Secrets of the Dead: A serial killer thriller that will have you hooked (Detective Robyn Carter crime thriller series Book 2)

by Carol Wyer

  Forty-Five

  The entrance to the Hideaway Hotel was an unassuming doorway to the right of the building, down a narrow, pedestrian-only lane off Fleet Street. Ross found the reception desk situated in what appeared to be an old living room – small and charming. With its polished wood panelling, open fires and genuine antique furniture it felt more like a private club than a boutique hotel. A girl in her twenties, with ash-blonde hair styled in a shoulder-grazing cut with gently razored ends, was behind the desk. He meandered into the room, trying not to gawp at the décor.

  ‘I’m Ross Cunningham from R&J Associates. I spoke to Frieda earlier today.’

  The girl studied his card and private investigator licence with large eyes. ‘She’s on her break at the moment, sir. I’ll fetch her for you. Can I offer you a drink – a cup of tea, something stronger?’

  Ross agreed to a coffee. The caffeine would help keep him awake for the return journey.

  He plopped down on a large chair decorated in pastel colours. He was feeling jaded. Not only had traffic been heavy, but finding a free space in any of the car parks near the hotel had been a nightmare. He’d ended up parked some distance from the hotel and made the last mile of the trip on foot.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a girl with ice-blue eyes and shoulder-length hair, tied up in a blue ribbon. It had to be Frieda. She extended a hand that was cool and soft. ‘I apologise for the inconvenience, Mr Cunningham. You will appreciate we have to respect our clients’ privacy.’

  Her voice flowed over him like a trickling stream. ‘I do, Frieda.’

  ‘I have the registration forms here.’ She pulled out a sheet of paper and pointed to a line.

  Ross put on his glasses. He had only recently taken to wearing them and hated that they signalled he was getting older. He squinted at it, and made out Miles Ashbrook’s signature. The other was unidentifiable and little more than a scrawl.

  ‘Is that it? I can’t make it out at all.’

  ‘After I spoke to you, I worried that might be the case, so I thought about this and checked it for you.’

  She passed a large leather-bound book of guest comments to him.

  He read through those on the page she showed him. He came to the third comment down and stopped, eyebrows raised in surprise.

  ‘Can I take a copy of this?’ he asked.

  ‘Certainly, Mr Cunningham.’ She gave a cat-like tilt of the head, pleased to have helped.

  Ross snapped a shot of the comment with his mobile and sent it to Robyn before calling her. She sounded worn out.

  ‘I can’t get a handle on this, Ross. It’s really bugging me. I’m worried that I shouldn’t have insisted on keeping the case open. Shearer might have made more progress than me on it.’

  ‘Nonsense. You’re tired, that’s all. Shearer would be in the same position as you. In truth, he wouldn’t be anywhere as near as you are to finding this perpetrator. Come on, Robyn. It isn’t like you to have self-doubts. Where’s that brilliant unstoppable DI I know and care about?’

  She fell silent. He could tell she was considering the question carefully.

  ‘Let me boost your confidence. Check your email. You’re in for a surprise.’

  Robyn stared at the photo Ross had sent and berated herself. Why hadn’t she suspected this? The haggard looks, the intense anxiety in his eyes and the split from his wife. The guest comment book was the evidence she needed to prove the identity of Miles’s lover.

  Thoroughly enjoyed our romantic weekend at this amazing hotel. Can’t recommend it enough.

  Miles Ashbrook and Scott Dawson

  Whether the pair had been confident that no one they knew would ever read the comment remained a mystery; however one thing was for sure: Miles and Scott had been seeing each other. Scott had been at the Hall the night Miles had died. She had to speak to him immediately. She called Anna.

  ‘Is Scott in his room?’

  ‘I’ve not moved from here since he turned in for the night. The receptionist gave me a thriller to read – it’s gripping, so I’ve been wide awake.’

  ‘Can you bring him in? I need to question him.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Anna rang off. Robyn returned to the whiteboard in the office. There were several new photographs with connecting lines and comments – a picture of Jakub and another of Alan Worth, who was still in intensive care and causing concern to the staff at the hospital, who suspected he had brain damage. She rubbed at her sore eyes and stared at the board.

  She noted the times of each attack: late at night; ten in the morning; late afternoon; and in the early hours of the morning. She pulled out a red marker pen and wrote: ‘Suspect works odd hours or is unemployed.’ It wasn’t much to go on. She scratched her head and debated whether to go for a run or head home for a power nap and a shower. She thought about the Fiat 500 that had been spotted in Kings Bromley and read PC David Marker’s note. He had got in touch with numerous owners of Fiat cars and had narrowed his search down to twenty in Staffordshire and Derbyshire who had yet to be contacted. She wrote: ‘Drives Fiat 500?’ Then, staring blankly at the board, wondered where Miles and Scott fitted into the picture.

  The ring of her mobile cut into her thoughts. Anna was flustered. ‘He’s gone.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Room twelve’s bathroom interconnects to room thirteen’s. He’s sidled out via room thirteen, which faces onto another corridor. I couldn’t have spotted him leaving.’

  The fatigue that had been threatening to consume Robyn vanished. Scott Dawson had to be found. He was either a valuable witness to a murder or in terrible danger.

  Forty-Six

  Mulholland’s lips were pressed so tightly together they were almost invisible. She pushed the newspaper towards Robyn without a word.

  She knew what the article said. David had already shown it to her.

  ‘It’s big news now. The “Lichfield Leopard” has caught on, as I feared.’

  ‘Oh, for crying out loud! Where do they get these inappropriate names and where did this Amy Walters get this information?’

  ‘No one knows. I’ve asked about.’

  She wondered if Shearer would stoop low enough to tell the journalist anything and decided that he was neither spiteful nor unprofessional. In this business, no one spoke to journalists off the record. They often did more harm than good. This was a prime example of poor reporting, a few facts mixed with conjecture and enough gory details to frighten the general public.

  She read:

  HAS THE LICHFIELD LEOPARD CLAIMED A THIRD VICTIM?

  A spate of murders in the Lichfield area has shocked the public. On Saturday 19th, Rory Wallis (34) was found brutally murdered in his bar the Happy Pig in Lichfield. It is believed that Wallis was discovered with his throat cut. This was followed on Monday 21st by the murder of housewife Linda Upton (32) in Kings Bromley. Linda, wife to Robert Upton and mother to Louis (6) was drowned in her bath. Friends and neighbours have been shocked by the murder. Theresa Harris, whose daughter attends the same school as Linda’s son, said, ‘People are now terrified to leave their houses and it has sent a frisson of anxiety through our peaceful, quiet community. I don’t know how anyone could harm Linda. We’re all staying indoors until the Lichfield Leopard is caught.’

  Wednesday saw the death of another local man, Jakub Woźniak, involved in a hit and run. Mrs Woźniak, who is expecting their second child, said her husband was travelling home from work when he was struck by a vehicle and died. Could this third death be connected in any way to the work of the individual people are calling the Lichfield Leopard, due to the fact he has struck stealthily and without detection?

  While it has not been confirmed the deaths are connected, DI Robyn Carter of Staffordshire Police was spotted at the scene of all the incidents, leading to speculation that they are related. DI Carter was unavailable to comment.

  The article was accompanied by an unflattering photograph of Robyn looking gaunt and wo
rried, taken outside the Happy Pig.

  Mulholland was staring at her. ‘I don’t need to tell you that this is the last thing we need.’

  ‘I agree, and I can assure you none of my team spoke to Amy Walters. We’ve all been flat out on this case.’

  ‘Robyn, I can’t convey how much pressure I am under to get this resolved. We can’t afford to have everybody in Staffordshire terrified they’re going to be bumped off by this person. I’ve been asked to give a press conference this afternoon to reassure the public that they are not in danger.’ Louisa hated appearing in front of the cameras. Robyn knew where the conversation was going. ‘I have an appointment at three so I want you to take my place.’

  She loathed press conferences even more than Louisa did. ‘Do I have any choice?’

  ‘No. Keep it brief. Keep it accurate and try to get rid of this ridiculous name the Lichfield Leopard.’

  Robyn felt she had hit rock bottom. She had nothing to give the press and Scott Dawson was still missing. Passing Shearer’s door, she felt she ought to at least build bridges with her co-worker. Shearer was typing with two fingers. ‘Don’t make any comment. I can type as quickly with two as others can using all their fingers.’

  ‘I’m not here to bandy insults. I’ve come to tell you I’ve found out that Miles Ashbrook was having an affair with Scott Dawson.’

  Shearer’s eyebrows arched high on his forehead. ‘Well, there’s a turn-up for the books.’

  ‘They spent a night together in a hotel in London and had pay-as-you-go phones to keep their communication private.’

  ‘And why are you are telling me? Am I wearing a dog collar? Does this look like a confessional booth?’ he said, arm sweeping around the empty office.

  ‘Lay off the jibes, Tom. I’m in so much shit I can smell it myself and I wanted to clear the air with you. Miles Ashbrook was your case until I got some information about it that I had to follow up. I voiced my concerns about Ashbrook’s death and you didn’t want to listen, so I had no option other than to look into it myself.’

  Shearer’s piercing eyes studied her cautiously.

  ‘Mulholland is pissed off with lack of results on the murder cases and I can’t say I blame her. And, to make matters worse, I went off at a tangent and delved into Miles Ashbrook’s death, trying to find a link between it and the murders I’m investigating.

  ‘I was given some personal effects belonging to Ashbrook and among them was a receipt for a night’s stay at a London hotel, a pay-as-you-go mobile and a USB stick. I should have told you or handed them over to you, but instead I looked into the matter alone. There were messages on the phone that suggested Ashbrook was meeting his lover the night he died. Now I can’t determine their relevance and I think I might have royally screwed up. I took my eye off what was important – catching the killer. I suspected Miles might have been killed by the same person who murdered Rory Wallis and Linda Upton.’

  ‘The Lichfield Leopard?’

  She sighed heavily. ‘I wish Amy hadn’t given him that nickname. Gives him a status that he certainly doesn’t deserve.’

  ‘For the record, I’m sorry about it too. I have no time for these bloody reporters who shit stir.’

  ‘Thanks. Anyway, I wonder if trying to link the killer to Miles’s death hasn’t cost the lives of others. To cap it all, we had Scott under surveillance at the Hall last night and he did a runner. I’m worried he could be next.’

  ‘You tried to track his car?’

  She nodded. ‘No sign of it, and we’ve talked to everyone we know who knows him. Where could he have gone, Tom? Where would you go if you were on the run and scared?’

  ‘Somewhere isolated or somewhere I felt safe – family, loved ones?’

  ‘His loved ones have chucked him out. His wife wants a divorce.’

  Shearer tilted back on his chair. ‘Well, I hope his turns out more amicable than mine.’

  ‘Anyway, I wanted to apologise for pursuing the Ashbrook case. I should have let you in on what I was doing.’

  ‘It’s okay. I should apologise too for griping to Mulholland. I was bang out of order. I was out of sorts that day.’

  ‘Forgotten.’

  ‘Robyn, we all work on the same side, even if it doesn’t feel like it some days. We want the same thing – results.’

  ‘While you’re in such a magnanimous mood, I don’t suppose you feel like standing in for me at a press conference, do you? Mulholland has an appointment.’

  Tom snorted. ‘Not a chance in hell. You’re definitely on your own with that. And I think you’ll find her appointment is more a job interview.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Pretty certain.’

  She lifted a hand and walked off. She now wasn’t sure if she had really cleared the air with Shearer or whether he was playing games to further his career. That was the thing about Tom – you never actually knew.

  Forty-Seven

  He was outside waiting for Scott Dawson. The man was later than usual. He should have left at least an hour earlier. Patience had paid off, and now Scott was scurrying to his car, keys in his hand, looking around before he jumped in and drove away.

  He’d thought long and hard about how to kill Scott and had come up with the ideal way, but the wretched man was unpredictable and had not adhered to his usual routines and his plans had to be changed. While it had been easy to overpower his other victims, Scott Dawson was an expert in ju-jitsu, and would be able to fell him with one sharp kick or blow. He had the advantage of surprise, yet that wouldn’t help a huge amount once Scott, like the others, decided to fight for his life.

  His new plan was simple. He would wait for Scott to leave work and follow him. The dark, narrow lanes were perfect for what he had in mind. He would turn off his headlights and ease up to Scott’s car before lighting them up on full beam. Scott would then be both startled and blinded by the sudden glare, and either veer off the road or press the brake – either way, he would emerge from the car at some point to assess damage, or find out what had happened. At that point, he would be recognised and he would play the dumb fool, apologising profusely until Scott suspected nothing. He would offer to pay for the damage and move towards Scott. Then he would strike. The claw hammer sat on the passenger seat. A blow to the temple would be all it would take – that or a full frontal attack, just like a real leopard. He smiled at his new name – the Lichfield Leopard. He had never felt so important in all his life. Harriet would be extremely proud of him.

  Scott didn’t turn in his usual direction. Instead, he cut across the A515, sticking to the back roads that led to Uttoxeter. He sighed heavily in exasperation then shrugged. At least Scott was travelling on a rural road, hardly used by traffic at this time of night. They were fast approaching Marchington Woodlands, spread out over three miles of undulating land covered by large wooded areas. It consisted mostly of farms and properties in remote, rural settings, and he would have a job tailing Scott without using his lights. He would have to act soon. He moved closer to his prey before extinguishing his headlights on a stretch of straight road, relying purely on the beam coming from Scott’s vehicle. Then, without warning, lights appeared from the left as a car trundled down a lane and, not seeing his own car, pulled out in front of him and joined the road. He swore loudly. He had missed a chance. Now Scott’s Toyota Rav 4 was ahead of the newcomer’s.

  He began to sweat. He had a moment of confusion before he could decide how to rectify the situation. The fact was, he couldn’t do anything while the other car was in front. He put his lights on dipped beam and followed behind, hoping the car would pull off. He could barely see Scott’s car now. He banged his steering wheel and yelled for the car in front to get a move on. Frustration mounted as he lost track of Scott’s car. Then the car in front indicated and slowed, before pulling into a drive. It took an eternity for the driver to make the turn, during which time he became increasingly angry. He hurled abuse at the unsuspecting driver, and had he not been after Scott, w
ould have dragged the man out of the car into the road and kicked him to death. He accelerated away, all the while muttering and grumbling. The road ahead was empty. He raced towards Marchington, but couldn’t spot the Toyota anywhere. He let out a howl of rage. Scott had disappeared.

  Forty-Eight

  Robyn checked her reflection and straightened her black and white checked cravat. She barely recognised the grim-faced woman in the mirror with her sharp cheekbones and heavy bags under her eyes. All her team had the same hollow look. This case was getting to each of them. Outside the station, a small crowd of press had gathered. She knew what she would tell them – as little as possible.

  The sun shone fiercely, making her squint as she emerged from the building. She could already imagine the photographs that would appear of her, brows furrowed and face screwed up against the bright light. She cleared her throat and began, keeping her voice level and speaking with a confidence she didn’t feel. ‘I can confirm that we are investigating the deaths of three citizens from the Lichfield area. We are currently seeking a person, or persons, unknown in this matter. A televised appeal for assistance from the public regarding the death of Rory Wallis resulted in several leads, all of which we are following up. We are asking the public to look out for a silver Fiat 500 with a 2014 plate. It may have a sticker in the back window that reads “I Love Westies”. If you own such a vehicle or know of someone who has such a car, would you please get in touch with us, so we can eliminate this person from our enquiries? I must stress that we believe the general public is not at risk, and we would like to appeal for calm. Thank you.’ She surveyed them all coolly.

  A journalist directly in front of her spoke up. ‘Gareth Taylor, Staffordshire Newsletter. Does this mean only certain people are being targeted, and do you know who they are?’