should know that.”

  Nathan frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I did my research before I came here tonight, Inspector. I do not turn up on people’s doorsteps without knowing who they are. That would be folly.”

  “Would it?”

  She turned back to him. “Will this help your case?”

  “I can’t really say,” Nathan said.

  “Of course not. I hope young Mr Darby hasn’t killed anyone.” She walked back towards his front door, so Nathan followed, intrigued by this curious woman.

  “Me too.”

  She opened the door, but paused on the threshold, regarding him with a knowing look. “Careful, Detective, for the dead travel fast.” She winked, and walked out, closing the door behind her.

  Nathan pulled a face as he stared at the door, bemused by this curious turn of events and this bewitching woman. What had just happened?

  21

  Scott typed away on this laptop, feeling more creative and inspired than he ever had in his life. He felt like he suddenly had a calling, and a way to reach out into the world and let them know what was going on.

  As usual, the police were not giving the public the whole story, but he could change that. He could be the beacon of truth and objective reality that the people of Surrey, the UK, and the world needed, and with her help, the world was his oyster.

  He didn’t need to worry about anything anymore. He didn’t need to work on the side to get by anymore, and could focus on the job at hand. It was amazing, and as his hands flew over the keyboard, he hoped this would never end.

  That night with Sydney in the pub had been incredible. All his dreams for his blogging were suddenly in reach, and it was all because of her. He couldn’t quite believe it, and yet, his bank account said differently.

  Of course, Sydney had demands. She wanted certain things investigated and looked into, and much of it seemed to surround Detective Jon Pilgrim, so far. But that was fine by him. It was just a continuation of the reporting he was already doing.

  Beside him, his phone buzzed. He checked it, noticing it was from Sydney, asking if his article was finished.

  Focusing on the piece, he pushed through and finished it up, before posting it to his blog.

  Taking a breath, he grabbed his phone and replied, telling her it was online.

  She answered, telling him to check his bank account.

  Scott smiled.

  22

  Walking into the SIU office with Kate following behind, they split up, with Kate heading to her desk, and Jon for his office. Having Kate to stay the night had be
en just what the doctor ordered, and he’d slept better than he had the previous night, despite the brief encounter with the blogger outside his house.

  He’d speculated with Kate over their curry about what he meant by mentioning Ariadne’s alias, Sydney. They had so little to go on, they couldn’t really come to any kind of conclusions, but clearly, Scott had been in some kind of contact with the woman.

  They’d checked out his blog the night before, and read the couple of articles he’d posted about the case already. They weren’t particularly insightful or salacious, but showed an aptitude with words. It was all very bland and safe.

  They resolved to keep an eye on his blog given their encounter, and after logging into the system, Jon navigated to his blog again to find a brand new article. He read the title.

  More links to the thirteen-year-old case.

  Already, the title sent a shiver up his spine as he wondered what Scott meant.

  The article went onto describe how Connie Young, mother of Travis, the other survivor of the previous kidnapping case, visited the station yesterday. It continued, talking about the links to the previous case that had since been discovered following the initial press conference with the Kay family about their missing boy. It hadn’t been mentioned at the time of the original press conference, but the media had dug deep and soon worked out that Emily was one of the survivors of that previous case.

  Scott went on to say how it could have been a coincidence that Emily’s son was now involved in what looked like a kidnapping, but with the Young family now involved, Scott was beginning to think there was more to it than that. Was this a copycat, or the same killer, back to finish the job?

  Scott finished the article saying how he’d approached the detectives on the case for comment, but they had declined.

  “Yeah, no shit,” Jon muttered as he reread the article.

  “I take it you’ve read his latest post,” Kate said, appearing at his office door.