Wrong Place: A gripping serial killer crime thriller. (10 page)

“You see, this is where experience tells us that people who commit heinous crimes like rape often come out of prison feeling as though they’ve been misjudged and go on a mission to punish yet more women. Even killing them in some cases.”

He lunged forward in his chair. “Not me. For a start, I never effing raped the girl I was convicted of anyway.”

“You can protest all you like; the evidence clearly convicted you on that case.”

“Of course your lot have never arrested and convicted the wrong person, ever, have you? Jeez, why can’t you fuckers leave me alone? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Less of the language, buster,” Jack warned. “Play nice with us, and we’ll play fairly with you.”

Dorling bared his teeth and pointed at his black eye. “Effing looks that way, don’t it?”

“Okay, this isn’t getting us anywhere. So, you’re insisting that you were alone in your room on Sunday the eighth. My next question is where were you the following night?”

“What? How the fuck should I know?” Dorling turned to his solicitor and frowned. “Do you know what’s going on here? Can they keep asking me questions without having proof that I was at the scene?”

Miss Cornwell smiled briefly at her client. “Just answer their questions.”

“Some effing help you are.” He grunted in complaint.

The brief ignored his angry comment and stared at her notebook, pen poised to make notes again.

“Here’s the thing—we do have proof that you were at the scene.” Sally smiled at the suspect, but she knew it never reached her eyes.

“And I’m telling you, you can’t have. Jesus, how many times do I have to repeat myself?”

“Going back to last week. Where were you on Monday night? That would be the ninth of March.”

“And I’ll give you the same answer—back in my room at the B&B, not that you’re going to believe me. Why? What am I supposed to have done wrong on that day? Go on, effing surprise me?”

“Well… we discovered another body of a woman in the near vicinity to Brenda Fisher’s body. Do you know anything about that victim?”

Dorling ground his teeth, his eyes widening, before he found the words to deny any wrongdoing. “No. I know nothing. Is this some kind of effing wind-up? Should I be looking for a hidden camera somewhere?”

“No, Mr. Dorling, this is no joke. I’m being serious. Yet another body was found the night after Brenda Fisher was murdered, and here’s the interesting thing, the second victim also had a present left on her body.”

“Which was?”

“We’ve yet to get this verified, but it would appear to be your DNA again.”

“What? It can’t be!” Dorling objected irately.

“I must interject there, Inspector. By the sounds of things, you’re assuming that to be the case. Without factual evidence you cannot put the blame on my client.”

“You’re right, Miss Cornwell. I think it will only be a matter of hours before the lab confirms our suspicions, though. So I thought I’d pre-empt that and ask anyway, while we have the suspect here on another charge.”

The solicitor gave Sally another warning glance then looked down at her notebook.

Dorling picked up where his solicitor left off. “I refuse to answer, in that case.”

“Like I say, it’s only a matter of time, Dorling. Now, do you want to change your story about Brenda Fisher? Did she turn you down at the pub? Is that it?”

“Christ, don’t you listen, woman? I don’t know this wench. I never left my gaff that night, as far as I can remember. As for going down the boozer, I bloody wish! I can’t afford that kind of luxury living on minimum wage and forking out for B&B accommodation. Have you any idea how much that sets me back a week? One hundred and thirty quid—that’s what! On top of that, I’m expected to find money for food.”

“If you can’t afford where you live, why did you go to a B&B instead of staying at a hostel?”

“Doh, ‘cause there was no room at the inn.”

“I see. We’re veering off track here. I’m sorry about your circumstances, but that really has nothing to do with me trying to solve this case. At the moment, you are our prime suspect in at least one murder. We’re awaiting results on two other murders. They should be with us in the next day or two.”

Dorling’s head jerked as he looked at the three people around the table, shock emanating from him in sonic waves. “What? No way! No way are you effing blaming me for
three
bloody murders. You can’t do that!” He turned to his solicitor and grabbed her arm. “Tell them. They can’t pin one bloody murder on me, let alone three.
Tell them!
”

His brief stared down at his hand until Dorling finally released his grip. “The inspector has said they’re awaiting the results from the other cases. If you know anything about the first victim, you should tell the inspector.”

“I don’t! I’m innocent. How many times do I have to say that?”

Sally could tell that Dorling was becoming angrier with every passing second. She nudged her partner with her leg; it was a code they’d devised between them. Jack knew to be on his guard in case the suspect struck out at anyone. Jack nudged her in return and pushed his chair back a little so that he was ready to pounce on the suspect if the need arose.

“Calm down, Dorling. We have the proof. All you need to tell us is what went on that evening.”

He vehemently shook his head. “Nothing. Because I wasn’t
effing
there. Here’s a fact that you need to listen to, Inspector. I haven’t been near a woman since I got out of prison. Why the fuck would I? You lay one hand on the bitches nowadays, and they shout rape. What’s the frigging point when a wank is more preferable and less trouble?”

Sally raised an eyebrow at the gross image he’d conjured up. But she saw a smattering of truth in what the man was saying. Something in her gut told her that he was telling the truth.
But the evidence?
Her inner voice objected. Thinking that they were getting nowhere fast, she asked the suspect her final question.

“Last chance, Mr. Dorling. When did you meet Brenda Fisher, on the night of March the eighth?”

His lips pulled into a thin line, and he shook his head, refusing to answer her question.

“Okay. I’m drawing this interview to a close. You’ve had your chance. You’ll be shipped out to a remand centre and appear before a judge in the next few days. By that time, the other DNA results should be with us, and we can see about adding those murder charges to the offence already brought against you.”

“Whatever! What’s the point in me trying to deny anything? There’s no point, is there?”

“Without an alibi, it looks to me like you’re up the creek.” Sally agreed, a tinge of guilt pricking her conscience when she recognised defeat in his words. She looked over at the constable standing in the corner of the room. “Take him back to his cell and make him comfortable for the night.”

After the suspect was escorted from the room, Jack went ahead to the incident room to update the team on what the suspect had told them, which was very little.

The solicitor took her time packing away her notebook. She glanced up at Sally. “When are the other results likely?”

“Within a day or two. I have to tell you that semen was found on all three bodies.”

“You don’t think it could be a case of a copycat murder going on here? My client seemed adamant that he was nowhere near the scene or had ever met this Brenda Fisher, Inspector.”

“Not possible. Copycat killings only happen once the knowledge of a crime has been circulated through the media. That isn’t the case here. We’ve held off going down that route because we wanted the DNA results verified first. I’m going to put out a plea to the public once we receive the other results. If—and it’s a very big
if
—Dorling is innocent, then the TV pleas should give us some other clues to follow up on.”

“I understand. Will you let me know once the results come back?” The solicitor handed Sally her business card.

“Of course. Thanks for attending today.”

Sally showed the woman the way out then slowly walked back upstairs to the incident room.

“Right, I need to action the forensic team to examine Dorling’s room at the B&B and his car, then I don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready for a well-deserved drink. Let’s wind things up and go to the Four Feathers, eh?”

“Sounds good to me,” Jack replied. The rest of the team nodded then tidied up their desks and switched off their computers.

“I’ll join you in a couple of minutes. I have a few things needing my attention before I call it a day.”

Jack chuckled. “In other words, folks, get the beers in before I get there.”

Sally narrowed her eyes at him. “Wait there.” She walked into her office and dipped her hand in her bag for her purse. She removed a fifty pound note, left her office and handed to Jack. “There. Wouldn’t want you being out of pocket, would we, Jack?” She turned back to her office, and mumbled loud enough for the team to hear, “Wouldn’t want your arse squeaking any louder than it does already.”

She heard the team laugh, and she struck an imaginary finger in the air, imagining her partner’s glare aimed at her retreating frame.

CHAPTER NINE

Sally spent the next hour celebrating Dorling’s arrest with the team. Feeling reservations on her part, she headed for home after consuming one glass of white wine. The team remained at the pub, engrossed in their jubilation of yet another case completed successfully. Sally pulled into the parking space at her flat then walked the hundred yards or so to her door. She stopped dead when she rounded the corner and saw the front door of her flat.
Damn! Darryl. What the hell does he want?

Her ex-husband was banging on the door with his clenched fist, shouting out her name, and demanding to be let in. Two thoughts crossed her mind: either ring for backup and get him arrested for disturbing the peace or usher him into the flat before her neighbours got pissed off and called the police themselves.

Not wanting to feel uncomfortable with her new neighbours, Sally sucked in a large breath and approached her ex-husband. “Darryl? What are you doing here?”

He swayed a little when he turned to look at her, obviously drunk. “There you are. Sally, my darling wife! Come ‘ere.” He reached for her, but she slapped his hand away.

“I asked you what you’re doing here, Darryl?”

“I’ve come to see you. What a silly question, dearest,” he slurred, his voice rising. His eyes screwed up as he tried to focus on her.

Reluctantly, she pushed him through the front door ahead of her, glancing over her shoulder to see if any of her neighbours had come out to investigate the noise. Luckily, none of the neighbours had stirred.

Once she was inside, the old feelings of wariness she’d thought were buried suddenly resurfaced. She herded Darryl into the small living room then rushed past him into the tiny kitchen to put the kettle on. She knew that the only solution when he was in this state was to force gallons of black coffee down his neck. She returned to the living room to find him swaying in the centre of the room, repositioning his feet every few seconds as he surveyed all four corners of the living room. “This is
shit
.”

“I agree.” She left the room to prepare the coffee when she heard the switch sound on the kettle.
Keep calm, girl. Let him say what he likes. You know what happens when you challenge him.
With her inner voice’s instructions foremost in her mind, she returned to the living room and placed the two mugs of black coffee on the small table. She invited Darryl to sit in the only comfortable chair, volunteering to sit at the small table herself. But Darryl dropped lopsidedly into the other chair around the round table and just stared at her. Sally pushed his cup towards him.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because it looks as though you need sobering up.”

“Not the damn coffee.” He struck the mug with the back of his hand and sent it hurtling across the room, where it hit the newly painted wall.

“That’s enough, Darryl,” she said, fear causing her voice to tremble.

“Is it?” he snarled, baring his sparkling white teeth, which he’d recently spent a fortune on, in spite of their hefty debts.

“What do you want? Why are you here?”

“I want
you
. You’re my
wife.
You belong to
me
.”

Sally shook her head and let out her breath slowly.
Keep calm. Don’t let his temper escalate.
“You’re wrong. I don’t belong to anyone, Darryl. I’m my own person. I also have a decree absolute stating that we’re no longer husband and wife.”

He leaned over the table, his face inches from hers, until she had the courage to pull away and recline against the back of her chair. Her heart raced, outrunning her thoughts. Experience told her what to expect when he was drunk and angry.

“We were married and remain married in the eyes of the church. I won’t let a shitty piece of paper come between us. You hear me?”

“I don’t want any trouble, Darryl. You have no right being here. The judge went out of his way to tell you to leave me alone. All I want to do is get on with my life, a stress-free life from now on.”

“We can do that together. Live together as a married couple again. Why not?” His brow furrowed deeply.

“It’s over. We’re over. Why can’t you accept that and just get on with your life?”

He rose from the table. Her stomach muscles clenched nervously when he moved towards her and towered over her. She stared ahead, focusing on the kitchen doorway instead of being drawn to look at him. He shuffled back and forth, as if trying to decide what to do next, then thankfully, returned to his seat. She swallowed, remoistening her dry throat.

“Why?” he repeated. “What went wrong?”

You name it, you did it. Anything and everything from gambling, drinking, womanising to frittering away all our money on ‘dead-cert money-making ideas’ your loser friends insisted you should invest in.
“It’s simple. We fell out of love. There’s no need to search long and hard to find a reason, Darryl. We simply grew apart.”

“I didn’t. I’ve ached for you every day since we parted. A pilot’s life can be a very lonely existence. You just couldn’t get your head around that.”

“Is that why you turned to work colleagues in your times of need?” She flinched when the words emerged from her mouth. If she could have bitten her tongue in two at that moment, she would have happily done so as she watched his eyes widen in anger.

“You’re wrong. What are a few drinks after a long flight?”

“It wasn’t the drinks that concerned me. The selfies the pair of you took screwing each other this way and that were your undoing. They pushed me over the edge.”
Shit! Now you’ve riled him. Why don’t you learn to keep your mouth shut?

He stood, tipping his chair backwards. He marched towards her, quickly covering the divide between them, and grabbed her jacket lapels before she had the chance to escape. Darryl hauled her to her feet. Their noses, as well as other parts of their bodies, touched. She made a point of staring into his angry eyes as she felt his erection grow against her thigh.
Please no. Not again. Don’t let him hurt me.
All the police training she’d been through over the years seemed to dissipate at that instant, just as it had deserted her throughout their abusive marriage.
For once in your life, stick up for yourself. Don’t let him harm you anymore.
Her inner voice demanded action, and she followed through on that advice.

She pushed at his chest, catching him off-guard. He toppled onto his backside on the floor, dazed. She leaned over him and shouted, “No more. You’ll
never
lay another hand on me. Do you understand?”

Darryl appeared to relax, but she refused to drop her guard, thinking that he was playing a trick on her. Finally, she backed away and dropped into her chair again. He gently got to his feet, still swaying a little, and returned to his chair.

“I’m sorry. Why can’t we just talk and try and work things out?” he pleaded softly.

“Because it’s over.
O
…
V
…
E
…
R
. Over, Darryl. When are you going to realise that?”

“But I still love you. I can’t switch my love off like a light switch. You love me, too, right?”

Sally looked him in the eye and shook her head slowly. “No. I don’t love you. Over the years, you’ve destroyed any respect or love I ever had for you. The truth is, I fell out of love with you a year after we got married. I didn’t have the heart to tell you, though. I’m not as stupid as you think I am. I knew you were screwing half the stewardesses on your trips, but I was so engrossed in my own work that I chose to ignore it. But those selfies brought everything to a head, and I could no longer put up with your womanising ways. I think half the time you believe you have the right to dip your dick where it suits. I have news for you, Darryl—you don’t. For my own safety, I had to call a halt to it. Haven’t you noticed over the past few years how many times I refused to have sex without you wearing a condom? I was scared of what disease you might infect me with. Yes, that might be an OTT reaction, but the thought of you screwing every stewardess you came into contact with used to fill me with disgust. I no longer have to face such fears, now that I’m
single
.”

“Who is he?” he spat at her.

“What? What the fuck are you talking about? You think I have another man in my life, when I’ve had to deal with all the shit you’ve poured on me lately? Christ, if only you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Knew how you’ve succeeded in putting me off men for life. I swear I will never let a man get under my skin again. Never.”

“Yeah, you say that now. You will. No woman can live without having sex in their lives. You need us as much as we need you.”

“Really? How nineteenth century of you to even suggest that. You really have no idea. In your eyes, women are there to be used and abused at will, aren’t they? Be honest with me.”

His gaze drifted and in that moment, she knew she’d summed up her ex accurately for the first time in her life. How refreshing it was to have the freedom to do that since the divorce papers were finally signed.

“I loved you. I still love you, and I
will
get you back in my bed one day,” he replied, defiantly wringing his hands together on the table.

She stood up and motioned for him to leave. “No, I can categorically say that will never happen again. I despise you, Darryl. You ruined my life, the life we shared. We had it all, and you shattered it with your selfishness. Now get out of here and don’t come back.”

His shoulders slumped as he made his way to the front door. She kept her distance behind him. He opened the door and twisted to talk to her. She jumped back a few paces. He frowned. “Is that it? Is that what it has come to? That you fear me? Fear being within a few feet of me?”

“That about sums it up, Darryl, yes.”

He turned to face the front door again, but instead of walking through it, he slammed it shut. The next few seconds passed by in a flash. She had foolishly lowered her guard enough for him to get close again. His movements were like lightning.
Was he pretending to be drunk all along?
Within seconds, he had pinned her underneath him to the living room floor, his hand pressed firmly over her mouth, preventing her from screaming.
Please, don’t let him do this to me. Not again!