Wrong Place: A gripping serial killer crime thriller. (13 page)

He crossed his heart with an extended finger. “There’s no need to go to that expense. I swear. It’s the room at the end.” Scott opened the door to reveal a small, sparsely decorated room. The room consisted of a double bed, a two-seater sofa, and a small dressing table and stool. On top of the table was a tray laden with tea and coffee-making facilities. “Fancy a coffee?”

She shrugged. “Why not?” Then she placed her handbag on the floor and flopped onto the end of the bed. “Do you always stay here when you’re in the area?”

“Now and again. Depends what calls I have to make the following day and if they’re local or not. Sugar?”

“One, thanks. What do you do?”

“I’m a… don’t laugh, underwear rep.”

She burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. Underwear as in lingerie or the type Bridget Jones likes to wear?”

He finished making the drink then handed her a cup and saucer. “Definitely the former. The sexier, the better for girls nowadays.”

Her cheeks flared up.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. That’s why I tend not to tell folks what I do for a living.”

“Oh! What do you usually say then?”

“That I’m a double-glazing rep. I generally get bombarded with light-hearted abuse when I divulge that.”

She chuckled. “Now that, I can believe. Do you get a lot of free samples to take home to your wife? You are married, I take it, a good-looking guy like you.”

He turned away from her and took a sip of his drink to contemplate his answer. “I was. She just couldn’t get used to me staying away from home five days a week. We’re going through a divorce right now.”

“Oh, dear. I’m so sorry. Could you not try and get a job closer to home? That is, if you want to save your marriage?”

“We talked about it. I told her that I’d be willing to jack this job in, just to remain married, but she said it was too late and that she’d fallen out of love with me.”

Tracy sipped her coffee. “That’s such a shame. It’s a bit like my situation with John. I think our relationship is drawing to a close if tonight’s outburst is anything to go by.”

“Have you been together long?”

“Just over two years, on and off. I think we’ve spent more time apart than together in that time. I know he uses me.”

“No! Really? For sex?”

She stared down at the cup she was holding and gulped. “Yes. Isn’t that the way all men think? With their dicks?”

Scott had just taken a drink, and he sprayed it across the room. Wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket, he apologised. “Crap! I never expected you to say that. Do you really think that’s true?”

“Of course. Don’t you? Especially nowadays. Don’t you think people have reverted to the hippie era? You know, free love or ‘putting it around,’ as I call it?”

Scott hesitated answering; he had to think fast.
Maybe you’ve made a huge mistake, buster. Perhaps this girl doesn’t spread her legs for all and sundry after all.

She coughed to gain his attention. “Hello? Penny for them?”

“I was just thinking thoroughly before I actually delivered my answer. I’m not really sure. Maybe it has been a while since I was around the dating circuit to notice. The trouble is when you’re married you feel safe, wrapped up in your own little cocoon. If you get what I mean?”

“I suppose so. Having never been married, it’s hard for me to comment on that. Do you have kids?”

Her question flummoxed him. A picture of his son filled his mind, causing him to doubt his plans. The conversation was becoming far too personal for his liking. He plucked a question of his own out of the air. “And what do you do for a living, Tracy?”

Her cheeks puffed when she blew out a long, dissatisfied breath. “I’m a petrol attendant. I work for the local Esso garage. Hate it with a passion. I only do it because it pays the bills.”

“You should aim higher in life. God loves a trier, as they say. All too often, people are just willing to plod on in this life. That’s not for me.”

She laughed. “Spoken like a true underwear rep.”

His rage sparked in his gut—he hated it when folks mocked him. He had ambitions of being a millionaire and raising his family in a huge mansion overlooking the Broads. She had no right to mock him. He placed his cup on the dressing table and excused himself. He closed the bathroom door behind him and studied his reflection in the mirror. His eyes darkened along with his thoughts of what he was going to do to that woman. Up until she had mocked him, he’d had serious doubts about going through with his plans, but her dumb remark had put paid to that. He slipped his hand into the overnight bag he’d placed in the bathroom earlier and pulled out the knife he’d stashed away in a secret pocket. He played with the knife, twisting it, and shuddered when the light caught the blade, catching his reflection in the steel. Scott had to suppress the urge to let out a Vincent Price-type laugh that he’d witnessed when his parents had allowed him to stay up on Saturday nights to watch the double-horror-film package on TV. Perhaps those days had initiated his lust for murder. He hadn’t really thought about that before.

Scott placed the knife in his trouser pocket, quietly opened the door, and peeped into the room. Tracy had put down her cup and was stretched out on the bed.
Is she giving me the come-on? Or is she prick-teasing, like all the others?
He forced himself to smile. “Made yourself comfortable, I see.”

She shot up and swung her legs off the bed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’ll take the sofa.”

She replaced her legs on the bed and looked at him shyly. “We could share.”

“Really?”

“I didn’t mean to suggest any kind of funny business. If I keep my clothes on all night, what’s the harm in sharing? I’m not likely to tell anyone. Are you?”

“No. Okay, that’s fine by me.”

She patted the bed, inviting him to join her. He pretended to drop something and bent down beside the bed, where he removed the blade from his pocket and slipped it under the bed for later. They chatted for the next hour or so, his anger ebbing in and out as she told him more about her sad and lonely life. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep. He leaned over her, resisting the temptation to kiss her. Finally, he gingerly reached under the bed and withdrew the knife. The first cut was tinged with a mixture of emotions. He covered her mouth to prevent her from screaming as he inserted the knife over and over again, sometimes viciously and at others with the gentleness of a caring lover. Either way, he watched as the life disappeared from her eyes and her arms and legs stopped thrashing.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sally kissed her mother goodbye, made a quick fuss of Dex then headed off to work. The drive took her through wide-open countryside that sparkled like coloured jewels under the sun’s early rays. She loved this part of the country and would never have dreamed of living anywhere else in the UK—that had always been a stumbling block in her marriage to Darryl. He had wanted to live down south, in London, where he could live the high life more suitable for a pilot’s image. He even ordered Sally at one point to look into leaving the Norfolk Constabulary and joining the Met, but her friend Lorne Warner had persuaded her to stay where she was if she valued her “quiet life.” In the end, Sally had insisted to Darryl that she loved policing East Anglia and would feel lost in the likes of London, where the far harder types of criminals tended to rule.

Still, even East Anglia had seen its fair share of serial killers over the years—notably the Suffolk Strangler, Steve Wright, not to mention the current case she was working. It was a sign of the times that crime was escalating, and forces, due to the cuts, were struggling to deal with their bulging caseloads. But upping sticks and moving to London had never, and would never, be an option for Sally.

Maybe that was where her marriage had started to go wrong. She had never wanted a life filled with hosting endless fancy dinner parties for all of Darryl’s friends, some snootier than others. She preferred a serene life, at the end of the day.
I’m definitely a curl-up-on-the-sofa kind of girl.
She shrugged. “And that’s how it’s going to be from now on; I’ll make sure of that. Men are definitely off the agenda for the foreseeable future.”

She pulled into the station car park as Jack arrived. Studying him as he got out of the car, she tried to work out what kind of mood she’d be dealing with during the day. Today, his broad shoulders were pulled back, not slouched, and there were no heavy bags under his eyes, which was also a good sign. “Good morning, Jack. How are things at home?”

He smiled briefly. “Let’s just say that the barricades are down, and all parties are now on speaking terms again. I hate going home to a war zone.”

They walked into the station and went up the stairs. “I don’t know anyone who really enjoys arguing. I certainly don’t. Glad things are working out for you all. Any news if Teresa is keeping the baby or not yet?”

“We’re still discussing it. The thing is, Donna really wants her to keep it.”

“And you’re not so sure?”

“Nope! Mainly because I can sense us taking care of the child more than Teresa will.”

“I would have thought that was a given. I’m sure things will sort themselves out soon.” She patted his arm. “I wonder what lies ahead of us today. At least we know the streets will be safe now that Dorling is locked up.”

“Until the next bloody serial killer surfaces. Once the media start announcing the story, it will spark something in some dumb arse’s brain! And so it continues.”

“You’re right. Still, it keeps us in a job, eh?” Sally agreed with her partner.

After issuing the team their instructions for the day, Sally entered her office and spent the next few hours dealing with a few issues that cropped up in her morning post. Halfway through the morning, Jack walked into the office. “I don’t believe it.”

“What?” Confused, Sally looked up from the form she was about to sign.

“We’ve just heard about another bloody murder.”

Sally leaned back in her chair. “Really? Where?”

“In a motel room. The girl was stabbed repeatedly.”

“Why do I sense there’s more to this story than you’re telling me, Jack?”

He tutted. “Because you know me so well. There were traces of semen left on the victim, like all the others.”

Sally bounced forward again. “
What
? That’s impossible! Dorling is tucked up safely in a cell, isn’t he? Have you checked?”

“First thing I did. Yep, he’s still behind bars. Do you think we’re looking at a copycat killer?”

She ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t effing know. Maybe the victim was killed a few days ago. Jeez… I suppose we better get over there. Have the pathologist and his team been informed?”

“They’re on their way now.”

“Okay, I have one more important form to fill in, and then we’ll shoot over there.” Sally picked up the form, scanned the page, and threw it back on the desk. “Sod it! It can wait.”

Sally and Jack rushed out of the building and drove to the location. Several cars were already at the scene, including SOCO and the pathologist’s vehicle. The whole car park was cordoned off with crime scene tape, and the motel owner, a man in his late fifties, stood in the reception office window, glowering at them.

“Hello, ma’am,” the PC guarding the motel room greeted her.

“All right, Tim?” Sally smiled at the PC and walked in to find the pathologist examining the body. “Hello, Simon. What have we got?”

“A murder,” he replied in a flash.

Sally groaned and raised her eyes at her partner. “Thanks for clarifying that. Anything I should know about?”

“Why don’t you stop going around the houses and come out and say it, Inspector? You mean, ‘Can this crime be linked to the others?’”

“Yes. I don’t have to remind you that we’ve already arrested a suspect and placed the man on remand for those crimes, do I? Do we know how long she’s been lying here?”

Simon shrugged. “Not long, a few hours. If the accused is behind bars, then in all probability, I think we could be looking at someone being a smartarse and copying.”

“Well, the location is certainly different from what we’ve come to expect. I’ll go and check with the manager, see what info I can get out of him. See you in a mo.”

“You do that.”

Sally and Jack left the room. “He seemed pretty hacked off,” Jack noted.

“Yeah, something was definitely bugging him. That’s why I chose to retreat. I’ve been on the end of one of his foul moods once too often in the past.”

Jack held open the door to the reception area for Sally. The manager was standing behind the desk, his arms folded, glaring at them. Sally showed her ID and introduced Jack and herself to the man. “What can you tell me about the person who booked the room?”

“Nothing much.”

“Come now, Mr…?”

“Chamberlain. Nothing. A regular kind of guy, that’s all.” He shrugged.

Sally glanced around the office. “No CCTV cameras, I suppose?”

“Nope. It’s on the agenda for 2030, I believe.”

“Okay, that’s not very helpful. Was the room booked for a couple or just the man?”

“Nope. If I’d known he was bringing a bit of tottie back for the night, I would have kicked up a fuss and demanded the couple rate.”

Sally hated dealing with obnoxious men. Her insides clenched with annoyance. “You’re referring to a woman who has lost her life, Mr. Chamberlain. That’s a very disrespectful comment.”

“Couldn’t give a toss, love. She shouldn’t have ended up in a motel room with a murderer, should she?”

Jack nudged Sally, urging her to remain calm. He spoke next. “If you stick to the facts and refrain from forming opinions about a dead person, we’d appreciate it.”

“What do you want to know?” the man snarled back.

“If you didn’t see the woman arrive, maybe one of the other guests did. We’ll need to question them,” Sally stated.

“No guests stayed here last night. We tend to be dead, excuse the pun, during the week. We do most of our trade at the weekends.”

“That’s a shame. Has the man ever used this motel before? Do you have his name? Did he give you an address?”

The man shuffled his feet and avoided eye contact.

Sally exhaled a breath. “Don’t tell me, he paid you cash in hand, no questions asked.”

He bared his rotten teeth in an embarrassed smile. “Like I said, trade is shite during the week. I have to make up the loss somehow.”

“You’re unbelievable. I’ll be sure to notify the nice folks down at HMRC about you trying to cheat the system. I don’t suppose you can possibly give us a description of the man, either?”

“No, you’re right. I can’t. We get lots of
ordinary
folks taking rooms. I’ve had no need to question their motives for staying here. It was the same with this guy. He offered cash, and I agreed. Report me to HMRC if you like. It ain’t gonna alter the outcome of what I can tell you, Inspector.”

“You might as well add another sign by the roadside then, telling folks that murderers are welcome just as long as they’re willing to pay in cash.”

“Smart. I might just do that,” he replied acerbically.

Jack stepped forward a few paces, but Sally tugged on his arm to restrain him. “Leave it, Jack. He’s not worth it. We’ll just make sure we cordon off the area for an extra few days. How does that grab you, Mr. Chamberlain?”

“Do what you like, the business is dead anyway. The receivers are moving in next week.”

“I’m not surprised, with the type of people skills you’re portraying. You need to find a more fitting vocation for your sucky attitude.”

“Yeah, and you need to get out there and find a killer… just saying.”

Jack intervened the warring couple again. “At least tell us what kind of car he was driving.”

The man’s eyes rolled to the side as he thought. “A dark Mondeo. That’s all I know, so don’t bother asking me for the registration number.”

“Thanks,” Jack replied.

Dissatisfied, Sally and Jack left the office.

“Well, I suppose we should be grateful he clocked the bloke’s car. Let’s see what cameras are located in the area, Jack. That car must be on at least one of them.”

“My thoughts exactly. I’ll call the station.”

“Hold on. Let’s drop back to the motel room and see if there’s an ID for the girl. You can get the next of kin info at the same time.”

Simon was leaning over the body when they entered the room. “Everything all right? Is there something else we should know about?”

“Apart from the fact that the killer is escalating, you mean?”

“It can’t be the same killer, Simon. We checked the remand centre—he’s still lying on a two-inch mattress in a cell.”

He shrugged. “Then I need to re-examine all the bodies again to see if there is any other DNA that will lead us to who the real culprit is.”

“What about the wounds? Can you tell us what the positive cause of death is?”

“A fatal wound to the heart. He exerted a lot of force, because the knife he used was of the short-bladed variety. She has bruising to the mouth where he probably held a hand over it while he carried out the attack. If that is the case, then I would say anger was his motivation.”

“Maybe she changed her mind once he enticed her into the room,” Jack offered.

“I’m more concerned if we have the right man banged up for the previous crimes at the moment. What if the DNA was wrong? Is that possible?”

“No. You know that as well as I do, Inspector,” Simon replied impatiently. “To me, despite your theory, going by the available DNA, there is no doubt that this man is guilty.”

Sally sighed. “What a mess. Then we need to rush the results through for the DNA found on her. We’re stuck until we have that.”

“I’ll do my best to rush things along due to the importance of the issue.”

“Okay. We need the woman’s ID so we can contact her relatives. Do you have it?”

Simon picked up the victim’s small handbag and removed the woman’s purse. “Let’s see… I have a credit card with the name Tracy Brand.”

“Anything with her address on?” Sally asked hopefully.

Simon pulled out a recent electricity bill with the woman’s name and address on. “Here we go. Flat two, Duchess Street, Lingwood.”

“That’s not far from here. Let’s get over there, see if anyone is at home.” Sally turned, expecting Jack to follow her. She called over her shoulder, “Two days, max, on the results, Simon, if you can.”

“I have enough welts on my back already, evidence of your slave driving,” he called after her, and she chuckled. She knew he would do all he could to get the results promptly—that set him apart from the other pathologists she’d worked with over the years.

They parked outside the woman’s flat and got out of the car. Jack rang the bell. No answer.

“I’ll nip next door, see what the neighbour can tell us.” Sally rounded the hedge and knocked on the red door, which a woman in her late sixties immediately opened, holding a yapping Yorkshire terrier. “Hello, I’m DI Sally Parker,” she shouted above the enthusiastic dog.

“Hush now, Stella. Let’s hear what the nice lady has to say.” The woman jiggled the dog in her arms until its barking ceased and was replaced by a low, intermittent growl. “There, that’s better. Sorry, dear, you were saying?”

“I’m with the Norfolk Constabulary. I was wondering if you know the resident or residents next door.”

“I do. Whatever have they done to bring the police knocking at their door?”

“Nothing. We’re simply conducting enquiries regarding a case we’re working on at present. Can you tell me the occupant’s name or names?”

“Let me think. There’s Jill and her friend, Tracy. Now don’t go asking me what their surnames are. I haven’t got a clue about that.”

“That’s really helpful. Do you know if Jill is around?”

“I wouldn’t know, dear. If there’s no answer, then I guess she must be at work.”

Sally shook her head. “There isn’t. Any idea where she works?”

“They both work at the local petrol station, the Esso one just down the road.”

“Thank you. I’ll drop by and see her. I really appreciate your help.”

“Any time, dear. Carry on doing a fabulous job keeping our streets safe, won’t you?” The woman waved Sally off.

“I’ll do my best.” Sally motioned for Jack to join her. “Apparently, Tracy shares her home with a friend named Jill. They both work nearby.”

They drove to the petrol station. Sally flashed her ID at the young woman with purple dyed hair and several piercings in her lip, serving behind the counter. “DI Sally Parker, and this is my partner, DS Jack Blackman. Are you Jill?”

She frowned and folded her arms defensively. “That’s right. Have I done something wrong?”

“Not that we know of. It’s concerning a friend of yours, Tracy Brand.”