Nameless Kill (4 page)

Brian smirked. Probably shouldn’t have seeing as it was a bit of an insult, but it made him laugh. Dead Eye Bri was what Hannah called him when he was obsessing about something. She said his eyes went glassy, like his mind was anywhere other than in the room with her. He looked at her. Looked at her soft skin, her shiny hair, her big, beautiful eyes, and he wanted her so bad. “Let’s see how dead-eyed I am when I’m…”

He stopped speaking. Not by choice, but because of the tightness in his chest. He clasped a hand to his chest. Coughed. Felt tingling all the way down his arms. The kitchen around him blurred. He heard sharp, rustling noises in his ears, smelled something sweet, tasted metal.

“Bri? You okay?”

And then it was over. Just like that, it was over. He was back in the room. The tightness had gone. His heart was pounding strongly, but he was okay. Hannah was looking at him, frowning with concern. He felt a cold bead of sweat dribbling down his head.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. He took a deep breath and yawned, struggling to make a fist with his shaky hand. “I just…‌just a long day. Think I’ll take a lie down for an hour. If that’s okay.”

Hannah looked at him for a few seconds with those big, concerned eyes. Then, she half-smiled and nodded. “I’ll be up there in an hour or two. Better be awake.”

Brian forced a laugh. He turned to the kitchen door and walked out.

He held his smile as he got to the bottom of the stairs, as he climbed up the stairs, and as he entered the bathroom and locked the door.

Then, as he turned on the cold tap in the bathroom, he had to take a few shaky breaths to calm himself down, and rubbed at his chest.

He’d be okay. It was just a bit of tightness. Just a long, long day.

He splashed his face with the cold water that had built up in the white marble sink.

As he did, he couldn’t get the image of that wool, sheep-like mask wrapped over the dead girl’s head from out of his mind.

Chapter Five

Brian sat at his desk as the busyness of a Monday morning radiated around the office.

He’d been sat at his computer for fuck-knows-how-long, bitter taste of black coffee lingering on his tongue, waiting for some kind of information on the Avenham Park case. Nothing had come back from the witness questioning at the cafe yesterday. Nothing from the search and questioning of the surrounding houses. A girl, around seventeen, eighteen, surely
had
to exist. The missing persons’ reports would help. They were something he’d have to press on with and look into.

He scratched at his neck as he stared at the empty computer screen. The chattering of other officers passed by him. He might be SIO on the Avenham Park case, but the world didn’t stop for him. He was just a part of a larger picture.

But something had to show up. It just had to.

“McDone. Fancy seeing you so glass-eyed this morning.”

Brian turned to his left and saw the familiar smirk of Stephen Molfer. He was growing a bit of a beard, which was turning ginger in places. He smelled of strong aftershave‌—‌so strong that it made Brian turn away just to get a breath of fresh air.

Molfer slapped down a few sheets of paper onto the desk. When Brian had gulped down a few breaths of fresh air, he turned around and looked at them, Molfer still smirking away.

“What’ve you got for me, Stephen?”

“Nothing at all,” Stephen said. He fanned out the papers across the desk with his spindly fingers like a magician spreads his cards. “We spoke to every one of the eighty-nine people that were out for a nice sunny day-trip on Avenham Park yesterday. Not one of them knew a thing about our dead girl, and‌—‌just listen to this‌—‌each and
every
one of them has an alibi.”

Brian’s stomach sank. Part of it was just that DS Molfer was the one delivering this bad news to him. They might’ve put their differences aside after what happened with Darren Anderson, but there was still a bit of friendly competition about the pair.

And the look on Molfer’s face when Brian got the DI job. Priceless. Ruddy priceless.

Brian sighed and leaned back into his leather chair. “Any…‌anything from the houses on Avenham Road? Some of those old posh houses practically shit onto the park they’re so close. Can’t help but believe somebody must’ve seen summat.”

Price shrugged. He scratched at his gingering beard. “Your assistant SIO kiddo had a team out there earlier. But y’know what that place is like. People aren’t so cooperative, especially when they see police uniform. Must’ve been about ten, fifteen houses we didn’t get to speak to.”

Brian leaned forward. He plucked the lid off a pen and scratched against his yellowing notepad to get the words “Recheck houses” down. More for show, than anything. More to show Molfer he was organised. He was capable.

“We’ll re-check the houses this afternoon. Until then, anything on the girl? Missing persons? Or there must be something on that…‌that uniform of hers.”

Molfer shrugged and lifted his hands. “Hey, I’m not your deputy here. Want to chat to that kid you’ve taken under your wing. Reminds me of you, actually.” He smirked. Let out a little chuckle.

Brian wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“He’s a good officer,” Brian said, looking over towards Brad’s vacant desk, so neat, so tidy, not a loose scrap of paper on show. “Troubled, but aren’t we all. Where is he, anyway?”

Molfer started to walk away. “Not seen him all day.”

“Wait. I thought you said he ordered a search on the‌—‌”

“By phone call,” Molfer said. He stuck out his bottom lip and shrugged again. “Like I say, not seen him all day. See you, anyway.”

Brian nodded. Pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled down to Brad. “Yeah.”

He hit Brad’s name on his touch screen iPhone and brought the phone to his ear. Where the fuck was he? He was supposed to be in even earlier than Brian this morning. If he was going to be Deputy SIO on this case‌—‌shit, the
actual
main officer when Brian was on holiday‌—‌he was going to have to learn to show his face.

The dialling tone rang. And rang. And rang.

“Welcome to Tesco Mobile voicemail. The person you called is not‌—‌”

“Fucking slacker,” Brian mumbled, yanking the phone away from his ear and cancelling the call.

“Want to say that to my face?”

Brian looked up. Brad was standing right at the edge of Brian’s desk. His hair looked even curlier and greasier than it had yesterday, and he reeked strongly of sweat and alcohol. His little finger twitched as he rested his hand on Brian’s desk.

Brian moved back in his chair and let out a breath of relief. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“I’m here now,” Brad said. He reached over to the opposite desk and pulled a chair over. Some of the officers looked at him with furrowed brows, another of them covering their nostrils with their fingers. Brad didn’t seem to give a shit.

“Well you need to be here earlier,” Brian said, straightening himself upright. “If‌—‌if you’re going to lead this case, you need to‌—‌”

“I called in and made sure a team went down to the houses on Avenham Road and did a door-to-door on potential witnesses. Where were you this morning? Having a lie-in?”

Brian bit his tongue as Brad stared intently into his eyes with bloodshot eyes of his own.

“That’s…‌that’s beyond the point,” Brian said, lifting his notepad and planting it back down on the desk as heat invaded his face. “It’s the principle.”

“Principle. Right. Did anything come of those door-to-door searches?”

Brian had to bite his tongue even harder this time as he stared back at the cocky, glassy-eyed shit. He wanted to tell him to stop being such an arsehole. To grow a pair and get over whatever personal problems he had that were bringing him to work reeking of booze.

But then he thought of himself. He thought of his response when a fellow officer pulled him up for his appearance in the past.

“Do I look like I give a fuck?”

“We’re going to have to have another scan of those houses. A good number of them didn’t have anyone home. And then we’re going to get in touch with the pathologists and get them down to the scene, then have a look at the missing persons reports‌—‌”

“Already have.” Brad planted a piece of paper of his own on Brian’s desk. “Had a team do a search. Entire Lancashire area.” He paused. Leaned back. Tapped his muddy black shoes on the floor, waiting for a response from Brian.

“And?”

“And,” Brad said, folding his arms, “there’s a good bunch of missing girls aged 14-25. You know how it is. Prostitution, runaways‌—‌that sort of thing. But the thing is, not a single one of these 14-25 year olds match the girl we found in Avenham Park yesterday.”

Brian shook his head. He scanned the printed document‌—‌a list of names, descriptions, etcetera.

“How…‌We can’t know for sure. She has to be one of these girls. A girl her age has family. Friends. She doesn’t just go missing.”

Brad leaned in closer. He looked to his left and then to his right. “You saw the birthmark, didn’t you?”

Brian frowned even more. Felt even more puzzled. “How…‌What do you mean ‘the birthmark’? Have forensics told you that? I haven’t notified the pathologist to check the body‌—‌”

“She had a birthmark right under her left eye,” Brad whispered. “While you other officers were busy freaking out like little girls, I noticed it. And the pathologist will notice it, too, as soon as they get back to us. But I’ve noticed it already. And because of noticing it, I can tell you for a fact that not one of these missing girls‌—‌their parents or guardians we’ve spoken to‌—‌had a birthmark the size of a brazil nut under her left eye.”

Brad pulled away. A cloud of alcohol stench descended as he moved.

Brian looked down at the papers. Then, he looked back at Brad, back at the papers again. A good hundred or so unresolved missing persons reported in the last twelve months, and not a single one with a distinguishing birthmark feature.

How did a girl of her age simply disappear without a trace?

And why did nobody seem to care?

Chapter Six

Brian joined Brad and a few other officers on a return trip to the houses surrounding Avenham Park later that morning. He was getting sick of sitting there in that office waiting for shit-all to happen. He’d contacted the pathologists requesting they visited the scene. He didn’t want them tampering with any potential evidence by moving the body just yet, especially with forensics down there doing their thing, but he wanted the pathologists to see the body in its current position, its current state.

Besides, there weren’t many other leads to go on, not yet, so he might as well check out one or two of the houses with HtoH.

Brad seemed even less willing to stay in the office twiddling his thumbs. Made for a drastic combination.

It was another warm day in Preston. Muggy today, though. Cloudy. Smelled like it was going to rain any moment. Kind of like that smell you get when you land in a foreign country and step out into the heat for the first time.

Only this definitely wasn’t any foreign country. Well, it kind of was judging by the demographics around here.

“22 Rawlinsons Road is just up here on the left,” Brad said, scanning the addresses on a long paper list in front of him as he, DS Carter‌—‌the assigned HtoH officer for this case‌—‌and a newer officer called DC Finch, walked down the vacant pavement towards the line of red-brick council houses up on the left.

“Brad, give it a fucking rest,” DS Carter said, her eyes narrowed. “We know our way around Preston, alright?”

Brad muttered something under his breath. DC Finch sniggered. He had bright ginger hair spiked up like kids did in the late nineties.

“If you were rich enough to own one of these houses, why the hell would you choose to live with a cesspit on your doorstep?” Brian said. He looked at the row of posh detached houses lining Avenham Park, tall green trees towering over them. It was like bloody Rio de Janeiro here‌—‌look to the right and you saw riches. Look to the left and you saw the lane to poverty.

“Or you can think of it another way,” DS Carter said, kicking a loose stone across the simmering road like a rebellious teenager. “If you were only poor enough to live opposite these posh houses, wouldn’t you move here? Good view at least. And if you were kind enough, might get a nice brew or two from the neighbours.”

DC Finch sniggered at this, too. Practically salivating over DS Carter, he was. Dirty bastard.

“22 Rawlinsons,” Brad said, taking a look at the list of unchecked houses then looking up at the large, green-painted steel gate. There were bushes and flowers lining the pavement up to the house, which looked like stepping stones atop water. At the large, wooden door with an archaic bronze handle, a CCTV camera pointed right down the pavement. Wise, in truth. Brian sure as shit wouldn’t live around here in a big posh house without any CCTV.

“Any ID on who lives here?” Brian asked.

Brad scooted his way down the paper. “Mrs…‌Mrs. Delforth. Aged seventy-six. Husband was Mr. Felix Delforth. Died thirty years ago.”

Brian sighed, a little more audibly than he’d intended. “And she’s the only one of the poshies you haven’t spoken to?”

Brad looked at DS Carter and DC Finch. Both of them nodded.

“Checked every one of these posh houses,” DS Carter said. She rolled her lips into a pout so that the protruding brown mole atop her lip stuck out. Brian wasn’t entirely sure why. “Called at each of them, asked if they’d seen or heard a thing, made a note of their identities. Gave them the sheet off HOLMES, etcetera etcetera. And of course they hadn’t seen a thing.”

“Who ever has?” Brad muttered, peering over at the grey brick of 22 Rawlinsons.

Brian sighed and took a few steps towards the heavy steel gate. Beside it, there was a little metal box with a speaker on it, and a few numbers for a keycode. “Might as well give the old woman a shot. Might get a brew out of her. You’re inputting the info into the system later though, Brad. I’m shit at typing.”

“Course you are,” Brad said, as Brian pressed the circular metal button to ring the doorbell of 22 Rawlinsons. “Thought you might be.”