Suspended Retribution: a spell-binding serial killer thriller (DI Rosalind Kray Book 3)

by Rob Ashman

  ‘Oh, how do you know that?’

  ‘You’re in the prime spot for that role you know?’

  ‘And … how do you know that?’

  Bagley munched on his pizza and tapped the side of his nose. ‘I just do.’

  Kray put the box and can onto the dashboard and turned square on to Bagley. ‘No, come on, how do you know that?’

  ‘I had a chat with Mary and told her you would be perfect in the role.’

  ‘You had a chat with Mary Quade?’

  ‘Yes, I told her your man-management skills are excellent, your attention to detail is off the scale and you know what good policing is all about. You’d be great.’

  ‘Do you and Mary chat often?’

  ‘Yes, we go back a long way. We were on the same course at Hendon, she was head and shoulders above anyone else and we’ve kept in touch ever since. We did our last posting together in Manchester, then when she came here I thought, well …’

  ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Feel the need to speak to the person running the selection board on my behalf?’

  ‘I think it’s the best thing all round.’

  ‘You want me out of CID?’

  ‘Oh come on, Roz, don’t be so dramatic. You applied for the role so I figured a helping hand could do no harm. She listens to me, you’ll be fine.’

  Kray straightened in her seat and glared out of the windscreen.

  ‘Is that what the last few days have been about?’

  ‘What, I don’t follow?’

  ‘Normally, Dan, you are a complete arse, yet lately you’ve been acting like we’re best mates.’

  ‘Christ, Roz, steady on. I was giving you a friendly leg-up, nothing more. Don’t throw it back in my face.’

  Kray balled her fists in her lap.

  ‘I don’t need a fucking leg-up and I sure as hell don’t need one from you! You came into the department and made it clear from day one that we were on a collision course. You saw me as a threat and attacked me at every opportunity. Then you start playing nicey-nicey. I get it now.’

  ‘Get what?’

  ‘The change in your behaviour.’

  ‘You are way out of order, Roz. I’m prepared to overlook it because you are under stress but this had better stop.’

  ‘Or what? You’ll go back to being DCI Nasty Twat. You’ve only been acting like a normal person because you think I’m on my way out the door. You take the fucking biscuit, Dan, just when I was beginning to like you, you come out all guns blazing acting like a dick.’

  ‘Roz, that’s enough!’

  ‘Yeah, you’re fucking right about that.’ Roz picked the pizza off the dashboard and got out of the car, slamming the door behind her. She marched up the street, turned right at the end and launched herself into the passenger seat of another parked car.

  ‘I need a change of scenery. Have some pizza.’

  ‘Cheers, Roz,’ said Tavener. ‘It’s all quiet here, how about you?’

  53

  I watch as a satellite scuds across the black emptiness of the night sky. It is freezing cold and the first signs of frost are forming on the ground. My breath condenses in the air, I check my watch and move back inside the warehouse. I’ve waited long enough … it’s time to go.

  I sever the ties binding Millican’s wrists and pull his arms free of the pipework. He is heavy as I drag him through the changing room into the warehouse. The car door is open and I dump him onto the back seat, covering him with the blanket. My heart is racing, I can feel the blood surging through my temples. I get in and drive out into the yard, pulling onto the main road passing through the estate.

  Keep the speed down.

  I am less concerned about CCTV cameras, so choose the major routes through town. The streets are almost empty. My mind is oblivious to the journey, all I can see is the destination and the outcome. In what seems like no time, I swing a left turn onto Chapel Street and pull into the car park on the right. I get out of the car and remove the wheelchair from the boot, snapping it open and clicking the foot rests into place. I open the back and pull the limp figure into a sitting position, then heave him into the chair. I tuck the blanket tight around his legs and chest to hold him in place, pick the holdall from the boot and close the lid, then toss the keys onto the front seat and slam the door shut.

  Time to say goodbye, Chris.

  The gravel on the ground snatches at the wheels as I walk out of the car park and turn right towards the promenade. I have to grab his collar every now and again to prevent him toppling forward. I sing a suitable tune: ‘Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop.’

  We cross the main road and the entrance to the Central Pier stands in front of us in all its past glory. The yellow and red lettering look grey against the white corrugated flashing and the promise of ‘Family fun above the sea!’ seems a little overstated.

  It is out of season so the pier is closed to visitors, but is open to the tradesmen who maintain and renovate the structure and the rides. I walk around the side to the compound where they store their gear, manoeuvring the wheelchair through the bollards to the fencing at the back. I unzip the bag and pull out the metal bar from the warehouse. There is a wire mesh gate in the fence, the chain gives way as I lever it open and push the wheelchair through the gap.

  Inside is a wooden boardwalk which runs for about twenty-five yards either side of a parade of kiosks and gaming huts. This part of the pier bridges across the sand from the road to the structure itself. I used to love running under it as a child pretending it was a big American flyover. The clatter of the footfall from the tourists up above was the rumble of cars and lorries travelling overhead.

  ‘Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop. When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.’

  The wheels clatter against the gaps in the planks. I reach mid-way and roll the chair up to the barrier at the side, rummaging around in my bag for the rope.

  I tie one end to the rail and slip the noose over his head. The slip knot is beautifully crafted with thirteen turns of the rope just like the one in the Lakeland Hotel - the one I never got to use. I fish out the marker pen and tilt his head back so his face is illuminated by the moon. I write on his forehead.

  The knot slides comfortably to the side of his neck and I heave him onto his feet. The rail is chest high and it’s a struggle to lift him up. I put my shoulder under his arse and drive with my legs, he folds at the waist, hanging over the side.

  ‘When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall.’

  I take the mobile from my pocket and flip the back off. The battery snaps into place as does the SIM card. I replace the back, push the on button and tap a message onto the screen.

  I slide the phone into the pocket of his jeans along with a folded piece of paper and grasp his feet. My chest fills with the pride of a job well done, a job that would have made Jono and the boys proud. Bringing justice to those who deserve it – that’s what we did.

  ‘And down will come baby, cradle and all.’

  I flip his legs over the top. There is a moment of silence then a jolt as the handrail takes the full weight. I can hear the strands of the rope squeezing together as the knots tighten.

  I take one last look at the towering Ferris wheel and bid it farewell. I never thought there was anything that could make this place more beautiful. I was wrong.

  The wood and iron structure fades into the night as I make my way down the promenade, the silhouette of the body hanging below the walkway no longer visible against the sea.

  54

  Kray was drumming her fingers against armrest.

  ‘I know you don’t want to talk, Roz, but can you stop doing that?’ Tavener was finding his boss’s anxiety infectious.

  ‘This doesn’t feel right,’ Kray said.

  ‘Of course it doesn’t. Two people sat in a car at half one in the morning isn’t natural.’

  ‘It’s too contrived. Jarrod isn’t going to think we’ve really pull
ed the security from Lang’s house. I think he’s getting us to look in the wrong direction.’

  ‘It can’t be to target the others on the convicted list. You’ve contacted their support officers twice in the last hour and they’re all fine.’

  ‘Ah! I can’t stand this.’ Kray slapped her hands onto the dashboard.

  Her phone rang, it was Taylor. She listened to the voice talking fast on the other end, then her phone beeped. She pulled the mobile away to read a copy of a text message.

  ‘Fuck!’ Kray yelled at the top of her lungs.

  ‘What is it?’

  She disconnected the call. ‘Jarrod’s mobile went active three minutes ago at the Central Pier. Taylor received a text on the second phone.’ Tears welled up in her eyes, she held up her phone so Tavener could read the screen. It read: Come and get your boy.

  ‘Shit, that’s a good thirty minutes from here.’

  ‘I fucking knew it.’ Kray slapped the dashboard again. ‘Get going we can brief Bagley on the way.’

  Tavener gunned the engine and screeched away from the kerb. Kray called into the control room to mobilise any officers located in the vicinity of the pier then called Bagley. She called the coppers who were baby minding the other offenders – this could be another diversion.

  The blue lights reflected off the shop front windows as they hurtled towards town. Bagley took on the role of co-ordinating a ground team to lock down the area, leaving Kray to manage whatever was at the pier.

  The same words bounced around in her head.

  Please don’t let him be dead, please don’t let him be dead.

  She tried to force it to the back of her mind but it refused to give way. It kept repeating, over and over again.

  Please don’t let him be dead …

  Kray called Taylor who confirmed that the phone hadn’t moved. She then took a call from Bagley.

  ‘Roz, I have a police officer at the scene and he says there is a body hanging from the pier.’

  ‘Oh my God.’ She clasped her hand to her face. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘He can’t tell. It’s twenty feet in the air, there’s no way we can get to it, he’s called in the fire brigade to assist.’

  ‘Is it male?’

  ‘He thinks so.’

  Kray let the phone rest in her lap, the tinny voice of Bagley still buzzed on the line, urging attention. She gazed out front at the urban scenery speeding past, tears running down her face.

  ‘Roz, what is it?’ Tavener asked. ‘Roz!’

  ‘They found a body hanging from the pier, looks like it’s male. I think it’s Chris.’

  ‘It might not be, Roz get a grip.’

  ‘It’s Chris, I know it is. Jarrod made us look the other way and killed him. He said he would kill him if he interfered and now he’s dead.’

  The car skidded to a stop and they both jumped out. Kray ran along the promenade and down the concrete steps onto the sand. Tavener got a search lamp from the boot and chased after her.

  Kray was sobbing as she ran, she could see the black silhouette of the man dangling at the end of the rope. The lone copper was stood beneath it, looking up.

  Fucking hell, Chis, what have I done?

  Kray reached the pier first, straining her neck back to look up at the figure twisting in the sea breeze. She ran one way then the other trying to get a better look.

  What have I done?

  Tavener arrived and the torch beam flooded the underneath of the boardwalk. Kray yanked it from his grasp and aimed it at the man hanging from the handrail. The powerful light hit him full in the face.

  Who the fuck is that?

  55

  Three weeks later

  Kray tapped at the door and entered Bagley’s office. He was elbow deep in paperwork and looking stressed. It was early afternoon, and despite the hour, she had her bag in one hand and coat in the other.

  ‘I have news.’

  ‘Can it wait, Roz? Quade and I are in front of the cameras again in an hour doing another public appeal.’

  ‘Bloody hell, they are going to give you two your own slot on daytime TV.’

  ‘Yeah, very funny. Plus, she’s breathing down my neck about the overtime.’

  ‘I may be able to help with both of those.’

  ‘I doubt it.’ He bent his head over his laptop and bashed away at the keyboard.

  ‘I’ll tell you anyway - we can stop looking for Alex Jarrod.’

  Bagley’s head snapped up.

  ‘Have we found him?’

  ‘Kind of. Do you remember I took the precaution of informing the security services about Jarrod, just in case he popped up on their radar?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They’ve been in touch and it would appear he didn’t so much show up on their radar as show up on a mortuary slab in Jalalabad.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Turns out he was working for a private security firm in Afghanistan and was killed in a car bomb attack. The details are pretty sketchy.’

  ‘Are they sure it’s him?’

  ‘It’s him all right. He left instructions that in the event of his death any money in his account was to be transferred to his ex-girlfriend, Julie Clarke. She’s confirmed the cash is in her bank.’

  ‘Have we spoken to the security firm?’

  ‘I have and they insist they enlisted Jarrod when he was already in Afghanistan. I put it to them that they played a role of getting him out of the country and they simply told us to prove it. One of their head guys used to be Jarrod’s commanding officer. I’m sure if we look hard enough the evidence will point us in their direction but we will never make it stick.’

  ‘Good news - we found him, bad news - he’s dead. Christ, I’ve been living and breathing this damned case for so long it will take a bit of getting used to not having it hanging around my neck.’

  ‘You getting used to it? I think you’ll find we’ve all lived and breathed it. Still, you can tell Quade the resources are freed up which will help with the figures.’ Kray turned to walk away having delivered her update.

  ‘You going somewhere?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah, you signed off on me having an early finish.’

  ‘Wait a moment. I’ve been meaning to talk to you. The internal investigation team are wrapping up their inquiry into what went on in CJU and they have reopened the recruitment process to appoint a new head.’

  ‘Yes I received an email to that effect yesterday.’

  ‘Let me know when you need to take time away from the job.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, Dan, I’ve withdrawn my application.’

  ‘Whoa! Hang on, what do you mean?’

  ‘I’ve pulled out.’

  ‘We need to talk about this.’

  ‘No, Dan, we don’t.’

  ‘I think we do. And where are you going?’

  ‘That’s none of your business.’

  ‘Are you applying for other roles?’

  ‘Nope, I’m staying on in CID.’

  ‘What? You should have told me.’

  ‘I’m telling you now.’

  ‘But … but … how—’

  ‘I guess me being around is just one more thing you’ll have to get used to.’ She walked out.

  ‘Kray get back here.’

  ‘No, Dan, right now there’s somewhere I need to be.’

  56

  Kray gazed out over the Irish sea from her position on the hillside, shielding her eyes against the low February sun. She could see the array of wind turbines in the distance, the day was clear and bright.

  ‘Chris didn’t die, how about that? Fuck knows how. He had a fractured cheekbone, a fractured eye socket and a bleed on the brain. Not to mention a busted nose. I should carry a government health warning saying: Caution, getting close to this woman may result in death or severe injury. And before you say anything I know he made a catastrophic error in judgement. If he had involved us when he met with Jarrod under the pier we would be two bodies less and he
wouldn’t have been wired up to fuck knows what in a hospital bed. But as you and me both know we are all prone to errors in judgement. I mean I can’t talk – my error got you killed, so I can hardly judge him too harshly. A police officer found him wandering along the Prom after he woke up and made a run for it from the car. Well, when I say run, it was more of a stagger.’

  Kray bent down and wiped away the grime from the top of the stone, the black marble glistened in the sun.

  ‘The guy hanging from the bridge was Judge Bernard Preston. He had enough sleeping pills inside him to put an elephant to sleep. In his pocket was a note saying: Sometimes you have to lose a battle to win the war. A reference to Jarrod not killing Casey Lang. Preston also had a note written on his forehead which said: Prevention is better than cure. You got to hand it to Jarrod, he played us like a penny-whistle. He made us look one way while he took care of business.

  ‘We never caught him. He disappeared into thin air only to show up dead in Afghanistan. He managed to get himself blown up in a car bomb explosion. I briefed Bagley this afternoon and I think he was pleased, though it was difficult to tell. Oh, and I told him I wasn’t going for the CJU job. He was not happy and looked like I’d kicked him in the balls, which I suppose I did in a way. It felt good. Speaking of the delightful Casey Lang, she submitted a formal complaint against Bagley and was suing the force for wrongful arrest, but that’s all gone quiet after we found a stash of drugs at her home along with a ton of cash. No wonder she wasn’t keen on giving us the house. Oh, I do have something that will make you chuckle. You remember I went for that job as office manager at a solicitors, well … the fuckers said no! Can you believe that? I aced that interview. I don’t know what Amanda from HR was doing, she obviously didn’t have a clue.’

  Kray took a letter from her pocket. ‘Listen to this, ‘we do not feel you have the experience we are looking for’. No shit, they only had to read my CV to know that. And what about this, ‘please feel free to apply for any of the other exciting opportunities Willis and Broughton have to offer’. Cheeky bastards. They can stuff their job up their arse.’