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

by Helen Phifer

  ‘I thought you could do with this; keep your brain cells going.’

  She smiled at him, which he took as an invitation to walk into the small office. He passed her the mug and she took it from him, giving the contents a quick glance to make sure there were no flecks of sour milk swirling around inside it.

  ‘I used fresh milk – I even bought it myself at the garage on the way into work.’

  ‘I didn’t say anything. Thank you. I need this.’

  He threw a Mars bar in her direction. ‘You also need that by the look of you – when are you going to start taking care of yourself, boss?’

  Lucy laughed. ‘I do take care of myself; in fact, a few days of not eating will help. My trousers are tight.’

  He shook his head. ‘You still got to eat. Have you had anything this morning?’

  Lucy tried to think what she’d eaten; had she actually taken the toast out of the toaster and buttered it this morning?

  ‘What are you, my dad?’

  ‘Who told you?’

  They both started laughing; Lucy liked the new and improved Browning. He was much funnier than the grumpy version. She pointed to a chair and he sat down, a sigh escaping his lips.

  ‘Another murder?’

  ‘I know, it’s like some kind of déjà vu or a bad dream.’

  ‘Rumour has it you could have passed on the Benson case to the new boy. Is there any particular reason why you didn’t?’

  Lucy considered it. ‘Yes: I don’t like him very much and I’m not sure that I trust him not to fuck up all the hard work we’ve already done on it.’

  ‘Good enough for me.’

  It touched her that Browning had taken it upon himself to try to look out for her.

  ‘Well, give me a shout if you need a hand with anything.’

  Smiling back at him, she took a gulp of coffee and began to finish her notes, ready for the briefing.

  Tom walked into Lucy’s office. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’

  ‘Good; the troops are waiting.’ He turned and left.

  Lucy stood up, running her hands down the front of her trousers to smooth out any creases. The briefing room was full and the chatter coming from inside was loud. As Tom followed Lucy inside, a hush descended over the room. She didn’t look at anyone as she walked to the front. Her pulse was racing a little; it didn’t matter how many times she had to do this, she still got nervous. She stood behind the lectern and placed her notes on it, waiting for Tom to get the interactive whiteboard working. He was far better at technology than she was. The board came to life and on it appeared a photograph of the body found in the backstreet. There were a few gasps and murmurs. Browning, who was standing at the back next to Mattie, shook his head in disbelief at the horror of what he was looking at.

  ‘So, this is our victim. We have a driving licence, found in her discarded handbag at the scene, in the name of Stacey Green. It’s a very poor photo, but good enough to go off until we get a positive ID from a family member.’

  A hand went up and Lucy looked over at the officer who had arrested the guy who’d trampled the crime scene and then tried to run from it.

  ‘That guy I booked at the scene is Lewis Waite. He kept saying he didn’t hurt her and never would, that it wasn’t him. So he obviously knows her.’

  ‘Excellent point – DS Jackson is going to interview him shortly. He is also our number-one suspect at the moment. I want to know everything about him and Stacey Green: What their relationship was. Where he was trying to escape from. When the last time he spoke to her was. I want all the shops and flats above the backstreet canvassed. Did anyone see or hear anything at all? If there is any CCTV footage I want it seized and brought back here. Browning, would you go to Aston’s nightclub and ask them if you can view their CCTV before seizing it?’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘Col, can you start all the intelligence checks on both Stacey Green and Lewis Waite? I want anything and everything.’

  Col nodded, stood up and left the room: he had his tasks. Browning followed him.

  ‘Rachel, can you phone the council and make sure the bin collections have been suspended? There were a lot of bins out. Task force can have the pleasure of searching those, although I think that Dr Maxwell will confirm that the cause of death will be asphyxiation by ligature. We also need to locate the victim’s shoes, which are missing, as a priority. At this moment I don’t believe that we are searching for any other weapons. However, that assumption could change after the post-mortem so it’s better to be safe than sorry. That’s it for now; the PM isn’t scheduled until the morning. Let’s see what we can do between now and then to make sure the suspect we currently have in the cells is the correct one. Thank you.’

  Lucy looked at Tom. ‘Is that everything for now?’

  He smiled. ‘Yes, I’d say that pretty much covers it.’

  She walked out of the briefing room. The fact that Stacey Green’s shoes were missing was a huge concern for her. Lewis Waite might be good for the crime, but they couldn’t discount that there might also be a connection to Melanie Benson, and this possibility scared her – unless Lewis Waite had killed both women and had their shoes at his home address.

  Chapter Fifteen

  May 1991

  The last two days had been so hot that he felt as if his skin were melting from his bones. All the girls were wearing shorts and bikini tops or swimming costumes. Jake’s little sister, who wasn’t so little any more, had been showing off in her yellow two-piece. They’d had water fights and splashed around for hours in the paddling pool that his mum had bought so that he’d stop pestering her to take him to the beach.

  She was busy working on another book; this one was consuming her day in, day out. She hardly ever emerged from the stuffy little office and she didn’t have a clue where he was or what he was doing most days. He didn’t care because he liked the freedom it gave him. He was thirteen and could do whatever he pleased.

  He couldn’t stop staring at Jenny in that almost see-through costume. She was twelve and the flat chest that he’d never taken much notice of had suddenly developed into two soft, fleshy mounds that he’d very much like to touch. Jenny followed him and Jake everywhere, which, until a couple of days ago, had driven them both mad. Now he couldn’t wait to see her – he wanted to lay his hands on her her in ways that wouldn’t be allowed. He wanted to kiss her inviting lips.

  The only problem was, Jake would kill him if he touched her. Jake had spent the last week moaning about having to look after her – his dad had told him not to let any boys get too near to Jenny, and to make sure she was always okay. So how would he get her on her own long enough to kiss her? Maybe he could ask her over after tea when Jake had gone to football practice, or get her to go to the woods with him. He had done nothing the last two days but think about Carrie and what John must have felt about her. He knew that he had to spend some time with Jenny, the two of them alone together; he just didn’t know when or how not to get caught.

  He was lying on his bed looking at the stack of Polaroid photos he’d taken of Jenny when she hadn’t been looking. She was beautiful. Her long, silky, golden hair and palest blue eyes mesmerised him. He had one photograph he’d taken as Jake had thrown a bucket of water over her, those small, pert breasts brushing against the fabric of the bikini top. He’d stared at it for hours. Suddenly he heard his mum shout for him, and he jumped off the bed, tucking the photos under his mattress in case she came in. He rushed outside to see what she wanted.

  ‘Be a love and go get me some milk and a bar of chocolate.’

  She handed him a fiver; he slipped on his trainers and began to walk in the direction of the shop. As he rounded the corner, he saw a flash of golden hair through the window. Jenny was coming out of the shop just as he walked inside. She grinned at him and he felt his heart skip a beat.

  ‘What’re you doing?’ she asked.

  ‘Going to the shop.’

  ‘I kn
ow that, you dweeb. What’re you doing after? I’m bored – my mates have all gone home and Jake is grounded for fighting with Ben last night.’

  Ben was the boy who lived next door, and both he and Jake hated him. He had an idea – if he took his mum’s chocolate back and then went into his room, she’d think he was home. Then he could sneak out and spend some time with Jenny. Just the two of them; no one would have a clue.

  ‘I’m taking this back for my mum and then I’m going to the woods to play.’

  ‘Can I come?’

  He smiled at her. ‘Don’t tell anyone where we’re going though, it’s a secret.’

  ‘I love secrets.’

  He laughed. ‘I know you do.’

  She ran off. ‘I’ll wait for you by the cutting.’

  He almost forgot the milk – he was so excited at the thought of being alone with Jenny. He hastily brought the stuff to the counter, paid his money and raced home. He made a racket going in through the front door so that his mum would clearly remember him coming back, put the milk in the fridge, then went upstairs and knocked on the office door. She opened it and he handed her the bar of chocolate.

  ‘I don’t feel well. I’m going to bed.’

  She reached out her hand and placed the back of it on his forehead.

  ‘You do feel a bit hot – let me know if you want anything.’

  ‘I just want to go to sleep, my head’s hurting.’

  She smiled at him and he walked into his bedroom, not closing the door properly behind him. She shut her office door. He quickly changed into a pair of shorts and the old, faded, black t-shirt that his mum had thrown away and he’d taken back out of the bin bag. He neatly folded his clothes up, then pushed his pillows into the bed under the covers, shut the curtains and sneaked back out. It was so warm that the dining-room and kitchen windows were wide open. He’d be able to get back in later without so much as making a noise. He was good at creeping around; he’d been doing it for years.

  He ran to the cutting. As he approached, he could see her standing there in all her beautiful glory. Her cut-off frayed denim shorts, which were lopsided because she’d done it herself, showed off her tanned legs. Her white t-shirt had those stupid Rugrats on the front of it; he hated that cartoon. She’d scraped her long hair back in a ponytail and he could see the small scar on the side of her head. She’d fallen off the swing at the park last year and cut her head open, chipping her front tooth in the process. He and Jake had dragged her home to get it cleaned up. He ran towards her and then carried on straight past her – he didn’t want anyone to think they were on their own together.

  ‘Oi, where are you going?’

  He grinned at the anger in her voice and heard her footsteps as she began to chase after him. He didn’t stop until he reached the woods and couldn’t see anyone else. Jenny pushed him from behind. ‘Idiot. Why’d you make me run? I hate running.’

  He turned and smiled. ‘Sorry, my mum’s in a bad mood. I was scared she’d call me back in.’

  He headed through the trees towards the small clearing he’d discovered a few weeks ago. It was set back from the trails and you couldn’t see it from any of the paths. It was completely hidden by overgrown bushes. He’d been exploring in here on his own when he’d found it. From the moment he saw it, he’d known it would be perfect.

  ‘So where we going?’

  ‘I’ll show you my new hideout, but you have to promise not to tell anyone.’

  ‘What about Jake? Does he know about it?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, if I show you it’s our secret. You have to promise not to tell.’

  She shrugged. ‘Okay.’

  He pushed his way through the brambles, holding them back for her.

  ‘Wow, this place is cool. You should build a den, we could sleep out here.’

  He felt his skin prickle at the thought of it. She went and sat on a large log that had fallen off one of the huge trees and he sat down next to her. She pointed to a metal cover set in the ground. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Sewers, I think.’

  ‘Urgh. I bet it stinks in there. So what should we do?’

  He reached out his hand to stroke her hair.

  Less than an hour later he was home, after running through the woods avoiding the trails that the dog walkers used. He’d come out of the opposite side, but it didn’t matter – he followed the backstreets to reach the small end-of-terrace house that was his home. Red-faced and out of breath, he washed his hands in the dirty water of the paddling pool. Then he peered through the dining-room window to make sure his mum wasn’t around. The house was silent, apart from the faint sound of typing filtering through the upstairs window. He climbed inside and crept upstairs, where he stripped off his shorts and t-shirt. He knew that he had to get rid of them, but he couldn’t have walked home naked. Rolling them into a ball, he took the small gym bag off the floor of his wardrobe and shoved them inside. He pushed the bag under the spare blankets and sheets, out of sight until he could dump it in a bin tomorrow on the other side of town.

  He hadn’t realised how much his hands were shaking until he climbed into bed, pulling the covers over his head. He was hot and sweaty anyway with the exertion. If his mum came in to check on him she’d think he was really poorly. She’d swear blind to anyone who asked that he’d been to the shop, come home and had to go straight to bed. As he lay there, his eyes closed, he thought about what he’d done. He expected the horror to come crashing down on him. That the guilt would weigh so heavy on his shoulders that he’d never be able to lift his head again. What happened instead was that he started to laugh, so hard that he had to stuff his fist into his mouth to stop the sound erupting and filling the house.

  He fell asleep, content and happy for the first time in months. He woke up to the commotion of someone hammering on the front door. He heard his mum open it.

  ‘Is Jenny here? Have you seen her?’

  ‘No, she’s not here. I haven’t seen her. Just a minute – I’ll go and check.’

  He shut his eyes and lay still, waiting for her to open his door. She did, walking across the room towards him and gently shaking his shoulder.

  ‘Jake’s downstairs. He said have you seen Jenny?’

  He pushed himself up on his elbow, rubbing one eye.

  ‘I saw her coming out of the shop when I went earlier, but she ran off. I came straight home.’

  His mum nodded. ‘I know you did… was she with anyone?’

  He shrugged. ‘I didn’t really take any notice.’

  She left him to sleep and went back downstairs, where he heard her relay the information to Jake.

  ‘He saw her at the shop earlier. He’s not well – he came home and went straight to bed.’

  ‘She’s probably at Sharon’s house again; she’s not allowed to go there. Thanks.’

  Jake ran off back in the direction of his house.

  He remained in his bed, wondering if he should be feeling scared about what he’d done. But all he felt right at that moment was the overwhelming sense that he was invincible.

  Chapter Sixteen

  He sat in his car nursing a can of Red Bull, watching the astounding number of people going in and out of the busy supermarket. He could people-watch all day; he’d always found it fascinating. The high from last night was still making him smile, but he had no time to lose. This time he needed a family of three. Two parents and one child: easier said than done. It was ambitious and he knew that, but he loved the challenge. He could discount anyone coming out with only one kid yet getting into a people carrier. There was a good chance they had more children stashed somewhere.

  He started eating his sandwich, looking like any other man who hated shopping and was waiting for his wife to emerge from the store. Nobody gave him a second glance. Then a loud shout caught his attention. A boy of around ten years old came charging out through the shop doors, followed by a man and a frazzled-looking woman who was calling after the pair of them, pushing a shoppin
g trolley. The boy ran straight across the car park and a woman driving a Mini Cooper had to slam on her brakes. She beeped her horn as the man ran past next.

  Now this is interesting. He pushed the last of his sandwich into his mouth and sat up, tilting his rear-view mirror so that he could see the boy, who was now smacking the passenger-side door of a Mercedes B-Class parked a couple of cars behind him. The mother pushing the trolley mouthed sorry to the woman in the Mini, then scurried after who he assumed were her husband and son. The car’s hazard lights flashed and the boy threw the door open, clambering inside. The man, whose red face was a mask of fury, bent his head into the back of the car, but was pulled away by the woman. She shut the door and he watched her pleading with her husband to calm down. They were perfect: a chaotic, stressed-out family.

  Starting his engine, he watched as the mother let go of the trolley and lowered herself into the passenger seat. She turned her head to talk to the boy, leaving her husband to pack the shopping into the boot and take the trolley back to the front of the store. If he had to guess, he would say the boy had some kind of learning difficulty or behavioural issues. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. He would follow them home and see where they lived, judge if their house would be easy to get into or too difficult. Then he would spend a few days observing them, waiting to find out their routines. He needed to make sure it was just the three of them, because four or more wouldn’t fit the pattern. And it had to fit, one hundred per cent, for this to work.

  He wondered how the police were dealing with the body they’d found this morning. Did they think it was connected to the woman from the start of the week or were they treating it as a separate incident? It didn’t really affect him; as long as he could continue with his plan everything would be okay.