It was not so much the pangs of hunger but the desire to get home and watch the news that prompted Brandt to leave the comfort of his bench. As he exited the castle grounds, he observed that the sky was becoming overcast and he could feel the temperature dropping. Yet nothing would spoil his mood as he made his way back to his car. Much in the same way that the internet had proven useful in helping him establish which train would contain the bulk of the away fans, Brandt had used Google Maps to identify a residential street just outside town that was quiet enough not to have CCTV, but sufficiently busy that no one would consciously observe him parking. The width of Lenton Boulevard meant that cars could park on either side without disrupting the traffic. Brandt had stopped at the foot of one of the large horse chestnut trees that lined the road, making his movements even less noticeable.
Within a couple of minutes Brandt was on the A52, following signs back to the M1 motorway. He didn’t tune into one of the local stations in case it would spoil the evening he would spend watching the various news channels on his large television. He had planned to indulge in a late lunch at Leicester Forest East Services but his impatience to return home outweighed the hunger now firmly rooted in his stomach.
Chapter Four
‘What the fuck?!’ Brandt cursed loudly from his armchair. He had arrived home just before 4pm and had made himself a quick sandwich to tide him over before the Chinese takeaway he intended ordering later. On the side table to his right stood a freshly opened bottle of his favourite whisky, a twelve-year-old Glenfiddich, already with a quarter of its contents gone. Having tuned his satellite box to the correct BBC channel for the East Midlands, he had happily sat through the national news knowing his actions would not yet merit this level of attention. However, when the local news started with the planning of a proposed wind farm near Loughborough, Brandt lost his patience.
‘And that’s the problem with this fucking country!’ He shouted, berating the newsreader. He could not believe that the potential spoiling of the view for a few residents was deemed more important than the fatal stabbing of a woman by a gang of football hooligans. The truth was, though, he could well believe it. When he first started investigating murders it was big news, if not at a national level, certainly locally. He would be able to go home once his shift was finished and relive what had happened on television or read about it in the morning’s newspaper. Nowadays, unless it was someone famous, involved children, or there was something particularly gruesome or perverse about it, barely a ripple was caused in the media.
Almost as though responding to Brandt’s criticism the newsreader moved on. ‘In other news, police are investigating the stabbing of a woman outside Nottingham train station just before midday. She was rushed to the Queen’s Medical Centre and is thought to be in a critical condition.’ After a brief pause she continued. ‘With around sixty minutes gone Nottingham Forest are…’
‘Is that it?!’ Brandt switched off the television.
With prior thoughts of Szechwan beef and egg fried rice cast from his mind, he proceeded to work through the bottle of whisky in earnest. ‘Heartless bitch!’ he slurred at the blank screen. More than the mere two sentences afforded to what had happened, it was the monotone and passionless delivery by the newsreader that offended Brandt most. The more he thought of it, the more it reminded him of the way his wife had told him she was leaving almost three years before. The way she had said it – the tired, resigned delivery that morning over breakfast, devoid of any feeling – told him all he needed to know about his chances of convincing her otherwise. Rather than say anything, he had simply left for work only to find her, along with her personal items, gone when he returned. There had been little contact and none face-to-face since then; the ease of their parting after fifteen years uncomplicated by their lack of children.
Brandt knew it was their failure to successfully reproduce that had caused the most damage, even before the one message from her since which wasn’t purely about money.
– It’s not as though I didn’t have offers. I gave you the best years of my life and you gave me nothing.
They hadn’t planned to have children straight after they got married but neither did they attempt to prevent it. It was only after a few years, and once all her friends of roughly the same age had families, that she convinced him they should see a doctor. Although the instinct was not as strong for Brandt, he was not averse to becoming a parent and, more than anything, he wanted his wife to be happy. He was sure any man would only be too pleased to have their sperm count come back as healthy, and was similarly relieved to hear that his wife was not suffering from any complications herself. They had been told to just give it time and to not put pressure on themselves. However, Brandt soon felt the pressure. The more often he received that accusing stare over breakfast following coming home too late from work the night before, falling asleep in his chair after too much whisky, or offering some kind of explanation why he wasn’t in the mood, the less he wanted to make love. By then it had become a biological process anyway, devoid of passion. Any suggestion of foreplay was just there to get him to the stage where he could perform. With her lying motionless and silent beneath him he could sense her impatience when the task took longer than normal. The combination of the reducing number of occasions and the frequency with which Brandt was unable to finish, conspired to make the time that had still seemed so abundant when in their mid-thirties, run out.
There was nothing Brandt could do to correct that now. Sure, he was probably still able to father children but there was only one woman with whom he had wanted to start a family. Nevertheless, he was certain that he could fix the other problem that troubled him. What he intended to do was to shock England to its very core. He would make the people sit up and pay attention; they would no longer ignore or gloss over the darkness that blighted society.
As he neared the bottom of the bottle and could feel sleep washing over him, Brandt’s thoughts turned to the girl. When he plunged the blade into her kidney it was with the intention of creating death. Despite his intoxicated state, he could recall the moment with vivid clarity. The sun glinting on her golden hair as it bounced on her shoulders and the way she indicated where she wanted the knife to go as she moved to counter the glancing impact of the person passing her on the left. Brandt had been surprised by the ease with which the knife entered her body, all the way to its hilt. He had detected the fragrance she had applied that morning and instantly decided the visceral brutality of twisting the knife to open up a hole would be unfitting of the beauty of the moment.
Closing his eyes, Brandt hoped that final decision would go on to save her life.
Chapter Five
Josh entered the interview room convinced he was in some form of nightmare from which he would soon awaken.
‘Thank you for coming to help us with our investigations Mr Ramage,’ Detective Chief Inspector Stella Johnson said, sitting down and gesturing for Josh to do the same. DCI Johnson was the same woman who had knocked on his front door a short while earlier and was leading the team investigating the stabbing of Sarah Donovan.
She was in her mid-thirties, athletic and sharply dressed in a trouser suit. With resources in the department stretched, owing to the number of lines of enquiry being pursued, she had been irritated to find even her newest detective, DC Hardy, unavailable. She punished DI Fisher’s presumptuousness in allocating him a task without her permission, by having him go and get the duty sergeant to spare her an officer from uniform. PC McNeil was new to the force and Johnson had made it clear to him on the journey over that he was there merely to make up the numbers; his role simply to observe.
‘Look, don’t I need a lawyer or something?’ Josh asked. Although not prone to claustrophobia, he found the grey room oppressive. He could feel beads of sweat forming on his brow.
‘At this stage you are just helping us with our enquiries. You came here voluntarily and are free to leave at any point.’ Johnson paused deliberately. ‘But you can
have a lawyer if you feel you need one.’
‘Okay?’ enquired McNeil.
Josh, staring at his hands, missed the swift glance of admonishment Johnson gave her colleague. ‘I guess so,’ he responded, lifting his head and interpreting McNeil’s nod as one of reassurance. The truth was he felt far from okay. When he observed the police car from his sitting room window, followed by the knock at his door, he knew he was in trouble. Although the news report he had seen the previous evening, whilst waiting to watch the goals from the Forest match, had given very few clues as to the identity of the victim, he now understood it must have been Sarah. Given he barely knew her, much less had seen her recently, he was sure that their call was not for the purpose of informing him. In a state of panic, he had decided to pretend that what they were telling him had come as a complete shock.
Johnson took a long draught of coffee from the Styrofoam cup she had collected on the way through the police station. ‘Can you start by telling us about your relationship with Miss Donovan?’
‘Relationship?’ asked Josh in a louder and shriller tone than he would have liked.
‘Yes. Relationship,’ repeated Johnson evenly.
‘We weren’t in a relationship.’
Johnson sighed and avoided the temptation to roll her eyes. ‘Your relationship with Sarah… meaning how you know her.’
Josh paused. ‘We went on a couple of dates a while back.’
‘And?’
‘And that’s it.’
‘Why did the relationship end, Josh?’ Johnson was doing her utmost to keep her increasing exasperation with this man hidden. She had completed a quick background check before they collected him. He had a professional job with an accountancy firm, having graduated from the University of Nottingham a few years before. His profile suggested that he was far from unintelligent. Johnson was finding it hard not to take Josh’s incomprehension as him being deliberately obtuse. She believed that the more likely culprit was one of the football fans but there was something about him that didn’t add up.
After a long pause he responded. ‘It just didn’t work out.’ He had decided on the ride into the police station that his best course of action was to say as little as possible.
He was mistaken.
Johnson rose from her chair and planted both hands firmly on the desk. Had McNeil not been so taken aback by the tirade that followed, he might have laughed. Josh, who had at least six inches on Johnson and approximately four stone, was physically cowering; his shaking causing the uneven chair leg to rattle on the floor.
‘Time to stop fucking us around!’ Johnson shouted, not minding in the least that some of her spittle had landed on Josh’s face. She allowed her voice to drop a few decibels. ‘If I ask you one more question and I don’t get a full and frank answer, I am going to arrest you on suspicion of attempted murder and have you thrown in the cells until I build up the patience to listen to more of your bullshit. On your way down the corridor I’m going to have McNeil here conduct such a thorough search of you that he’s going to be concerned he may lose his arm, given how deep he will check for contraband in your rectum.’ Johnson allowed a pause to enjoy the look of horror on Josh’s face. She sat down with a smile that did not reach her cold, piercing eyes. ‘Now do we understand each other?’ she added calmly.
‘Yes,’ murmured Josh feebly.
‘Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that?’
‘Yes!’ he cried in distress.
‘Fine. So, where were we? Right. Why did the relationship end?’ As Josh opened his mouth to speak, a quick raise of Johnson’s index finger caused his voice to die in his throat. ‘But before you answer, I’m going to ask PC McNeil to roll up his right sleeve to reveal how long and broad his forearm is.’
‘I had started seeing someone else,’ came the instant reply. He then hastily continued, having read in Johnson’s eyes that she did not see this as sufficiently upholding his end of the bargain. ‘When I first met Sarah, I had also started dating someone else and decided my prospects with them were better.’
‘Did you have sexual intercourse with Miss Donovan?’
‘I’m sorry?’ Josh stammered, stunned.
‘Don’t make me repeat myself,’ responded Johnson flatly, exaggerating the look she gave McNeil’s bare arm that was now resting on the table.
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘And did you have sexual intercourse with this other woman whilst you were dating Miss Donovan?’
‘Excuse…’ Josh didn’t finish the question. Instead he gave a resigned sigh. ‘Yes.’
‘I see,’ Johnson said, nodding. She did not add anything but remained motionless with a stony expression on her face.
‘But that’s not the reason I chose her,’ continued Josh when he could bear the silence no longer. All he received in return was a raised eyebrow.
‘And how did you break the news to Sarah?’
‘Erm, I didn’t.’ Another raise of the eyebrow motioned for him to carry on. ‘I… I just stood her up.’
Johnson smiled triumphantly. She had known exactly what had happened, having already seen the unanswered texts Sarah had sent Josh last November. She took his admission as an indication that her earlier performance had succeeded in making him compliant. She was so pleased with herself she didn’t even mind when McNeil decided to brave another contribution. ‘Real charmer with the ladies.’
‘Okay, let’s fast forward to today,’ she continued. ‘I don’t think I need to ask about what happened with the other woman. However, do correct me if I am wrong in thinking that relationship ended recently.’ She took his silence as confirmation her assumptions were accurate. ‘You were in Nottingham city centre at just before midday?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why was that?’
‘I had arranged to meet Sarah for coffee.’
‘And did you meet with Sarah?’ Johnson was pleased that the pace of the conversation had picked up considerably.
‘No.’
‘So, she stood you up. Payback was it?’
‘Well, she didn’t exactly stand me up.’
Johnson couldn’t help but allow a laugh to escape. Even now, despite everything that had gone on in the last few minutes, Josh could not entirely abandon his pathetic male pride. Sarah’s phone records had revealed that she had not responded to his invitation, even if her movements that morning suggested she was planning on meeting with him. Johnson decided now might be the time to try a bit of tag teaming. ‘What do you make of all this then, McNeil?’
‘Well, ma’am. I reckon Josh wouldn’t like being stood up.’
Pleased with his response, she decided to continue. ‘But Josh, here, says that she didn’t exactly stand him up.’
‘That’s true, ma’am. So maybe when she didn’t respond he decided he would go and see her. Take the initiative.’
It was with his mouth agape that Josh observed this exchange.
‘Ah… but you see, McNeil,’ she replied theatrically, ‘Josh wouldn’t have known that Sarah would have been on Carrington Street at that time.’
‘Well, perhaps not the exact time, ma’am, but he would have known the location,’ McNeil replied.
Clever boy thought Johnson. He hadn’t even seen the messages from Sarah’s phone. Johnson had read them to him on their way to pick up Josh, though as more of a means to remind herself of the key details, rather than to brief McNeil. It also meant he knew the area well if he understood Carrington Street to be the most direct route into the centre from where she lived.
‘Can you confirm your whereabouts at approximately 11:45am yesterday?’ Johnson asked Josh.
‘I was most likely on Market Street on the way to the coffee shop.’
‘So, nowhere near the station then?’
‘No, it’s the other side of town. I guess there must be CCTV there which can confirm it?’
‘We’ll see,’ said Johnson standing up, again impressed that McNeil understood that he should too. ‘Thank you for yo
ur time, Mr Ramage,’ she smiled warmly.
‘Am I free to go?’ Josh asked, unable to hide his relief.
‘As you always have been,’ Johnson replied in a friendly manner, moving in the direction of the door. She stopped and turned. Josh shuddered as he witnessed her face become stony once more. ‘Just one last thing.’
In the silence that followed Josh could hear his pulse throbbing in his head.
‘When we told you what had happened to Miss Donovan…’ Johnson’s voice was barely above a whisper, ‘…why did you pretend that you didn’t know?’
His mouth flapped open and closed. He was almost relieved to see her index finger rise once more to indicate he wasn’t to speak.
‘Tell you what, don’t answer that now. I’m sure we’ll be talking again soon.’ She turned and opened the door. As she strode through she called over her shoulder, ‘PC McNeil, would you be so kind as to show Mr Ramage out?’
When McNeil returned to the duty area, he couldn’t hide his surprise when Johnson offered him a cup of coffee. She was pouring herself one from the percolator in the corner. He chose to decline, believing that he would be dismissed long before it would cool sufficiently for him to drink it comfortably. He would rather risk offence turning down the offer than demonstrate ingratitude by leaving the mug untouched.
‘So, ma’am, do you fancy him for it then?’
‘How about you?’
The ambiguity of her response didn’t come as a surprise. ‘Nah. He’s too much of a pussy.’ McNeil immediately regretted using a word most women, in his experience, took offence to.
ONE STEP AHEAD: detectives hunt a serial killer who knows all their moves (The DCI Jeffrey Brandt Murders Trilogy Book 1) Page 2