Dying Breath: Unputdownable serial killer fiction (Detective Lucy Harwin crime thriller series Book 2)

by Helen Phifer

  ‘Fucking idiot. I’m going to kick his arse when I get hold of him. I sent him home just after you left. Thanks, Mattie.’

  She knew what he meant. Every dog walker, teenager and parent with young children would turn up, pretending they didn’t know what was happening whilst hoping to get a glimpse of the corpse.

  She saw Chris Corkill heading towards her and breathed out a sigh of relief – at least now they’d know one way or the other for definite if the skeleton belonged to a human. He was carrying a huge aluminium case and there was a fine film of sweat on his brow. She’d have had a bloody heart attack lugging that from the entrance to the woods. She lifted her hand to wave and he nodded, grinning. He ducked under the police tape and gave his details to the officer in charge of the scene log. He put his case down and held his hand out to Lucy, who took it and shook it firmly.

  ‘I must say, Detective Inspector, you do seem to get all the exciting cases. I didn’t think our paths would meet again so soon.’

  Lucy smiled. ‘That’s one way to put it. Or it could be the fact that we desperately need another DI in this part of the county because my colleague is on long-term sick leave.’

  He shrugged. ‘I prefer to believe it’s because you’re so good at your job. So, do you want to talk me through it?’

  They began walking towards the white tent, Lucy doing all the talking and Chris nodding his head. Before entering the tent, he opened the case and began to suit up.

  ‘Better to be safe than sorry. I don’t want to contaminate the site any more than it already is.’

  There was a lot of shouting from behind them and Lucy turned to see a grey-haired, stocky man in his sixties trying to barge his way under the tape. The officer with the scene guard booklet dropped it to the ground to grab hold of the intruder, but he pushed him so hard that he lost his footing and stumbled. This gave the man enough time to duck under the tape, and he came running towards Lucy. She stood her ground and put an arm out in front of her.

  ‘Sir, I’m going to ask you to stop there. You are contaminating a crime scene, for which you could get arrested.’

  The man looked at the tall figure of the doctor dressed in the white paper suit ducking through the entrance of the tent, and stopped as he took in the scene around him. The sight of the tent seemed to have knocked the air out of his lungs. He thrust a small, Polaroid snapshot towards Lucy.

  ‘Have you found my daughter? Tell me. I need to know if it’s her, I’ve been waiting so long to hear from her.’

  Lucy took the photograph from him. It showed a teenage boy and girl standing with an older woman, whom she would say was their mum, judging by the family resemblance. The girl had long, brown hair in two bunches, just like the older woman next to her, and she was grinning at whoever was holding the camera. Her front tooth was chipped, making her look a little bit goofy.

  ‘What happened to your daughter?’

  ‘If I bloody knew that I wouldn’t be standing here screaming at you lot, would I?’

  ‘Sir, this is a crime scene: until we have established the facts then I’m not at liberty to tell you anything. If you give your details to the officer you pushed past, we will get in contact with you if there is anything we have to tell you.’

  She felt terrible, being so cold and harsh when he was so upset. But the least she could do was to be professional; if that was a human skeleton behind her, she would show it the utmost respect and do everything she could to find out its identity. Not to mention who buried it there. The father, who had been full of anger and bravado, began to crumble in front of her eyes until she was staring at the trembling husk of the man who’d been shouting only seconds ago.

  ‘Have you found a body? It said on Facebook one had been dug up.’

  She silently cursed Facebook and the stupid fool who’d decided to make his snapshot the picture of the day. She would deal with him herself and make sure he understood the consequences of his actions.

  ‘I can’t say for sure until the forensic anthropologist has taken a look. We have found some remains, but I don’t know if they’re human. I’m sorry, but that’s as much as I can tell you for now.’

  The tent opened and her eyes made contact with Chris. She knew then that it was definitely a human body. Turning back to face the man in front of her, she took hold of his arm and guided him back towards the officer. Two more had been summoned and were waiting to escort the man away from the scene.

  ‘I’m really sorry. If this is something to do with your daughter then I’m sure you would want us to do our job properly, wouldn’t you?’

  He nodded.

  ‘These officers will take you back to your car and get all your details. I promise that as soon as we know more, someone will be around to speak to you. I’m afraid that’s the best I can do at this moment in time.’

  He held out the photograph to Lucy and pushed it into her hands.

  ‘You can look after that for now. She was tall for her age and pretty. All the boys liked Jenny – she was the best thing that ever happened to me and I’ve had to live for twenty-five years not knowing what happened to her that day or why she never came home. It’s a hard thing to live with, not knowing where your child is. My wife died of a broken heart and my son died because I spent so much time looking for Jenny. I’m sorry, I just need to know.’

  Lucy smiled at him. She couldn’t comprehend how she would feel if Ellie had mysteriously disappeared without a trace and she’d never seen her again.

  ‘You go home and we’ll be in touch. I promise I’ll do everything that I can.’

  She watched him being led away by the two officers and felt her heart sink even lower than it already was. How had she not known there was still a missing kid out there? Walking back towards the tent she reached Chris, who shook his head.

  ‘Poor bloke, that’s awful. I can confirm that you have found a human skeleton. I can get a team here first thing in the morning to help me excavate the site. It’s a painstaking job.’

  ‘That would be great, thank you. Do you know if it’s a female?’

  ‘I can’t say at the moment; the pelvis is still underground. Once we have it uncovered the sex can be determined with ninety per cent accuracy. Male skeletons are generally larger than females’ and the surface of their bones tends to be rougher. I’ll be able to give you the sex, an approximate age, and possibly the cause of death.’

  ‘That’s pretty amazing.’

  He smiled. ‘I’ll go back and ring around my people; it’s too late to start digging now. I’d hate to miss any evidence because of poor light. My guess is whoever that is, has been underground for at least twenty years, so I don’t think another few hours are going to make much difference.’

  ‘I suppose not.’ Lucy glanced down at the photograph in her hand. That girl would be a similar age to her now. All grown up, possibly with a family of her own. Suddenly she didn’t know whether she wanted the skeleton to be Jenny or not.

  Chapter Eleven

  The nightclub was bouncing. It was full of too-young girls and boys, fake IDs tucked safely into their pockets. IDs that they’d borrowed or stolen from older siblings and used to gain entry past the bouncers and inside the club. The music was rubbish – nineties songs that you couldn’t dance to unless you were drunk. Turning around from the bar, he surveyed the pulsating, throbbing crowd on the dance floor. Girls were writhing around in the skimpiest of hotpants and miniskirts. The boys and some of the older men were stalking the peripheral edges of the dance floor, like tigers tracking their prey. It was disgusting.

  He turned back around and sipped his drink. There was no rush – he had all night and didn’t want to get drunk; he had a job to do. He was waiting for the right girl to come along and he had no doubt that she would. He’d left work after a busy day; so far so good. At midnight it would be precisely three days since the drunken woman from the pub. The police hadn’t come knocking and he’d spent all of today with the delicious tingling in his stomach that seem
ed to accompany him whenever he thought about his next kill.

  He’d been good for so many years, a model citizen. It was time to scratch the itch that had started a couple of months ago. He’d been thinking long and hard about how this was going to work, the logistics of it, not to mention the in-depth research he’d undertaken. It seemed there were as many sick individuals in England as there were in any country. He wondered who was worse for serial killings, the Americans or the Russians. Even the Chinese had their fair share of killers.

  A woman sat down next to him. She smiled at him and he smiled back. She was blonde, petite and pretty, definitely not his type. He preferred women who were more athletic, who had curves. She wouldn’t end up dead tonight. She began to chat to him and he talked back – it was important to blend in and not arouse suspicion.

  ‘So, are you on your own?’

  He shook his head. ‘I suppose at the moment technically I am. I’m waiting for my girlfriend, who’s with her friends and said to meet her here. Are you on your own?’

  ‘No, my friends are all gyrating somewhere on the dance floor. I’ve got new shoes on and they’re killing me.’

  Just then a group of six women all piled around her and she started to talk to them. He looked at them, then turned away. Behind him somewhere he could hear the strained voices of an argument beginning. In the corner near the exit for the toilets was a brunette with a physique much more to his taste. She was bickering with a tall, skinny man with a shaved head. The word junkie popped into his mind. This was intriguing; what were they to each other? She didn’t seem like she’d be interested in someone so desperate looking and she didn’t appear to be into drugs herself.

  The man was pleading with her. She moved to walk away and he grabbed her arm, tugging her backwards. He cringed – big mistake. He was right; the woman slapped him across the cheek. The man’s nostrils flared as his primal instinct took over; his anger at whoever she was stretched across his face, burning in his eyes. He shoved her and she dropped her clutch bag, the contents spilling all over the floor. Two bouncers grasped the man by the arms and escorted him to the nearest emergency exit.

  He was off his stool and striding across to help her before he knew it. Bending down, he picked up a lipstick and some loose change that had rolled across the floor. She took them from him and thanked him as he bent back down and pocketed a pair of her tights, which had fallen to one side. Picking up the rest of the coins, he handed them to her along with a brightly wrapped sanitary towel. ‘Are you okay? Sorry, I wasn’t being nosy – I couldn’t help but overhear.’

  She nodded. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’

  ‘Do you want me to walk you out and call you a taxi?’

  She laughed. ‘No. I’m with my friends –’ she pointed to a couple of girls who were at the bar – ‘and I only live down the high street. Thanks again.’

  ‘No problem, enjoy your night.’

  He watched her walk off in the direction of her friends, enjoying the view from behind. She would do nicely. All he had to do now was wait patiently for her to leave. He would follow her and find out where she lived, and then he would wait for the right moment to make his move.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lucy reached the open-plan CID office and did a double-take to see the outline of a man through the partially closed blinds, sitting behind her desk. She wondered who the hell was brazen enough to use her office – her team knew to keep out of it as she was very particular about her own space. She strode across the room and threw the door open, her heart skipping a beat when she realised who it was sitting there.

  ‘Long time no see. How are you, Lucy?’

  It was a very long time since she had last seen him, but Patrick Baker didn’t look a day older. If anything, he looked better; his sideburns were gone. His face showed a few more laughter lines, but it had the sun-kissed look of a man who liked to spend all his free time outdoors.

  ‘Well, I was fine until I saw you sitting behind my desk. What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve been drafted in to give you a hand. Tom is worried that you might have too much on. Isn’t he kind?’

  She shook her head. ‘He is, but I don’t need one, thank you.’

  He stood up and walked around so he was facing her.

  ‘I couldn’t exactly say no and, besides, I’ve been waiting months for a transfer here. You have two murder investigations on the go. I know that you’re nothing short of amazing, Lucy, but you’re not Wonder Woman. You can’t do this on your own. It will ease some of the pressure off your shoulders. Aren’t you lucky that I was available at short notice to step in?’

  Lucy didn’t know whether it was good or bad luck – they’d had their differences in the past.

  ‘How are George and Ellie?’

  She could tell him to mind his own business, but someone else would only too gladly fill him in on the backstory of her car-crash life.

  ‘George lives with his much younger, very pregnant girlfriend and Ellie is your typical teenager.’

  Patrick actually looked shocked. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I honestly thought that you and George were the real deal.’

  A huge smile had broken out across his face and Lucy thought that she might just add to the week’s murder count by smashing him over the head with the heavy glass paperweight on the edge of her desk.

  She walked off to find Tom, who was nowhere to be seen, and wondered if he’d glimpsed the pair of them in her office and gone to hide somewhere. She hovered around outside the gents and heard the hand-drier go off. She hoped it was him; otherwise she was going to look like some crazed stalker. The door opened. Tom took one look at Lucy’s face and said, ‘Should we go to my office?’

  She nodded and followed him. He pointed at a chair and she sat down.

  ‘What’s the problem, Lucy?’

  ‘I think you already know, sir.’

  ‘Look, you need a hand. It’s not fair to expect you to have everything on your caseload. I thought you’d be relieved to have some help.’

  In reality she was – as Patrick had said, it would be a huge weight lifted off her shoulders if he took on one of the murder cases. It was just the fact that it was Patrick that irked her.

  ‘I am. It’s just nice to be informed about these things.’

  Tom nodded. ‘I know. I’m sorry, but what time did you get home last night?’

  ‘Nine thirty.’

  ‘And you started work at eight. I know you hate it when we get all concerned about you, but someone has to look after your welfare.’

  She felt her cheeks begin to burn; she didn’t want looking after. Realising he was only trying to help, she smiled.

  ‘Thank you, I appreciate it.’

  ‘Good. Now, which case do you want Patrick to oversee? It’s your choice.’

  She thought about it. She wanted to find Melanie Benson’s killer. She also wanted to find whoever had buried the body in the woods, but that was going to take quite some time. They were looking at another day before they even got the skeleton back to the mortuary and then the site would take days to process. If she focused on Melanie’s killer and caught him then she could take over the other case.

  ‘I’ll take the Benson case; you can give Baker the corpse in the woods.’ She stood up. ‘Oh, and one last request: I’m not sharing my office with him.’

  Tom nodded. ‘No, I didn’t think that you would. It’s already been taken care of.’

  She walked out feeling marginally better than she had ten minutes ago. Patrick had already removed himself from her office, which saved her the job of throwing him out. He was now sitting on the corner of Browning’s desk, chatting to him as if they were long-lost friends. Good. Browning was welcome to him. Patrick had been a lazy bastard when they’d been back on section – she couldn’t see how he’d have changed much.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mattie walked into Lucy’s office with a steaming mug of coffee and she pointed at the door, which he kicked
shut behind him.

  ‘Who’s the golden boy?’

  Lucy laughed. ‘He’s your new DI.’

  ‘What? No way. Where’s Tom? I work for you and I’ll tell him that.’

  ‘Calm down, I was joking. That is Patrick Baker – he’s been called in to help out. They’re “looking after my welfare”.’ She made quote marks in the air with her fingers.

  He passed her the mug and sat down. ‘About time. Honestly, I think it’s a good idea as long as he’s not a dick.’

  She arched an eyebrow at him. Picking up her coffee, she blew the hot steam away so she could take a sip. ‘He’s taking on the body in the woods. Once we catch Melanie Benson’s killer we can take over from him again.’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’

  Lucy’s radio began to ring as she received a private call and she answered it.

  ‘Morning, boss. It’s Heather in control. A street cleaner has found a woman’s body at the back of High Street. Can you attend?’

  ‘Is it suspicious?’ Lucy had crossed the fingers on her other hand and tucked them behind her back.

  ‘Well, she’s naked and there’s a ligature around her neck.’

  ‘Fuck,’ Lucy muttered under her breath.

  ‘Yes, quite. Should I tell the duty sergeant that you’re on your way?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She ended the call and stared at Mattie. ‘There’s another body.’

  He shook his head, stood up and followed her out of the office. She wanted to get to the scene before Patrick even got a whiff of it.

  Lewis Waite opened his eyes, blinked and wondered where the hell he was. His feet hit something solid and he realised he was lying on a sofa. He rolled onto his side and smelt the expensive perfume. Her favourite perfume, which clung to the chenille cushion he’d used for a pillow. He was in Stacey’s flat – he remembered falling out with her in the club, and she’d slapped his face so hard. How did he get in here, though? He felt the ache in his bones and the cramps in his stomach begin – the usual effects when his high was wearing off.