Greed: A DI Scott Baker Novel Page 10

  “Will do,” with that Raj and Mike shot off as quickly as they had arrived.

  No sooner had the officers left his office, DCI Harvey ambled in.

  Scott was beginning to think that this was Piccadilly station than his office.

  “What have we got, Scott?”

  Scott was reluctant to tell Harvey that they were going round in circles and that things were progressing slowly. He knew full well that the DCI wanted answers, and she wanted answers quickly. Anything other than good news would not be welcomed.

  Scott ran a hand through his hair and arched his back to stretch. “We have two deceased. Fraser was a silent partner in Stone’s club, and in return for a monthly retainer Stone allowed Fraser to peddle his drugs. We also have a hair fibre on both victims that matches a clubber who died as a result of an incident outside the Urban nightclub three years ago.”

  “So we have someone present at both of these murders, who was around three years ago at the incident outside the Urban?”

  “Correct, Ma’am. We’ve got a potential suspect seen in the vicinity of the second murder, but unfortunately the description was vague and we’ve got nothing to go on from the recent press releases either.”

  The DCI huffed, and then pursed her lips to express her dissatisfaction.

  “However, we interviewed Lee Stubbins in prison, and I’ve got a feeling he’s connected to this in some way. He was put away for the attempted murder of vic two, Fraser. The two lines of enquiry we’re following up now are the background to the clubber Stephen Wentworth, and Lee Stubbins, who still has lots of connections on the outside including his brother.”

  Scott could see that the DCI was agitated, but surprised she didn’t say anything. He guessed that she was just as keen as him to see a result.

  “Okay. Keep me informed, and let me know if you need anything,” she offered as a parting comment.

  Scott was perplexed by the case. He was now staring at several possibilities on his notepad, and he needed a breakthrough soon. Rubbing his temples whilst resting his elbows on the table only made Scott feel even more tired. He needed to clear his head and get some space.

  Just before leaving the office, he fired off one email to the forensics team asking them to double confirm the hair fibre match. As far as he was concerned, there could be no margin for error. Scott hated doing things half-heartedly, he’d much rather check and double check everything he did so that he could be a 100% confident in the decisions and actions he took.

  ***

  It was early evening as Scott drove down the Kingsway and parked up by Hove lawns. It was a cool but bright spring evening, Brighton looked picturesque in the evening sun, the whitewashed period townhouses of Brunswick Terrace on one side looking out regally over the lawns and beach beyond them.

  Scott spent the next hour just walking along beach clearing his head. It was a place he came to when he needed to get away from everything. There was something mesmerising and cathartic about being by the sea. A few others were enjoying walks along the beach a short distance away, dogs jumping into the sea and then bouncing out again without a care in the world.

  He could see two young ladies bravely walking barefoot over the stones, laughing and screeching as the cold water raced around their ankles. Scott never understood how others managed to do that. Whenever he’d tried to walk over them, he’d hobbled like an old man, every step more painful than the last.

  He looked at West Pier in distance, the bright lights of Palace Pier behind it, and couldn’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be. Being down by the coast had its own magic, even though some of it had been taken away from him.

  As he returned to his car, Scott’s phone vibrated in his pocket, yet again he attempted to get the swipe pattern right and failed miserably several times. The text was from Cara.

  Hope investigation is going well, would be great to catch up again soon. x

  Scott fired back his reply,

  That would be nice speak soon.

  Scott felt the pangs of guilt creep up on him, his stomach turning knots, his heart empty and aching, his life felt broken and fractured. He sat there for a moment, before reaching for his wallet and pulling out the small photos that were so precious to him. They were photos of Tina and two year old daughter Becky.

  It was now three years since they were mown down and killed on Western Road by a hit and run driver whilst they crossed the road to meet him on the other side.

  The 18th of March would always be etched into his psyche. The day his life changed forever. The force rallied around him and gave Scott compassionate leave. The driver was never found, the car was found burnt out on a dirt road near Devils Dyke and the Brighton and Hove golf club.

  He thought the nightmares would diminish over time; the memories would become easier to cope with. However, every day brought fresh pain.

  Scott was now fighting a new battle with his conscience. He was riddled with guilt about moving on. Any contact with women on more than a professional level felt like he was cheating on the memories of Tina.

  Chapter 17

  It was 7 a.m.; the sun was doing its hardest to creep up into the sky. The air was decidedly chilly, and a cold mist clung to the coastline. The town was just starting to come alive. A thin sparse line of cars snaked their way along Marine Parade heading east towards Rottingdean.

  His target had been harder to track. He lived for his nights, slept during the day and was rarely alone. This dilemma had forced the attacker to switch from his planned attacks in the shadows to broad daylight leaving him more vulnerable and exposed. He didn’t care if he eventually got caught, but the tasks needed to be carried out first without detection. He had already convinced himself that he needed to be audacious and daring with this planned kill.

  He watched from a distance, partly concealed by the undergrowth. This was one of the few occasions when he knew he could strike.

  On this morning there were two cars in the open air car park; one of those belonged to his target, the other to a middle-aged woman who walked her dog at 6 am every day. He had watched her set off an hour ago in the direction of the fields behind Roedean School. Having observed this person, he knew she wouldn’t be returning to her car for at least thirty minutes. He’d timed the lady’s walks and on average they lasted ninety minutes to two hours.

  The killer waited patiently for his target to return after taking his dog for a walk. Crouching down in the undergrowth left his clothes damp from the morning dew, his body shivering. His patience was rewarded when the man returned and opened the boot of his 4x4 to allow his Staffordshire to jump in.

  He inched forward silently through the undergrowth watching, looking around cautiously ensuring that no one was around. Even though he’d chosen a quiet spot to attack, the spot was overlooked by houses and a large school set back further up the hill. He couldn’t wait for another opportunity. His journey had to be concluded today despite the risk.

  By now his target had moved around to the other side of the car out of sight providing the ideal opportunity to approach the vehicle quickly and take the man by surprise. He could hear the man opening the driver’s door and flicking on the radio. Loud music, the repetitive barking of his dog and the low drone of traffic snaking along the coast road cloaked his approach.

  He withdrew his dagger from beneath his hoodie, the steely blade catching the bright morning light. It was spotless and clean, the attacker going to great lengths to clean and polish it after every kill.

  His heart was pounding; he could hear his own breath. Even with a chill in the air, beads of sweat were chasing each other down the centre of his spine.

  He came around from behind the vehicle, gripping the handle of his dagger tightly with the blade pointing downwards, approaching the victim who was standing by his open driver’s door.

  He lunged up from his crouching position. He needed all the height he could as his victim was a large man, powerfully built and well over six feet when standing.
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  The knife came down hard, the victim’s waxy Barbour jacket offering little protection. The attacker found it hard to push the blade in far enough, the target’s broad muscly shoulders providing tough resistance. Nevertheless it was enough for the target to lurch forward and fall to his knees as he bought up both arms to the back of his neck, letting out a throaty guttural scream as the pain from the impact tore through his body.

  The killer had to work quickly; this was by far the most challenging of his kills. The victim didn’t collapse in complete surrender like the previous two; this one was proving a tough adversary.

  You’re making me work too hard you fucker…you need to die.

  With the victim still kneeling and conscious, the attacker quickly withdrew his knife, before bringing it up high above his head and driving it down with every ounce of energy he could offer up.

  The attack didn’t stop there; he repeatedly withdrew and thrust the dagger several times in a frenzied attack. Each lunge met with his own growl of determination. It was as if he were letting out all the years of frustration, anger and sadness on this man. The victim’s coat now drenched through excessive blood loss. Each thrust of the blade driving the victim from his kneeling position lower and lower to the floor, the shock rendering him immobile. The life drained from him.

  With the attacker spent of all energy, his muscles trembling, he stood there depleted and breathing rapidly, his eyes fixed wide open as the red mist started to clear. He hadn’t even noticed until he lent down that his underwear and trousers were already wet. The victim was lying face down motionless draped in red. He grabbed the man’s face and turned it to one side before pulling his victim’s jaw down and stuffing three twenty pound notes inside it.

  His focus was shattered as he was brought back to reality with a piercing scream that came from behind him. He spun on his knees in surprise to see the lady dog walker standing at the rear of the vehicle screaming hysterically. Her hands clenched in fists at either side of her head. Her faced fixated in a look of sheer panic and terror, a Labrador by her side anxiously pacing around staring up its owner unsure how to react to her outburst.

  Fuck what is she doing here? She’s early.

  Panic gripped him, his mind spinning faster than a centrifuge.

  What do I do… no witnesses, do I kill her, too?…think you idiot…think.

  He had to think fast. Killing her wasn’t part of his plan; he had no axe to grind with her.

  Why did you come back early?

  He knew his only option was to run. He ran right past her in the direction of Roedean Road as fast as he could. His eyes momentarily meeting hers, terror recognised in the both of them to the extent that it was hard to know who was more frightened.

  His own breath sounded as loud as the hysterical screams that echoed behind him as he put more distance between himself and the scene. He had no time to look round, he needed to get away fast. Fortunately for him it was unlikely that anyone would hear. The nearest houses were a few hundred yards away and the traffic close by drowned out her screams and cries for help.

  His work was done.

  Chapter 18

  “Go away,” he shouted.

  Why the fuck does my phone ring at the most inconvenient of times? Scott thought as he heard his mobile spring into life from the bedroom.

  He was in the middle of going through his three S’s as he called it, shit, shave, shower.

  He’d only just jumped into the shower, and thought, if it’s important they’ll ring back. When the phone stopped ringing, he smiled and carried on lathering his body. His phone rang again; yet again he chose to ignore it. On the third occasion he realised it could be important, and clumsily stepped out of the shower. Dripping wet, he reached for a towel to cover himself even though he was alone in the house.

  He grabbed his phone and saw that it was the station ringing. Scott knew it wouldn’t be good news; they rarely called unless it was an emergency.

  “Baker.”

  “Morning, sir, this is Sgt Trillo, DCI Harvey asked me to get in contact with you immediately as we’ve been called to an incident on the outskirts of town near Roedean School. There has been a fatal stabbing and she’s requested that you attend immediately.”

  “Okay, on my way. Where is it?”

  “Sir, there’s a small open-air car park on the corner of Marine Parade and Roedean Road. It’s been cordoned off and the DCI’s already ordered SOCO over there.”

  “Can you get in touch with Trent and Wilson and asked them to meet me there and tell them to get the ball rolling?”

  “Will do, sir.”

  Scott stood there for a moment deep in thought, his eyes scanning the landscape as he peered out of his window. Was this the work of our man? He seems to strike at night though.

  Just then his phone bleeped again. He looked at the screen to see it was a text message from the DCI. Her message was asking him if he’d been called, to which he fired back,

  Yes, on my way.

  DCI Harvey’s reply was almost instantaneous;

  I’m en route there now.

  Fuck, why is she heading out there?

  With that Scott raced to his wardrobe grabbing what clothes he could and dressed whilst stumbling along the corridor and downstairs to the hallway. He almost fell over by his front door whilst searching for his keys and trying to get both legs in his trousers, cursing the fact.

  ***

  As he neared the location, traffic was again slowing to see what the commotion was. Scott took a left into Roedean Road and parked up close by. There was an ambulance on scene, several police cars, two white scientific services vans and an assortment of onlookers--the majority looked like dog walkers from what Scott could see--being kept at bay by the police cordon that had been set up.

  The cordon was manned by a scene guard he recognised as PC Burgess. As he signed in and got kitted up in his forensics, Scott could see over his shoulder that both DS Trent and DC Wilson were just pulling up.

  A white tent had been erected over the 4x4 and victim to keep prying eyes away and avoid distressing the locals. The scene that greeted Scott was quite a horrific one. Two scenes of crimes officers were already taking detailed photographs of the victim, whilst a third SOCO was combing the ground in the vicinity of the 4x4 vehicle. The ambulance had its back doors open with two paramedics tending to someone inside.

  Scott approached the DCI who was already making some notes. He mused to himself how strange her short, rotund figure looked in a forensics suit. “What have we got, Ma’am?”

  “The victim was stabbed several times shortly after 7 a.m. this morning. No visible signs of an altercation or defence for that matter. We’ve got a witness, a Mrs Janet Pembleton,” she said referring to her notes, “who saw the attacker.

  She’s in the ambulance at the moment being treated for shock; she’s given a very good description of the attacker. This could be the man we’re looking for, Scott, far too many similar characteristics to ignore,” she finished with a sense of urgency clear in her voice.

  “True, there are a lot of similarities, lone male, isolated spot, stabbed from behind,” Scott said. “But he’s always attacked at night,” he added whilst looking at the surrounding area.

  Abby and Mike joined them.

  “Too many similarities to ignore, Scott. I want you and the team to move on this one quickly, it’s only happened. For all we know the attacker could still be close by, flood the sodding area if you have to,” the DCI looked at Scott with a pensive look on her face.

  “I’m heading back to the office and will contact the Chief Super to keep him informed; you keep me updated hour by hour. If this is our man he’s fucked up this time,” she said, pointing to the ambulance.

  “Mike, get onto NPAS and find out if we can get air support to scan the local area, especially up there,” Scott said, pointing to the area of scrubland and fields that lay to the left and beyond Roedean School. Scott hated using abbreviations but NPAS was
far easier to say than the national police air service.

  Mike nodded before getting onto his radio.

  “Abby, organize some uniforms to go with you to check door-to-door up there,” Scott said pointing in the direction of Roedean Way. “From where those houses are positioned, they had an elevated view over the car park and the surrounding scrubland. There’s a possibility that a resident may have seen someone acting suspiciously. Do it quickly,” the urgency apparent in his voice.

  “Guv, we can’t get air support for at least an hour, the nearest assistance is over in Worthing dealing with a failure to stop.”

  “Well it was worth a shot, but I doubt our man would be stupid enough to be hiding up there,” Scott said as he scanned the surrounding area. “Get yourself over to Roedean School,” nodding in the direction of the boarding school for girls that held an elusive, solitary and prominent position at the top of the hill to the right of the scene. “I’m going to speak to the witness.”

  ***

  The witness was sitting in the back of the ambulance, draped in a standard red NHS blanket to keep warm. She appeared to be in her mid-to-late forty’s, with light brown hair that was starting to go grey at the roots. She was dressed in a Barbour jacket, dark tight jeans and black riding boots.

  She looked up as Scott stepped into the back of the ambulance. The familiar hospital smell of disinfectant greeted him. The paramedics stepped outside to give the officer some privacy.

  Scott could see the terror that still remained in her bloodshot eyes. She had pulled the red blanket tight around her, forming a protective cocoon. She occasionally shivered, and Scott could tell from her eyes that she was still trying to comprehend the horrific scene she had just witnessed.

  “Mrs Pembleton, I’m Detective Inspector Scott Baker from Brighton CID,” Scott presented his ID, which despite her looking at it, wasn’t registering with her. Scott sat down opposite her and with a sympathetic, soft and measured tone that reflected the delicate situation asked, “May I ask you a few questions?”