Dead Memories: An addictive and gripping crime thriller

by Angela Marsons

  Keats continued. ‘Small knife, well placed, judging by the wound so he wouldn’t have suffered. I can give you more when I get him back.’

  ‘Okay, thanks,’ she said, turning away.

  Three steps later.

  ‘Um… Inspector, aren’t you forgetting something?’

  She turned. ‘Like what?’

  ‘A disrespectful attitude, a request for me to meet unrealistic timescales, annoying jibes, poor attempts at humour. All of the above?’

  She offered him a brief smile before continuing her journey to the car.

  ‘It could be over, you know,’ Bryant said, falling into step beside her. ‘There have been no incidents since Duggar’s death. We know he was with Billie and then disappeared. This could be some totally unconnected incident. It’s unlikely this guy is without enemies. Maybe one of them just got to him in the nick of time and did us a favour.’

  ‘Hmmm…’

  ‘You don’t sound convinced.’

  ‘Hmmm…’ she repeated.

  ‘I’m lost,’ he said, scratching his head. ‘If you didn’t think Duggar was our guy and that this was the end of it, why didn’t you ask Keats more questions?’

  Kim remained silent as she got into the car.

  Bryant didn’t understand that just the sight of John Duggar lying dead on the ground had told her everything she needed to know.

  Yes, there was no doubt that John Duggar had hated her.

  But someone else hated her more.

  One Hundred Eighteen

  ‘So, where was the blood?’ Kim asked, as Bryant tried again to convince her that Duggar was their man.

  A quick call to Keats had confirmed that he detected no traces of blood on the man’s clothing or shoes that were not consistent with the man’s own injury.

  Penn and Stacey continued to watch the exchange as though at a tennis match.

  Bryant rubbed at his head in frustration. ‘I don’t—’

  ‘If Duggar assaulted Billie with that bottle there’d be some of her blood on him.’

  He made a face. ‘Keats might have made a mistake. How the hell could he tell there was only the man’s own blood on—’

  Kim held out her phone. ‘About ten years of training and thirty years of experience but feel free to call and question his judgement. Not sure you’d still be his favourite detective but knock yourself out.’

  Bryant ignored the gesture. ‘Duggar could have had time to change and—’

  ‘Where?’ she asked, with growing frustration. ‘We were at his house. Blood-soaked clothing might have caught our attention, don’t you think?’

  ‘We didn’t do a full search, guv,’ he replied patiently.

  ‘And what about all this, Bryant?’ she asked, standing next to the board and the questions she’d posed.

  ‘How did Duggar tempt Amy and Mark to the flat?’

  ‘How did Duggar get hold of the drug found in most of our victims?’

  ‘Who ordered the book and where is it now?’

  ‘Did Duggar meet the Phelpses at prison?’

  ‘Why was Duggar suddenly violent with Billie? And now we have even more questions. What’s Ernest Beckett’s role in this?’

  The room fell silent in response to her words.

  ‘Damn it, guys,’ she growled, smacking the desk in frustration. ‘Are we really going to accept Duggar’s death as serendipity and leave those questions unanswered while we pat ourselves on the fucking back?’

  Everyone looked away until eventually Penn braved the silence. ‘But, boss, we can tie Duggar to at least—’

  ‘At least isn’t good enough, Penn,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘And Bryant, just because you want it to be over doesn’t mean it is. Now I’m going to brief Woody, so if you can answer all these questions by the time I get back, we’ll close the case, head down the pub to celebrate and the first round is on me.’

  One Hundred Nineteen

  ‘You ready?’ Symes asked Lord and Preece.

  They both nodded and he could feel the excitement building in his loins. Not long now and he’d be out of here and on his way to give that bitch exactly what she needed. After which he’d probably hand himself in. Could even be back by bedtime.

  ‘Just a couple of minutes down there will do it, okay?’

  ‘Got it,’ they said as Lord approached the table least receptive to the presence of a black man.

  He sat down. ‘Hey, blud.’

  The group of skinheads looked from one to the other and then at Lord. ‘You on some kind of bet, blud?’ one of them asked with emphasis on the last word.

  ‘Just taking the weight off, ya get me?’

  ‘Mate, for your own sake…’

  ‘Free country,’ said Preece, moving in. ‘Man can sit where—’

  Seven skinheads stood at the same time as the attention of the whole wing focussed on that middle table.

  Symes moved towards the hostility and got himself into position. ‘Come on, let the man…’

  His words trailed away as chief skinhead threw a punch at Lord. Lord grabbed his arm, easily and twisted him around, pushing him back into his gang. The eruption came as onlookers surged forward at the same second the gang retaliated. Symes started counting as he lowered himself to the ground just a foot away from the scrabble.

  He could hear the guards shouting from the gate but they wouldn’t enter the space without riot gear.

  He took the instrument he’d stolen from the dentist suite and dug into his scalp with the hook that was normally reserved for being pushed up into teeth and dragged it across. Immediately blood gushed from the wound.

  He had chosen to injure his own head, which would bleed profusely due to the number of tiny veins and arteries that lay just below the surface of the skin. Head wounds were rarely as serious as they appeared but had to be dealt with seriously for fear of concussion and brain damage.

  The screaming around him had reached fever pitch as inmates pushed, shoved and punched each other with no idea why – but a fight was a fight.

  A pair of legs fell against him as he made the second cut across his scalp. The blood began to gush over his forehead and into his eyes. Perfect.

  He heard the gates open and the deafening sound of a herd of officers in full gear.

  Inmates began to move aside, realising they didn’t even know what it was all about. The scenery opened up around him as he lay his head down on the ground and closed his eyes.

  He sensed someone tower above him.

  ‘Shit, over here, quickly,’ Lord shouted. ‘This man needs an ambulance.’

  One Hundred Twenty

  ‘You don’t look like you’ve walked in here with that Friday afternoon feeling, Stone,’ Woody said, with the hint of a smile. ‘And I hear that congratulations are—’

  ‘No, sir, they’re not,’ she said, sitting down before she’d been invited, which prompted an immediate expression of concern from her boss.

  ‘But I heard your main suspect had been found dead and—’

  ‘Sir, do you have a direct line to Bryant that I don’t know?’

  ‘I saw it on the system, Stone,’ he corrected. ‘I’m just now confused as to why this is not a good thing.’

  ‘There are too many loose ends, too many connections we can’t make between Duggar and events,’ she said, trying to temper her frustration.

  ‘Like what?’ he asked, lacing his fingers beneath his chin.

  ‘I can’t find a definite link from Duggar to Amy and Mark.’

  ‘Didn’t he view the flat they were found in?’

  She nodded. ‘I’m not saying he didn’t get the key cut, but if he called to get them to the flat, why’d they take him flowers?’

  ‘Did they arrive with the flowers?’ he asked.

  ‘Don’t know,’ she answered honestly.

  ‘So, they could have been for someone else. It’s not beyond the realms of possibility that they were dropped off en route and had no link to their murder.’


  Kim had never been keen on eliminating facts for the purpose of trying to make something fit, but he did have a point.

  ‘I don’t know how Duggar would have come by the drug that—’

  ‘An ex-prisoner able to get his hands on drugs. Yes, that’s a stretch.’

  ‘But, why did Duggar get so violent with Billie? He loved her.’

  ‘It wasn’t about Billie Styles though, was it? It was about his hatred for you.’

  ‘Sir, my stomach is positively growling at you right now. We’re making too many concessions, too many what ifs or could haves. My jaw is tightening at the route we’re taking. Where is the solid evidence?’

  ‘So, nothing I’ve said is plausible?’ he asked.

  ‘Plausible but not solid. I mean, do you remember us ever having a conversation like this before?’ she asked.

  Right now, it felt to her they were doing a jigsaw and trying to force similar-shaped pieces into the available holes just to get it finished.

  ‘Not every case weaves neatly into the plait at the end, Stone, but that’s not why you’re objecting to the facts and the possibilities. What’s really driving the motor in your gut?’

  ‘The end game, sir. There isn’t one. Right at the beginning of this case it was clear that the motive was to hurt me as much as possible, to cause me the maximum psychological pain. There’s no point to all these murders to leave me alive at the end of it. Someone with this much hate needs to see me dead. It’s the only thing that makes sense. With Duggar gone there’s no end game and no signs of there being one. What was his plan? What was he going to do with me? We all knew that was the aim once Alison actually—’

  ‘And what’s her take on this? Does she think Duggar’s your man?’

  ‘Nice one, sir. I’d have liked to ask her that one myself, so great time to release her back to West Mercia.’

  Kim frowned as his eyebrows moved towards each other.

  ‘Stone, I’m not sure what you’re talking about but Alison Lowe has not been reassigned.’

  One Hundred Twenty-One

  ‘Try her again, Stace,’ Kim said, pacing the office. ‘And Penn, see if the squad car got to her home yet?’

  ‘Will do, boss,’ they said together and looked at each other before reaching for their phones.

  ‘Yes, I know it’s only been a few minutes but every second counts, right?’

  ‘Nothing, boss,’ Stacey said. ‘Straight to voicemail.’

  ‘And DCI Merton said she left them last night at?’

  ‘About half an hour after me,’ Stacey answered. ‘Around midnight. She gave a statement and a squad car took her straight home. Merton told her he’d be in touch if he needed anything further during questioning of Jamie Hart, but he’s not spoken to her since.’

  ‘Okay, start looking at CCTV for the times she arrived and left this week. I want to know if she came in any vehicle other than her own.’

  Stacey nodded and started tapping away to access the station cameras.

  ‘Penn?’ she said, as he ended the call.

  He shook his head. ‘Still a few minutes out. They’ll call as soon as they get there.’

  ‘Okay, where else can we look? What do we know about her?’ Kim asked.

  ‘She eats a lot,’ Stacey offered while Penn just shrugged.

  ‘So, this woman has been working alongside us all week and the best we’ve got is she’s not keen on dogs and has a healthy appetite?’

  Her colleagues said nothing. Kim wasn’t only angry at them; she was just as angry at herself.

  ‘I don’t think it matters,’ Bryant said, staring at the board.

  ‘Bryant, I swear if you’re gonna try and tell me this is all some weird coincidence, that Duggar is our man and Alison is off at an all-you-can-eat buffet, I’m gonna…’

  ‘I’m not saying that, guv,’ he said. ‘I’m saying that I’m not sure it matters where she’s been or what she’s been doing up until this point. All that matters if we’re right, and I mean we, is where she is now and the only person who can tell us that is you.’

  All the tapping in the room stopped.

  ‘Me?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘The first crime was Amy and Mark, staged to look like you and Mikey in a place identical to where you used to live. The second murder was a middle-aged couple designed to replicate the death of Keith and Erica outside a place that was special to you. The assault on Billie Styles…’

  ‘Make your point, Bryant,’ she snapped but she had a rough idea where he was going.

  ‘If this goes true to form we’re looking at a traumatic event that involved one of your colleagues.’

  ‘Dawson,’ she whispered.

  Stacey swallowed, and Penn looked to the ground.

  The sound of Penn’s phone ringing startled them all.

  He grabbed it quickly and listened.

  ‘Nothing, boss,’ he said. ‘Her car’s in the drive but no answer from the house.’

  ‘Give them my authority to force entry,’ Kim said.

  Penn relayed the message as she turned to Bryant.

  ‘Throw us your keys. This I want to see for myself and this time it’s my turn to drive.’

  One Hundred Twenty-Two

  Kim said nothing as she negotiated the traffic at speed while Bryant hung on and prayed for his life. Not once had he told her to slow down.

  She pulled up almost kissing the rear bumper of the squad car.

  ‘Thanks for that, guv. The not smashing us into an oncoming vehicles bit,’ Bryant said getting out of the car.

  The front door was open and two constables stood in the doorway.

  ‘No one here, Marm,’ said one.

  ‘No sign of a struggle,’ said the other.

  ‘Thanks, guys,’ Kim said, walking past them.

  She glanced into the living room as she passed and did a double take.

  She always headed for the kitchen as it was the best indicator of recent activity, as they’d seen with Ernest Beckett who had been in the throes of preparing a snack and had evidently rushed from the premises.

  The lounge often indicated the personality of the owner and boy did this room have personality. The room was a chic tribute to the Sixties. Plush carpet with orange swirls that reminded Kim of a kaleidoscope. A gramophone and cabinet occupied the furthest corner with vinyl albums stacked beside it, but the wall-mounted TV was state-of-the-art curved with a speaker cut into the wall and a subwoofer at the back of the room. A long square sofa with two cushions placed on four thin, spindly legs faced the TV, with a single chair statement piece shaped like half an egg sat to the side. Kim just knew that chair was going to twist and tilt.

  The fact that she could not place Alison for one second in this room brought a smile to her face. The woman had surprised her and she liked it. This one room told Kim that Alison lived for herself and no one else. She wanted retro furniture but high-tech viewing. She hadn’t tried to fit a style, she simply liked what she liked. Her own home was furnished sparsely and was clutter free but that’s how she liked it and she wasn’t into buying ornaments and trinkets to make other people feel at home.

  She headed to the kitchen which was dominated by a bubblegum pink American-style fridge freezer.

  Without room for a table, kitchen units had been removed from beneath the marble countertop and two stools completed the self-made seating area.

  The unit to the right was an integrated dishwasher containing glasses, cups and a dozen small plates. Stacey was right, looked like this woman was a grazer living on snacks but with few proper meals.

  ‘Nothing upstairs except for a few weird furnishings,’ said Bryant. ‘Which I can see is a recurring theme down here.’

  Kim nodded her agreement as her phone signalled the receipt of a text message.

  She took it out and saw it was from a number she didn’t recognise.

  She opened it and read the words as her blood ran cold.

  Bryant was opening cupboard doors as
she turned away and read it again.

  ‘What’s up?’ Bryant asked, noticing her silence.

  She had to make a quick decision.

  ‘Update from Keats,’ she said, placing her phone back in her pocket.

  ‘Saying?’

  ‘Nothing much,’ she hedged, her mind already forming a plan.

  He gave her an odd look.

  ‘Nothing that’s gonna help us find Alison,’ she said, trying not to make the lie worse; but right now she felt like every second mattered.

  ‘Bryant, I’m gonna go check her bathroom for any clues. Wanna head out and check that shed in the back garden?’

  He didn’t know that she already knew it was a complete waste of time. The text message said so.

  He reached the back door and turned.

  ‘You okay, guv, you look a bit?…’

  ‘I’m fine, Bryant, now go check so we can get moving.’

  He opened the back door and stepped out just as she turned and left the house.

  One Hundred Twenty-Three

  Bryant opened the shed door with an uneasy feeling that was not caused by what he might find. He was as convinced as his boss that Alison was not at home, either dead or alive.

  No, it was the look on her face when she’d told him the text message was from Keats.

  He was sure she was lying and had they been at her house, drinking coffee and she was Kim, he’d have said so. But while she was Guv it wasn’t a great idea.

  What she didn’t realise, and he wasn’t going to mention it, was that although she was a good liar she was a reluctant one. Everything about her was direct and truthful, so he’d learned to read her eyes. And they held regret.

  He cast his eyes over the normal assortment of shed guts. A battered barbecue, ripped parasol and an assortment of cobwebbed hand tools. Nothing of interest. He took a cursory glance around the perimeter in the name of thoroughness.

  He headed back to the house. If he asked her again who had sent the text message, he wasn’t exactly calling her a liar but just giving her a second opportunity to tell the truth.