ONE STEP AHEAD: detectives hunt a serial killer who knows all their moves (The DCI Jeffrey Brandt Murders Trilogy Book 1)

by Denver Murphy

  ONE STEP

  AHEAD

  Detectives hunt a serial killer who

  knows all their moves

  Book 1 of the DSI Jeffrey Brandt Murders Trilogy

  DENVER MURPHY

  Published by

  THE BOOK FOLKS

  London, 2019

  © Denver Murphy

  Polite note to the reader

  This book is written in British English except where fidelity to other languages or accents is appropriate.

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  We hope you enjoy the book.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-one

  Chapter Sixty-two

  HIDE AND SEEK – Book 2 in the trilogy

  SMOKE AND MIRRORS – Book 3 in the trilogy

  FREE BOOKS IN YOUR INBOX

  Chapter One

  ‘Over at last.’ Former Detective Superintendent Jeffrey Brandt sighed, opened his front door and was greeted by the silence and stillness inside. The evening had been his retirement party; a forced and turgid affair, full of awkward speeches and false promises to keep in touch. Yet Brandt had accepted it with apparent good grace, conscious that it was a necessary process in his metamorphosis.

  No longer with a wife to insist he remove his shoes, he merely shrugged off his coat; heading into the sitting room and straight for the drinks cabinet. At the party he had resisted the temptation to over-indulge but now safely home, he could celebrate in earnest. For despite his feigned sadness at leaving the police, he could remember little in his life more worthy of celebration than this.

  As relieved as he was to finally be embarking on a more rewarding path, it wasn’t as though Brandt wanted to forget the past. Not only would it serve as a reminder of how far he had come, and what he had sacrificed along the way, he would need to draw on the skills he had honed over his long and distinguished career if he was to be successful in this new one.

  When he started in the police, Brandt viewed the job as a crusade for good and righteousness. Of average height and build, he had always looked unremarkable but, stood in his uniform at the passing out parade, his dark hair swept back with the aid of Brylcreem, and with his parents and girlfriend proudly watching on, his blue eyes had sparkled with anticipation of what was to follow. His enviable service record and reputation for solving even the most complex of cases suggested his vocation had been a success.

  But Brandt knew the truth.

  Over time, the crimes he was investigating, the affronts to decency and humanity, had come to be viewed as unpleasant and inconvenient by-products of the modern age. Society had become so desensitised to violence, be it real or fictional, that what he was doing hardly seemed to matter anymore. That it mattered to the victim and their close friends and family, only made it worse when some kid out of law school was encouraged to pick holes in each bit of evidence he had gathered, and every investigative method he had used. With juries seeming increasingly unwilling to reach guilty verdicts, and with many of those few convictions made being subsequently overturned, Brandt’s job had become increasingly difficult.

  And yet the same determination that had seen him enter the police force had driven him on for a while, encouraging him to bury himself deeper in his work. He had obsessed over every detail, certain that he could make the case for the prosecution water-tight. But at the same time as his marriage failed, he came to understand that he was becoming a lone voice; the decline he was seeking to reverse had already been accepted. Society had entered a slumber of indifference and, worse still, so too had most of his colleagues. Overworked and underpaid, they had taken the route of least resistance; regarding what had once been a calling as a job much like any other.

  Unable to find meaning in his work, he began to look forward to his impending retirement, but not because it would allow him to escape his troubles. He had already paid the ultimate price in his personal life and, unless he found a purpose to his continued existence, all that awaited him was more opportunity to reflect on a life wasted.

  The only chance Brandt had to reconcile all that he had given to society with everything it had cost him in return was to tip the balance in his favour. Now destined not to leave a legacy through fatherhood, he could at least make his mark by reversing the decline that had seen all his hopes and aspirations unfulfilled.

  Freed from the shackles of the rule of law, he could channel all his knowledge and experience in a more effective direction; one that would force people to see how bad their apathy had allowed things to become. For Brandt had a particular talent, one that could not be taught and one that was ostensibly in contrast with a conviction to do good: the ability to connect with the murderers he hunted on an emotional level. His empathetic understanding of what drove them to kill had allowed him to establish motive in the most apparently random of crimes. Spending so much time consumed by the dark thoughts of others had the combined effect of eroding Brandt’s morality, and allowing him to learn from their mistakes.

  Chapter Two

  Living in Nottingham for the past three years had allowed Sarah to carefully perfect her Saturday routine. Although keen to punctuate the end of the working week like most of the young teachers at her school, she resisted calls to have the typical late, alcohol-fuelled Friday night. However, far from being puritanical it was because Sarah believed that Saturday should
be a day for action and activities, whilst Sunday was best suited to hangovers, television and, if one could summon up the energy to cook, roast dinners.

  Braving her top floor apartment’s balcony with some freshly brewed coffee, Sarah waited for the sun to rise over the trees of Victoria Embankment Park. She knew that caffeine wasn’t the ideal preparation for a session at the gym but found the stimulant, combined with the biting air of a pre-dawn Saturday, invigorating. As she sat there watching the first rays dapple on the River Trent, it was only the longing for the cigarettes she had given up three months previously that prevented the scene being perfect in her eyes. Whilst no longer craving the nicotine, it was times like these that forced her to remember the pleasurable routine of smoking.

  In an effort to distract herself, she decided to have a quick scan of Facebook to see what she had missed the night before. Despite the school having a strict policy on staff use of social media, it only took a few moments for her to gain a comprehensive picture of the events. With the final posts not until after 3am, and involving a dubious looking kebab shop, Sarah doubted she would hear from that particular group of friends again until much later in the day.

  With the sun now fully visible, the coffee finished, and the cold having managed to penetrate the layers of both her white dressing gown and black padded jacket, Sarah knew it was time to go back indoors and get changed. She would save showering until she had finished at the gym, so it was just a case of throwing on some of her exercise gear. Nevertheless, she decided to remain outside for the moment and read once again the unexpected text she had received on Thursday. It was from Josh, a man she had dated briefly the previous November. There had seemed to be some potential there and Sarah had invited him round for dinner. Knowing where this might lead, she had gone to tremendous effort, not just with the food, but with a beauty regime that had lasted most of the previous day. His failure to show, or provide any sort of explanation, was first met with anger. When days followed without contact, her emotion turned to confusion and, finally, worry when the message she sent enquiring what had happened, at great personal cost to her pride, was not replied to. Later, the mutual friend who had first introduced them confirmed, somewhat awkwardly, that nothing untoward had befallen him. Determined not to humiliate herself any further Sarah had left it at that and tried to cast him from her mind. She’d be lying if she suggested she had not thought of him on occasion but when the text came through it had been met with genuine shock.

  – Hi Sarah, hope this is still your number. Sorry about before, can I make it up to you? Josh x

  She didn’t want to respond and give him the satisfaction of showing she cared, but she was curious to find out why he had stood her up in the first place, and the reason he was making contact now.

  One of the things she loved most about going to the gym was that it gave her space to think. Visiting there on her way home from school every Tuesday and Thursday, on those nights she slept better than she did the rest of the week. Perhaps it had something to do with the exercise, but she believed it was more of a result of being able to process the things on her mind. However, the ability to think clearly was less welcome on this particular Saturday morning because her thoughts kept returning to Josh. It was troubling her sufficiently to see her typical routine cut short by electing to skip the twenty minutes on the cross trainer she usually finished with. Having showered and now sitting on one of the benches in the changing room with a towel wrapped around her, she started punching in a reply.

  – I doubt it.

  Sarah convinced herself that there was nothing wrong with typing it, so long as she didn’t send it. Although the message itself was suitably cold, she knew that regardless of its content, the very act of replying would imply she was bothered by what had happened. Then again, it would serve to bring some form of closure and allow her to continue her weekend as normal. So engrossed was Sarah with her thoughts that she failed to notice that the towel had come undone at the top and was gradually slipping down her front. As her index finger hovered over the send button, she promised herself that regardless of what he might text back, this would be the sum total of her communication.

  Despite hearing the ping of the incoming message tone barely a minute later, she continued to dress, feeling that the show of strength by not immediately checking her phone vindicated her earlier decision. The same part of her that had dared her to send the message now challenged her to wait until she returned to her apartment. This was something she was prepared to do, and had started walking home, until the weaker part of her convinced her that the message probably wasn’t from him and might be important.

  Without breaking stride, she removed the phone from her coat pocket and a single press of the home screen lit up the display, revealing the message contents.

  – Do you still have the Saturday routine of some pre-lunch shopping? I’ll be in the coffee shop at midday.

  The blast from a car horn alerted Sarah to the fact she had stopped dead in the middle of the side street she was crossing. Partly through shock and partly through anger at Josh’s presumptuousness, she gave the driver the finger; immediately regretting it. Although her school was the other side of town, which meant it was unlikely a parent would be driving out of this particular residential street, she understood the hypocrisy of this indiscretion given her earlier thoughts regarding her colleagues’ Facebook antics.

  * * *

  Nottingham city centre is suitably large, containing no fewer than two shopping malls, and if Sarah didn’t want to be spotted by someone, she knew she could continue with her Saturday routine unimpeded. If she wanted a coffee at midday there were plenty of other places she could choose from. Sure, they might not have the lemon tart she so enjoyed but this could be her penance for not earning the treat via the cross-trainer.

  As she walked into town she could feel her resolve gradually crumbling. Defiant, she convinced herself that it was her inner-strength that was preventing her from wanting to be driven out of her favourite café. When she passed the station car park and turned from Queen’s Street into Carrington Road, the Broadmarsh Shopping Centre was firmly in view. She knew then that she would go and listen to what Josh had to say. However, in order to keep the last of her dignity she would pick up a couple of items on the way, so it wouldn’t seem that she had gone into town specifically to meet him.

  From the main entrance of the station, a large group of people suddenly appeared. Sarah professed to know little about football and didn’t recognise which team the blue shirts belonged to. However, the sheer number of them suggested they were probably here to play Nottingham Forest rather than their lower league local rivals, Notts County. Clearly this was a team who had played here regularly because few stopped to get their bearings, and most were heading in the same direction as her towards Castle Wharf’s waterfront bars.

  Sarah was swallowed up by the crowd, only to feel herself being nudged by someone overtaking on her left, swiftly followed by contact with the lower right of her abdomen. Concerned that was where her handbag hung, she instinctively moved her hand to the area to check it had not been snatched. As she padded the region, she could feel moisture. Holding up her fingers to the sunlight revealed blood. Almost simultaneously she felt an excruciating pain rise from her side, and her legs crumbled. As Sarah sunk to the floor she was accidentally kicked by the person directly behind as he attempted not to trip over her. Looking up at the blue sky from the cold concrete, the edges of her vision began to narrow. Concerned shouting could be heard, accompanied by a woman screaming, but the noise seemed distant and muffled to Sarah. Darkness gradually crept in and it was with gratitude she observed that the pain was now fading.

  Chapter Three

  By the time Brandt arrived at Nottingham Castle he could feel his pulse returning to normal. He paid the entrance fee in cash and proceeded around the exhibits, taking little in, and settled on a bench towards the back of the site. He wanted the opportunity to rest before embarking on the
remainder of the walk back to his car but, more than anything, he wished to take some time to reflect on what he had just achieved. Brandt had little interest in anything he had seen at the castle but had chosen this location as a suitable point between where he had parked and where he carried out his task. Despite being confident that he had escaped the scene without suspicion, he thought it wise to provide himself with a reason for visiting the area. The few people who knew him would be surprised to hear he had made such a trip in order to shop, but someone who had recently taken early retirement could quite conceivably wish to visit some of the country’s historical sites. That he had chosen match day would bear no significance, especially as the city having two league teams meant there was a game each Saturday throughout the football season.

  Certain that the day would represent the first episode in a long and successful new career, Brandt had decided to keep his first act simple. In America they talk about a defendant needing means, motive and opportunity. By keeping it so simple, including the use of a generic steak knife, he had made it so that virtually every able-bodied adult could be seen to have the means to commit the crime.

  In terms of motive there was absolutely none. In fact, Brandt would barely be able to describe his victim, much less have any link to them. For this was what he believed to be the single greatest factor in how he was going to escape detection. The randomness of his selection meant it neither fitted into the category of a crime of passion, nor did it suggest any real planning. As a consequence, the police’s typical lines of enquiry would prove fruitless.

  Opportunity had been dealt with by linking an entire train’s worth of people with the crime. Brandt knew that they would be looking for someone on the 10:19 direct from Birmingham New Street, which arrived in Nottingham at 11:28. Their profiling would suggest a white male in his twenties or thirties with previous convictions for violence. Possible mental health issues. The police would start with CCTV footage, train ticket sales made by card, and they would probably ask for the parent club’s assistance in matching these against their records of who had acquired tickets for the match. Brandt was willing to bet that, in any train full of ardent football fans, it was likely there would be a number of people who fitted the profile. The supposed simplicity of the investigation would prevent them noticing that one more person exited the station than went through the ticket gates.