Uncompromising, gritty, thrilling, and not for the faint hearted! British detectives suspect a serial killer is on the loose. With the support of American profiler Dr Tessa Davies, they soon realize that this could be the work of a druidic sect.
Please enjoy another chapter of my dark crime novel, Death Marks . For now, I will post a chapter every Monday and Thursday.
Other Chapters
Don’t worry if you miss any chapters, since you will find links to other posted chapters here:
Death Marks
Chapter 5
The Present
Frustrated, Redd pushed the file to one side. He looked up, as Dove in a fresh blue top matching the denim skirt, entered the office. His voice tense, he said, ‘It’s nearly four days now. Forensics are taking their bloody time.’
Tiredness painted violet shadows beneath her eyes. ‘The teams are searching the hills around the forest, boss, got the Chichester stations on it as well; then there are volunteers going over every blade of grass.’
‘What about O’Connell and Owen?’
‘They’ve covered all the dives, massage parlors, brothels, and the surrounding districts; Brighton, Littlehampton, Bognor, Chichester, bugger all. It seems we’re dealing with ghosts.’
‘People are zipping up. Don’t want to draw attention; these are vicious killers.’
‘Yeah, even the snitches don’t wanna know.’
‘Christ, you’d think with such grisly murders, there’d be someone with a conscience.’
‘Everyone’s scared, stiff, Sir. I mean entrails? Sounds like a voodoo sacrifice. People don’t want to be seen talking to the Plod. It might be their head rolling in the Downs. ‘
‘Yeah, it isn’t in the papers yet, but everyone knows. At least we’ve managed to keep the decapitations under wraps. Jack’s checking out the mobsters and gang leaders. He speaks the language.’
‘Prossies just button up when you go near them. Uniforms say they’re frightened; they don’t want their knee caps broken.’
As Dove handed him a steaming cup of coffee, he said, ‘chase toxicology, they promised they’d rush it through, what the fuck’s wrong with them, got their heads up their arses?’
Dove remained silent, now used to the boss’s flare-ups. ‘It’s as silent as a graveyard out there.’
‘Yeah. Four days and nothing. I thought with the Baker boy we might be getting somewhere.’
The internal phone buzzed. ‘Huh, Michele. Yes?’
Dove listened on the intercom. ‘Guv, the desk has a woman on the line. Says she knows the Baker boy met a new girl.’
Redd glanced over to Dove, giving a thumbs up, his eyes brightening. ‘Put her on.’
The girl’s voice held a tremor as she spoke over the intercom. ‘You the dick in charge of the murder case?’
‘Yes, speaking.’
‘Well, I knew the guy who got done in, my friend went to a night-club with him. I have not seen her around for about a week or so, you know. I’m getting worried.’
‘Have you her name and address?’
‘Delle Woodhouse, Trevelyan Heights, Flat 6. St. George’s Block.’
Redd grabbed a pen, scribbling it down. ‘Okay, thank you and your name and address, please.’
The girl’s voice rose; her fear was evident. ‘I told the plod on the desk I ain’t giving out my name and stuff. I’m only trying to help.’
‘We’ll only contact you if it’s necessary, okay?
‘Alright, Tracy Thomas. 12 Coxgrove Street, Brighton.’
‘We’ll need your phone and cell numbers, please.’ The phone went dead. ‘Damn. She’s put the phone down on me.’ Dialing through to the desk, he said, ‘Trace that call I just had, Sergeant.’
Looking at Dove, he said, ‘bet she gave a false address. Fuck. Let’s get going.’ Pushing his chair back, Redd reached for his jacket.
‘I expect her cell was a throwaway.’
Trevelyan Heights was the product of a nanny government scheme. Once the Town Council’s joy, it was the dream of some anal-retentive architect from the seventies. His idea of outré design being a rectangular box wrapped in concrete. The trailblazing squares and angles now jutted out stark and grey, the cracked plaster-like barnacles on a dead whale.
Getting out of the car, Redd looked over the sleek lines of his pride and joy, an Audi A6 Coupe, brilliant black. He wanted it to remain bright black, so he sauntered over to a couple of teenagers sitting on the kerb, their hands swiftly disappearing into pockets, faces contorted, as they tried to swallow the smoke. Redd smiled, his expression bland, as he smelt the cannabis. ‘Hey, want to earn a fiver – just watch the wheels, okay?’
The kid with a number one haircut and bum fluff goatee screwed up his eyes; the obligatory peaked cap pulled down to his eyes. ‘You having a laugh? Tenner more like it.’
Raising his eyebrows, Redd held out the fiver. ‘Last chance.’
The kid stood up, hand outstretched, the fiver disappearing into his top pocket. As Redd turned, he swiftly whipped off the boy’s cap and grabbed his wrist looking at the tattoo that marked him as a Red Cut Gang member. ‘Just for insurance.’
As they walked away, Dove heard the boy say, ‘Fucking filth, do his fucking car in.’
Dove muttered, ‘should have given the little bastards a tenner.’
Redd shook his head, waving the cap. ‘Nah, they know we’re police; they won’t chance me hauling them in.’
After ringing the bell twice, the peeling blue painted door remained closed. Dove looked through the small window covered with a grimy net curtain. ‘Someone’s just turned down the sound on the TV.’
Ringing again, Redd flicked open the letterbox. ‘Open up, police.’
Silence reigned. Irritated, Redd shouted again, ‘Look, we know you’re in there. Come on, open up.’
Hearing shuffling footsteps, they stood back as the door opened. A woman in her late thirties, with thinning brown hair dragged back in a ponytail, peered at them, ‘Yeah?’
‘Chief Inspector Redd and Detective Sergeant Dove. We need to speak to you.’
‘You wanna ask about that slag of a daughter of mine, don’cha?’
Copyright.
No part of this book may be stored, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the express permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © Katy Walters
All rights reserved
Other Chapters
Don’t worry if you miss any chapters, since you will find links to other posted chapters here:
