First Blood: A completely gripping mystery thriller (A Detective Kim Stone Novel)

by Angela Marsons

  ‘Never met him before. You?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, and left it at that. If she updated Bryant on every inspector she’d clashed with they’d never get anything else done.

  ‘Is he the type of guy who might respond to a polite request to view the footage of the interview?’

  ‘Looks like we’re about to find out,’ she said as the doors opened.

  The man had changed little since she’d last seen him. He’d probably gone to the next notch on his trouser belt and there was a touch more grey in his full head of hair, but his open-necked shirt with the hint of tidemark around the collar was still evident.

  Neither she nor Lennox offered their hand as they appraised each other.

  ‘What do you want, Stone?’

  She wanted to view the taped confession that DCI Woodward assured her they had, and she tried to remember a time when Lennox had ever been pleasant or helpful.

  ‘We were close by and I just thought I’d help you out with some friendly advice. You’ve got the wrong guy.’

  It took just a couple of seconds for his brain to register what she was talking about. And when it did, his expression transitioned through disbelief, irritation and then rage. Oh yeah, she remembered well that Lennox didn’t like being told he was wrong. Shame.

  ‘Who the hell do you think?—’

  ‘Look, we were just passing and thought we’d try to help out our fellow colleagues given the details of our own case, but have it your own way,’ she said, taking a gamble and turning away.

  ‘Hang on. You come in here, where you’re about as welcome as a dose of the clap, to help us out?’

  She turned back. ‘It’s an easy mistake to make. When a guy says he’s done it you’d be an idiot not to consider the validity of the claim. And you’d be an even bigger idiot to just accept it without…’

  ‘You do know you’re not talking to a fucking trainee, Stone?’ he said as the colour in his face deepened. ‘And someone who doesn’t need your fucking help to spot a murderer when he sees one.’

  ‘Well, as long as you’re sure that he’s admitted to enough to satisfy CPS and—’

  ‘You wanna come see what we got?’ he challenged.

  She shrugged and looked at her watch. ‘If you like. We’ve got a few minutes.’

  He key-coded himself back into the body of the police station, and she followed behind. She sensed rather than saw the smile on Bryant’s face.

  She followed him to his office which was next door to the squad room. Pokey as it was she remembered he preferred to spend time away from his team and ventured into the work room primarily for morning and evening briefings.

  ‘Maybe this’ll shut you up,’ he said, clicking on a video clip on his desktop.

  He had invited neither of them to sit so they both stood behind him as the clip sprang into life.

  She recognised the man immediately. She knew him as Butcher Bill, a homeless guy who had graced the streets of Wolverhampton for decades. No one knew his exact history but had been so named as he’d slept in the doorway of a butcher’s shop for almost twenty years, although he was looking a little cleaner and smarter than she remembered.

  Lennox forwarded the footage to a point in time he obviously knew well.

  ‘Dirty bastard had it coming,’ Butcher Bill said with a smile. He leaned forward across the desk towards Lennox. ‘I enjoyed every minute.’

  She watched as Lennox glanced sideways at his colleague as though all his Christmases had come at once.

  ‘You saying you did this, Bill?’ he asked.

  No hesitation. ‘Yeah, I did it. Dirty bastard had it coming.’

  The man raised his right hand and made a slicing motion with his fingers. ‘Snip, snip,’ he said before he burst out laughing.

  ‘Bill, I need you to listen carefully to what I’m saying,’ Lennox said across the desk.

  ‘Snip, snip,’ he repeated.

  ‘Are you confessing to the murder of Tommy Deeley?’

  He nodded. ‘Snippety snip.’

  Lennox stopped the recording. ‘Satisfied?’

  ‘You’re taking the words “snip snip” for proof that he performed the genital mutilation?’ Kim asked.

  ‘Wouldn’t you?’ he asked. ‘What else could he mean? Those details weren’t released to the press.’

  Kim was saved from any further response as her phone rang. She turned away from the screen.

  ‘Stone.’

  ‘It’s Jerry at the lab. I’m into that laptop and you might wanna come take a look.’

  His tone was low and dark. Shit, what the hell had he found?

  ‘On our way,’ she said, ending the call. She turned to Lennox.

  ‘If you’re happy with that as a confession, you’re an even bigger prick than I thought,’ she said before heading back towards the door.

  ‘So, what do you really think, guv?’ Bryant asked as they exited the police station.

  ‘What I thought before I went in there. They’ve definitely got the wrong guy.’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Kim had dealt with Jerry before and knew that as a police constable he had not blown anyone away. Eleven years ago, he’d been injured in a riot incident when he had been pushed to the ground and then trampled by one of the horses. His left leg now contained metal plates and screws and he was forced to use a crutch to get around. The police force had retrained him in digital forensics for which he’d appeared to have an aptitude.

  ‘What you got, Jerry?’ she asked, pulling over a chair from an empty desk. Bryant stood behind.

  ‘Nothing you’re going to like,’ he said, placing the laptop in front of his own computer and opening the lid.

  ‘This guy certainly knows how to hide stuff. I won’t go into detail but I’m not sure I’ve found everything yet. However, I’ve found enough to give you some idea of the kind of man he was.’

  Kim could see the tension in his jaw. Her stomach began to churn in response. He’d been doing this job for a long time and it looked as though Luke Fenton had been hiding this computer in the cooker for good reason.

  ‘Go on,’ she said.

  ‘Images, Inspector. Indecent images of girls aged anywhere from six to about twelve years of age.’ He glanced at his notepad. ‘So far I’ve located in excess of twelve thousand photos dating back thirteen years. Half of those were transferred from a hard drive.’

  When he’d bought a new computer, Kim guessed, as the nausea inside grew.

  ‘They’re hidden throughout the computer, mainly in system files and the last batch were downloaded just two weeks ago. Obviously we’ll try and use some of the information gathered here to close down these sites, but we all know they’ll be back up a day later.’

  What they’d learned was bad enough but Kim had to know more.

  ‘Any video or images to suggest he was an active abuser?’

  For some sicko bastards looking at images was not enough.

  ‘Not really but…’

  ‘I’d have preferred a straight no,’ Kim said, thinking of the hoody found beneath his pillow.

  ‘Well, I’ve got one file that doesn’t quite match the others. Everything I’ve found comes from an array of sources, from innocent photos posted by proud parents to pornography from sources all around the world. There’s no logic or organisation to the storage of the photos that I can see so far except for one file.’

  ‘Go on,’ Kim said, sitting forward.

  He clicked his way around the screen, and a file burst into life. Images of a little girl filled the screen, in the bath, playing with toys, in the park, in pyjamas and dressing gown.

  ‘They’re all the same girl,’ Kim noted.

  ‘Exactly. To the naked eye they’re quite harmless, unlike most of the other images. But obviously to a paedophile they are photos of a semi-naked girl, so there’s nothing innocent about them.’

  ‘Bastard,’ Bryant muttered from behind.

  ‘But the thing that’s strange abo
ut this folder of images is that they were all taken with the same camera, downloaded direct from the camera. The first batch.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Kim said, not sure what he meant.

  ‘Okay, the first photo is dated a year ago. A photo of the child in the park. They continue for about four months. Stop for three months in May, June and July and start again in August until November when the last one of the files is taken.’

  He scrolled down to the end.

  ‘Why the gap?’ Kim asked.

  ‘Not sure, but this is the last photo he took.’

  Kim took a deep breath, not surprised to see the child wearing a glittery pink hoody.

  This child had been in his home.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Dawson walked into Brierley Hill station and instantly felt as though he was coming home.

  ‘Thought you’d pissed off to Halesowen,’ Lenny called from the front desk.

  ‘Just visiting,’ he called back over his shoulder.

  Lenny said something in response but Dawson didn’t catch it, sliding through the doors as two constables came out.

  He took the stairs two at a time and entered his old squad room. He smiled. This was what a CID room was supposed to look like; a dozen desks, overflowing bins, casual dress, wipe boards half written on with Post-it notes and A4 sheets hanging on haphazardly.

  His pleasure turned to dismay as he realised his own desk had been turned into a dumping ground for archive boxes taken from storage. Bloody hell, he’d only been gone a couple of days and he hoped to be back once this case was over and his current so-called team disbanded.

  ‘Missed me, folks?’ he called out to the handful of detectives present.

  ‘Hey, Dawson,’ said a couple before returning their attention to their screens. Viv waved half-heartedly from the far corner with a phone glued to her ear.

  ‘Hey, Dawson, boss is out,’ offered Gary, the chubby guy he’d come to see.

  ‘Hey, Gaz, it’s fine. It’s you I’m here to see. How are you doing?’

  ‘Better recently, thanks, and you never call me Gaz.’

  ‘Need your help, mate,’ Dawson said, tapping him on the shoulder and pulling over a chair.

  Gary was a good kid and liked to help other folks out. He wasn’t given to flashes of brilliance but he had a surplus of something in which Dawson knew that he himself was severely lacking. Patience.

  The man had tracked down just about every database known to man. From shoe prints to tyre tracks. He’d even written his own database to keep track of all the databases he had access to.

  Dawson took the print off from his jacket pocket. ‘Got nails used at a crime scene. This is the chemical composition. Any chance you could track down where they were manufactured?’

  Gary stared at the paper.

  This made perfect sense to Dawson. If he could trace the manufacturers, he may be able to get a list of who they supplied and take it from there. Some small manufacturers only supplied a few key wholesalers. And if anyone could find out, Gary could.

  ‘So, what do you think, mate?’

  ‘I’m waiting for the punchline,’ Gary replied.

  ‘Huh?’ Dawson asked as a couple of people looked up.

  ‘Well, this has to be some kind of piss-take. You can’t be dumb enough to mean this.’

  ‘Hey, Gaz, mind your…’

  ‘Only you would have the fucking cheek to come back to a team you’ve finally left in peace to get them to do your fucking job for you.’

  Dawson was stunned.

  Gary continued and now the whole room was listening, and watching.

  ‘You don’t get it, do you? We’re all glad to see the back of you. No more stealing everyone else’s ideas or snaffling the most promising leads or slacking off and expecting everyone else to cover for you. Mate,’ he said meaningfully. ‘We couldn’t wait to see the back of you.’ He thrust the piece of paper against Dawson’s chest. ‘So, the answer to your request is fuck off and do the job yourself.’

  Gary pushed back his chair and headed out of the office.

  Dawson looked around the room. No one spoke.

  People he’d worked with for years simply lowered their heads and looked away.

  By the looks of it, Gary had been speaking for all of them.

  He put the sheet back into his pocket and walked out of the office with his head held high.

  Now he knew he really was on his own.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Dawson answered on the third ring. She would have preferred the second.

  ‘Whatever you’re doing, stop it and head to Luke Fenton’s address and speak to the neighbours. Our guy has an unhealthy interest in little girls, one of which is the wearer of the pink hoody.’

  ‘Aww shit.’

  Possibly the most intelligent thing she’d heard come out of his mouth so far.

  ‘See if any of the neighbours know if he’s ever been married; go and find out everything you can.’

  ‘Okay, boss.’

  ‘And while you’re at it, meet Luke’s sister, Lisa Bywater, at the morgue to ID the body at 2 p.m. Keats has been informed. Okay, gotta go, Stacey is calling.’

  She ended the call. ‘Hey Stacey,’ she answered.

  ‘Boss, I know yer said to carry on with the CCTV, but I’ve been doing a bit of digging and I think I’ve found something else.’

  Kim could hear the breathlessness in her voice.

  ‘I got to looking at the method and the planning and the—’

  ‘Spit it out, Stacey,’ Kim said.

  ‘I’ve found something similar a month ago. I think our guy must be on a roll.’

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Warwickshire Constabulary was first established in 1840 and had been part of more amalgamations and absorptions than any other force Kim could think of.

  Proposals had been made in 2006 to merge the force with both West Midlands and West Mercia to form a single force for the whole West Midlands, but plans were abandoned due to a public outcry.

  In its current state the force was divided into districts and boroughs with thirty-three local policing teams. One of which was located in Rother Street, Stratford-upon-Avon, where Bryant was parking up right now.

  ‘Not sure how keen they’re going to be to share,’ Bryant said, parking beside a BMW X5. Once upon a time this force had combined with their own and West Mercia to form the Central Motorway Police Group but now it was only themselves and West Mercia.

  ‘Well, let’s see, shall we?’ Kim said pushing open the front door.

  Kim approached the desk. ‘Sergeant Greene?’

  ‘Please,’ Bryant added from behind. ‘Is he available?’

  The uniformed officer focussed his attention on Bryant. ‘And you are?’

  Bryant held up his ID and introduced them both.

  The officer picked up a phone. Bryant stepped away.

  ‘Friendly bunch,’ he said, quietly.

  ‘Are you surprised?’ she asked. This force had been messed with more than most.

  ‘All doing the same job, guv,’ he said, as the door to their left opened.

  A man of slim build with pasty white arms protruding from his black tee shirt greeted them with a half-smile.

  ‘May I help?’

  Kim remained silent. They wanted something from this man and people clearly responded better to her colleague.

  Bryant took his cue from her silence.

  ‘Could we have a word about the body you got at Redland Hall?’

  His face tightened but he nodded and ushered them through the door he was still holding open.

  They followed him ten steps before turning into a small office with no windows and two plastic chairs.

  Documents hung off a single noticeboard, sheets pinned on top of each other causing Kim to wonder at the relevance of the documents at the bottom.

  He took the plastic seat nearest the desk. Kim nodded for Bryant to take the other and she stood in the doorway.r />
  ‘Not sure what I can tell you but…’

  ‘Aren’t you heading the murder investigation?’ Kim asked. It was his name that had been mentioned.

  ‘Ha, I wish,’ he said, bitterly. ‘Attended the scene, got the first look and an identity before the case got handed over.’

  ‘To who?’ Bryant asked.

  ‘Joint task force; with bloody West Mercia.’

  Kim had almost forgotten about the most recent merger where an alliance had been made sharing back office facilities, force systems, support teams and staff below the grade of Deputy Chief Constable.

  ‘So, they’re running it from Worcester?’ Kim asked.

  He nodded. ‘A few of our lot are over there but…’ He opened his hands without finishing the sentence. He didn’t need to.

  West Mercia had pretty much taken over the case. And no one was going to welcome further intrusion from them.

  Kim’s first priority was in trying to establish if this case was even related to the murder of Luke Fenton. So far she had a lot of similar cases but still only one victim of her own.

  ‘So, what you got?’

  He reached for a file on the top of an overcrowded stack of trays.

  ‘That it?’ Bryant asked. It looked as though the folder was empty.

  ‘’Fraid so. A total of three hours I had the case.’

  Kim struggled not to feel annoyed on his behalf. As an Investigator, it took only minutes to make a case your own. It was almost immediate upon arrival. Once you laid eyes on the victim, assessed the body position, wound, circumstances, there was a bond, a connection, not only to the victim but to the killer. It was that instinct; that need to know every detail, to find the person responsible.

  To have it whipped away after just a few hours was degrading and soul destroying.

  ‘Victim was a fifty-four-year-old male named Lester Jackson, stabbed multiple times, final wound to the heart.’

  ‘Beheaded?’ Kim asked.

  He shook his head. ‘Nothing above the collar bone but a bloody mess below.’

  ‘Below…’ Bryant said, indicating between his legs.