The door to the incident room swung open, and new officer on the beat, Zac stepped forward. He visibly shrank when all the eyes in the room attached to him.
He scratched the back of his head and took a hurried step away from them.
“Yes?” the DI asked.
Chad bristled, Gareth frowned, Kate huffed, and Martin’s cheeks glowed red with rage. Zac wasn’t a detective, but an officer being moved place to place in the station, and he’d stepped uninvited into their territory.
Zac stroked his hand through his messy blond hair, then mumbled at his feet. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“What is it?” the DI asked.
“I found another one.”
“Another one?”
Zac nodded, lifting his head. Chad noticed he had freckles that made him look even younger than his twenty-one years.
“I was responding to a RSPCA call. Two dogs malnourished in a property in Bradford. I forced entry, and the place smelled … wrong. Upstairs, a closed bedroom, there was a man spread out on the bed, bruising around his neck. The number four burned in his flesh.”
They flashed looks at each other in the following silence, and it was Martin that broke it first.
“I think we can rule out sexual fantasy gone wrong.”
“The numbers,” Chad said. “They could be a countdown.”
“Our killer’s planning to kill five,” Gareth whispered.
The DI snapped his fingers, and they all looked over to him. “Right, Chad, Gareth … I want you to go with Zac to the address.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chad punched his arms into his coat, tucked in his shirt, then followed Zac and Gareth out of the room. He hurried down the steps, shoved hard on the station doors, then gave Zac’s marked car a distasteful look.
“What?” Zac said.
“Nothing, I’m just used to Gareth’s BMW.”
“See, I knew you loved my driving,” Gareth said, grinning.
“Your driving is terrible. It’s the car I love.”
Zac slipped into the driver’s seat, then slammed the door shut. Gareth and Chad shared a look, and then they launched towards the front passenger seat, scrapping as they went. They yanked each other’s jacket, elbowed, and shoved before Chad finally won their soft scuffle, climbing in the car. He turned back to Gareth, who was getting into the back, and raised his eyebrow.
“You’re a jerk,” Gareth said.
Chad laughed, turning back around. Zac was staring at him, wide-eyed, a hint of disgust twitching his nose.
“What?”
“How can you—you know what … never mind. I was told about Detectives…”
Gareth leaned between the seats. “What about us?”
Zac’s cheeks filled with color. “Nothing—”
“Oh, come on, tell us. I promise we won’t get offended. I’ll be more offended if you don’t tell us.”
“Detectives, you’re all a bunch of dicks.”
Chad frowned. “Well, I like dick so…”
Gareth leaned back, laughing.
“How can you be so…”
“So what?”
“Excited, happy? We’re going to a murder scene.”
Chad nodded. “Exactly. We’ve been working this case for two months, and nothing. He’s killed again. More evidence, more CCTV, more chance he’s been spotted, or he’s made a mistake.”
“Equals more chance of catching him,” Gareth finished.
Zac pulled off from the curb. Chad noticed the tension in his jaw, the darting of his eyes, and the obsessive licking of his lips. He stalled the car at a roundabout, apologized, and then took off so fast Chad’s head smacked into the headrest.
After the third time, and a huff from Gareth in the back, Chad took pity on the new recruit and dropped his above it all attitude, lowering his voice to speak softly to Zac.
“Was that the first time you’ve seen a body?”
Zac’s nostrils flared, as if recalling the smell of blood, or rotten flesh, Chad wasn’t sure, but he was anticipated a stinking murder scene again.
“Yeah…”
“The first one stays with you.”
“I don’t want to see a second.”
“What departments have they had you working on?”
“I worked two months of reception, one on traffic control, and then they put me on small disputes. I was expecting a dead dog at the absolute worst, wasn’t expecting a dead person.”
“No, I bet,” Gareth said from the back.
“What department are you hoping for?”
Zac glanced at him, and with a small hint of pride, Chad noticed his eyes were less all over the place. His driving had become more consistent, and he was no longer braking at the last minute and jerking them forward but was cruising down the road.
“Reception, front desk. Even if I did end up getting a black eye…”
“What happened?”
“I was dealing with the farmer about the graffiti on his barn, and then suddenly he’s pushed aside by this huge guy. Round, bald, looking absolutely furious. Says he’s a cabby from Cornell’s cars, there to report a driver from Puma.”
“The two biggest taxi firms in the city,” Chad said.
“Well they’re having a turf war, and it’s getting ugly.”
“How?”
“Vicious rumors, assaults, verbal and physical, accusing each other of robbing customers.”
“Don’t all cabbies rob us?”
Zac snorted. “No, I mean literally. One at knifepoint apparently.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah, if it’s true, but so far, only one person’s come forward and complained, and under a bit of gentle coaxing, she admitted a driver from Puma had paid her to make an accusation against Cornell’s.”
“Wait?” Gareth said. “How did you get the black eye again?”
“I’m getting to that. The driver from Cornell’s is at the front desk with me, and then this other man comes in. Tall, not as wide, but arms like melons.”
Chad pressed his lips together, then lifted his eyebrow. “You took notice of his arms?”
Zac ignored his comment and continued. “Turns out it was a guy from Puma, and immediately they came to blows. Me and three other officers struggled to pull them apart, and I got an accidental elbow to the face. They were put in the cells for the day to cool off.”
“And you want to work on reception?”
Zac grinned. “Apart from that, I enjoyed it, and there’s no chance I’m gonna walk behind the desk and find a dead body.”
“Never say never,” Chad said.
Zac took a deep breath. “The house is down here.”
Chad could see a police car parked up in the distance. A small crowd was gathering outside a property. Some were taking snaps on their camera phones.
Zac stopped the car suddenly, jolting Chad forward hard. He hissed, gripping the back of his neck.
“Sorry.”
“Thanks for the ride,” Chad said, unclipping his belt.
“Do you want me to wait for you?”
“I think we’ll be all right.”
Chad smiled, climbing out of the car. He widened his eyes at Gareth, who widened his in return. When they were a few meters away, Gareth turned to him.
“Like we want a ride from him again.”
“I think a vertebra in my neck’s slipped.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Still, he drives better than you.”
“If it weren’t for that crowd, and those nervous looking officers ahead of us, I would’ve shoved you in the road.”
Chad withheld his smile, but when he got closer his grim expression became real. He saw the dogs whimpering in the back of a police van. Two boxers, one brown, one white. Chad could see their ribcages, and the notches of their spines, and the hopeless expression on their narrow faces. They sat with their heads hanging low, and their suffering eyes linked with Chad’s. They had huge eyes, not in a cute way, in a way that said t
heir heads had shrunk, muscle and fat lost, leaving their black eyes round and protruding.
“Zac said he was responding to an animal welfare call,” Gareth said. “There’s the two malnourished dogs.”
Chad grimaced, then picked two treats from the box on top of the cages.
“Are you mad? They’ll bite your goddamn fingers off.”
“Look at them—”
“Yeah, they look hungry.”
Chad shook his head, then poked a treat through the cage with the brown dog. The dog sniffed at his fingers, then ever so gently took the treat from him. Chad raised his eyebrow, as if to say told you so to Gareth.
“Whatever. Come on.”
“One sec.”
He poked the second treat through the bars for the white boxer. The dog licked the treat, and it dissolved between Chad’s fingers. He pulled his hand away, then wiped it on his coat.
“That’s disgusting, and that coat looks expensive.”
“Neil bought it for me.”
“And he’s fine with you wiping dog drool on it?”
Chad shrugged. “Probably not.”
He looked up at the house. The curtains were all drawn, apart from a crack left in the downstairs ones. It looked in on the living room, and Chad could see the torn-up sofa, the stuffing everywhere like someone had detonated the cushions.
An officer stood in front of the door. He stepped forward, gestured to the door to the house, then gave them some advice. “Breathe through your mouth.”
He handed them each a bodysuit, and they went through the process of getting ready to enter the crime scene.
A silver Ford pulled up nearby, and Vito got out, already wearing his forensic suit and mask.
“He’s driven the whole way here wearing that shit?” Gareth said.
“I guess so.”
Vito beat them into the property like it was a race, winking at Chad as he passed.
The first thing that hit Chad when he entered was the smell. It physically hit him, hard enough for his eyes to water, and his nose to run. The smell of feces and ammonia was so strong Chad could taste it each time he breathed. He peeked a look into the living room, casting his eyes on the ruined sofa, ripped and gnawed down to the wooden frame. The floor was covered in feces, trodden into the carpet by the dogs’ paws. Chad carried on into the kitchen, gaze lingering on the two coffee cups on the side. He approached, looked down on them and saw mold growing furiously in one, and less in the other.
“The body’s upstairs,” Gareth said from the doorway.
Chad nodded, backing away from the cups. The back door caught his eye, specifically the cat flap. The dogs had chewed at it, clawed at in desperation; they’d tried their hardest to escape the property, but couldn’t. They would’ve been able to poke their head through, smell clean air, freedom, but that was it. They couldn’t reach it.
Chad moved back through the house and up the stairs. There were photographs of the dogs, and who Chad assumed was the victim sat between them. They all looked happy, healthy. The white boxer’s lips were even lifted up slightly, as if he was smiling for the photo like his owner beside him.
“The bedroom door must’ve been shut,” Gareth said.
Chad frowned. “We’ll have to check with Zac.”
“Otherwise the dogs would’ve eaten him.”
“Good point.”
Chad stepped into the room. He didn’t react to the smell; the downstairs hellhole had already prepared him. The man was lying face up, spread-eagle on the bed. His body was swollen, bloated, and discolored. Even so, Chad noticed the darker flesh around the man’s neck, the bruise that had decomposed differently from the rest of him.
“Strangled?”
Vito pursed his lips. “I suspect so. Have we got a name yet?”
Chad shook his head. “I forgot to ask Zac that, too. There will be a letter with his name downstairs.”
He pointed at the man’s chest. “We’ll call him number four for now then.”
“Yeah. Number four.”
****
The crowd outside had doubled, then quadrupled, and still more people came to have a look. They reminded Chad of bacteria, and the way they spread gossip was worse. It was always a fight to keep details from getting out with so many ears, and eyes watching.
He walked towards the van with the dogs and stared grimly at the tortured animals.
“Hey, buddies,” Chad murmured, earning him a tail wag from one and a whine from the other.
Chad looked closer, could see the scraped away flesh on their knees. The wounds to their legs that looked like bite marks from them taking their desperation out on each other. The white one Chad had seen smiling in the picture turned his head, giving a Chad a glimpse of the wounds near his mouth. There was something sticking out from his lip, a wooden splinter from the sofa, or the backdoor, or some other place in the house Chad hadn’t seen.
“Excuse me.”
He jolted out of his thoughts and glanced at the woman next to him. She had hold of the van door and was trying to shut it, but Chad stood in the way.
“They’re off to the vet.”
Chad shot a small smile at the dogs, feeling slightly better about their situation.
“Good,” he said stepping back, still looking at them. “Gonna get some well-deserved TLC.”
The woman closed the doors, then looked at Chad. “Unlikely.”
“What?”
“You’ve seen the state of them. I wouldn’t hold out much hope. Euthanasia is the most likely treatment, put the poor things out of their misery.”
She walked away, leaving Chad staring at the back of the van. He stood there until it drove off, and Gareth approached.
“Kate’s here to give us a ride back to the station.”
Chad felt numb. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Chapter Three
Chad opened his front door, stepped into the house, raised his head, and released a long, slow sigh. He forced his shoulders to drop, to sag, but a second later he’d unconsciously tensed them, drawing them up. His tight posture had given him a neck ache that had spread all the way to his temples.
“Hey!” Neil shouted from the living room.
“Hey, you want a coffee?”
“I’m okay.”
Chad took off his shoes, flung his coat over the banister, then walked into the kitchen. He could hear the TV clashing, smashing out of its fancy sound-system.
Neil was watching some action flick, lots of swearing, lots of explosions. No doubt a muscular man was bare-chested on-screen making Neil lick his lips and fidget. The loud sounds from the living room bounced from wall to wall, and Chad wondered whether a house could be too big, too white, too show-room-like. The place didn’t fill him with a good feeling, but a coldness he didn’t understand.
Chad set up the coffee machine, then stood in front of the fridge. He didn’t open it but stared at the photograph on the front. That picture made him feel warm inside, warm and sad. It was a photograph of him with his arm slung over his dog, Toby. Thirty-five, but he wasn’t ashamed to say he’d loved that dog, missed it even though it had died twelve years earlier. The picture was taken a week before Chad took him to the vet for the last time.
Chad jumped when he heard a glass on the counter. He flashed a look over his shoulder, and saw Neil approaching. He looked pointedly at the photograph.
“You know, I’m really sorry I’m allergic.”
“It’s not your fault. Besides, we don’t have time for a dog. We barely have time for each other at the moment.”
“Rough day?”
“How could you tell?”
“You always stare at Toby when you’ve had an awful day.”
“It’s his face, look at him.”
Toby’s glossy black coat shone in the sunlight. His muzzle was dotted gray with age, but his eyes looked red in the photograph, but Chad remembered they were caramel brown. His long tongue lolled out his open mouth, and he looked like he was leaning
into Chad’s embrace.
“I prefer looking at your face in that picture…”
“Huh?”
“Look at that smile, rounds your cheeks, reaches your eyes. You look happy, relaxed. I’m jealous of that dog, jealous he could make you look so blissed like that.”
Chad turned to face him. “You’re joking, right?”
Neil stepped back and shook his head. “No.”
“That was before I joined the police force, years before I became a detective. If I look worn down now it’s because of stress. It’s because of that, not you. Jesus, Neil, you’ve given me so much. A life, you keep me sane—if it wasn’t for you, I’d—”
“I know,” Neil said firmly, then he repeated his words slowly, while staring into Chad’s eyes. “I love you.”
Chad tried to make his smile look genuine, but a knot tightened in his gut. “Love you, too.”
Neil took Chad’s hand, gave it a quick squeeze, then let go.
“We’re in this together for the long run, you and me.”
Chad nodded, then snorted when he heard an explosion in the other room. “You enjoying your film?”
Neil grinned. “It certainly has its ups and downs.”
“You’re such a perv.”
“I’m only looking, I’m allowed to look.”
Chad rolled his eyes. “Well I won’t be joining you. I’m not in the mood to feel inadequate watching some six-foot-five body builder who shoots guns and shoots his load even better. I feel inadequate enough in my job, and that’s as much as I can take.”
“What happened at work?”
Chad shook his head. “I’m not sure I should say, don’t wanna burden you.”
“A burden shared is a burden halved, ever heard of that? I saw on the news a body was found in Bradford… I thought I saw you on the footage, too.”
Chad nodded. “He’s killed again. Strangled his victim, then burned the number four into him.”
Neil looked away. “Bloody hell.”
“Yeah.”
“So the numbers … he’s working his way down from five?”
“That’s the theory we’re working with. He’s telling us how many he’s going to kill. That confident, he’s taunting us.”
“So what is it, cocky or stupid?”
“Cocky. He knows he’s not on the system. His DNA is all over the house. Including the bathroom. He washed after he killed Tristram. We found his hair in the shower. He’d used his shower gel, his shampoo.”
One for Sorrow Page 2