Kill Chase (A Detective Ryan Chase Thriller Book 1) Read online

  “It’s a lot less glamourous than it sounds,” she said. “Lots of paperwork and phone calls.”

  “I see.”

  “But it does tend to make me suspicious of people, especially ones who turn up unannounced when my brother is home alone.”

  “It was announced. I phoned and left a message on your answerphone.”

  Mallory frowned and took her mobile from her pocket. “I don’t have any messages.”

  “Sorry, it must have been your house phone.”

  She crossed into the kitchen where their phone was located. Sure enough, a message blinked on the inbuilt answering machine.

  “Ah, right. I guess I should make you a cup of tea.”

  “Only if it’s no bother.”

  “It’s fine.” She could do with one herself or even something a little stronger, but she wasn’t about to offer him a beer.

  She motioned at the kitchen table. “Take a seat.”

  Mallory busied herself with boiling the kettle and dropping tea bags into cups.

  Daniel took paperwork out of his bag. “So, it says here that you’re looking for respite care for Ollie?”

  “Yes, that’s right. Our parents have been helping out during the times I’ve had to work late, but they’re both getting older and struggle to get out and about now. Ollie’s very independent.” She threw her brother a smile. “Aren’t you, Ollie? And he’s more than capable of spending time alone, but during those late hours when no one is around, I do worry. I’d love to have someone I can call just to pop around if I’m getting caught up with work and can’t make it home.”

  Their parents had been older when they’d had Mallory and had been well into their forties when Oliver had arrived unexpectedly. Now they were in their seventies and they both had health issues that they had to cope with each day, and as easy as Oliver was to live with, he did have his challenges, and it had been too much for them. Mallory had been the one to suggest Oliver stay with her instead. It had got her out of the crappy student house she’d been sharing at the time. She’d been worried that she wouldn’t have been around enough for Oliver because of her job, but their parents still came around whenever they could, and they got some help from the government, too. Besides, Oliver might have Down’s, but he still had some independence. Mallory could trust him to get himself up and dressed out of the house and to work on time. She preferred that he didn’t do any cooking, but he could make himself a sandwich and pour himself cereal in the morning.

  He nodded. “That sounds reasonable. We would need to make it a set number of times per week, though, say like two? Obviously, our resources aren’t unlimited.”

  “That would be fine. I mean, I appreciate any help I can get.”

  He paused for a moment, as though wondering if he should keep his mouth shut, and then said, “You know respite care doesn’t just have to be for work. It’s important as a caregiver that you take care of yourself as well. Many people use the time to go out for dinner with friends, or to a class of some kind. No one would want you getting carer’s fatigue.”

  “Ollie’s no bother, and I do get out for the odd drink with work colleagues. Just the one, though. I know I have responsibilities.” She didn’t want him to judge her for going for a drink when perhaps she should have been hurrying home to her brother.

  “What about you, Ollie?” Daniel said. “How would you feel about myself or one of my colleagues popping around a couple of times a week for a cup of tea and a chat?”

  Ollie shrugged. “I don’t mind. You can help me with my jigsaw puzzle.”

  “Sure, we’d love that.”

  “Ollie has a table on wheels where he does them,” Mallory explained. “Means he can move them from room to room.”

  “That sounds sensible.” He checked his notes again. “And it says here that you work as well, Ollie?”

  “Yes, I do. I work with Mr Thompson.”

  “Down at the hardware shop,” Mallory added. “He really enjoys it.”

  “I love it. I work really, really hard.” Ollie struggled to say his ‘r’s and the words came out as wheely. “Mr Thompson got cross with me today. The ladder went fell down. I didn’t mean to. Wasn’t my fault.”

  She hated to see the downward tug of Oliver’s mouth.

  “Hey, accidents can happen to anyone. Was anyone hurt?”

  “No, it just made a really big bang, and everyone jumped like this.” Ollie jerked up into the air, his arms flying, and Mallory couldn’t help but smile.

  “Oh, well, I’m sure if no one was hurt, it’s all fine. You’ll just have to be more careful.”

  Her first instinct was to contact Oliver’s boss and ask him what Ollie was doing up a ladder in the first place, but she forced herself to hold back. Ollie wanted to be considered as valuable a member of the staff as anyone else, and he wouldn’t like it if she interfered every time the moment something went even the slightest bit wrong.

  One of the best things about living with Oliver was how he believed the world to be a good place. It was a tonic against all the horrible things she had to see every day, all the hate people had for each other, and the terrible things they did. She worried about him walking home from work, though, fearful he’d become a victim of all the hate crimes that happened these days, but it was important Oliver had his freedom. He wasn’t a child, and even though she’d always see him as her baby brother, she had to remind herself of that.

  “It’s great that you’re so independent, Ollie,” Daniel said. “But your sister works long hours, huh?”

  “Yes, but not her fault. She’s a detective. Like on TV.”

  Mallory laughed. “It’s really nothing like on TV. If they made those shows like real life, it would be hour after hour of us all sitting at a desk doing paperwork.” Her thoughts went to the memory of the dismembered body parts she’d seen in the mortuary. There was no way she’d ever let that part of her life creep into Ollie’s.

  Daniel scribbled something down on a piece of paper. “Sounds like you could do with a little extra company here then.”

  “Our mum and dad come round, too,” Oliver said, “but they’re getting old and then can be kind of grumpy. They tell me to do things I don’t want to do, and then they get angry.”

  Mallory nodded in agreement. “They can get a bit impatient these days. It’s not their fault. And Oliver can be very stubborn, can’t you, Ollie?”

  Oliver shook his head repeatedly.

  Mallory continued, “When you don’t want to do something, you do act like you haven’t heard what’s being said to you, and that can get frustrating for people sometimes.”

  She meant that. Their parents had done a great job raising her and Ollie, but people their age weren’t supposed to still be looking after someone. And as much as she adored Ollie, he could be maddening sometimes—just like anyone could be.

  Daniel rifled through some of his papers. “Okay, well that all seems fine. I’ll need to get some paperwork sorted and will need your signature, but otherwise we can get something in place for you within the next week or so.”

  She sank back in the kitchen chair. “Thank you. I’m sorry about how I acted when I first came home, too.”

  He waved a hand. “Not at all. It’s completely understandable that you’re protective over Oliver, especially considering your job.”

  “Thanks.” She rose from her chair. “I’ll see you out, shall I?”

  “Nice to meet you, Ollie,” Daniel said.

  “Nice to meet you, too, Daniel.”

  Mallory walked Daniel to the front door.

  “If you’re a detective,” he said as he followed, “did you hear about what was going on down at Conham River Park today?”

  Her shoulders stiffened. “I’m afraid I really can’t talk about that.”

  He didn’t seem to hear her. “A fisherman found an arm? Is that right?”

  “I’ll watch out for that paperwork,” she said instead, and opened the front door.

  He
finally realised he wasn’t going to get anything out of her. “Yes, of course. We’ll be in touch.”

  He left, and Mallory shut the front door and released a breath. This was a good thing, she tried to tell herself. It was good for Ollie to have more people in his life. So why did she feel like she was trying to hand him over to a complete stranger?

  Chapter Twelve

  Ryan got into work in the morning to find a couple of brightly coloured packages sitting on his desk.

  “What’s all this?” he asked.

  “It’s your birthday, remember?” Mallory said, watching him from her chair.

  He checked the date on his computer. Shit. So it was. He’d completely forgotten. Not that he had any reason to want to remember. It wasn’t something he bothered to acknowledge anymore.

  “One year closer to fifty isn’t exactly something I want to celebrate,” he said.

  But Mallory didn’t appear the least bit discouraged. “Go on, open them.”

  Other members of his team had also noticed his arrival and gathered around, calling out ‘happy birthday, boss’ to him, and encouraging him to open the presents. He rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at his cheeks.

  He opened the first one to discover a box of ‘Just for Men’. “Gee, you shouldn’t have. Just what I wanted.”

  Mallory perched on the edge of his desk. “Well, you are getting more grey than dark-brown now. You’re starting to look like that singer in the old eighties band, the one who sang about gold.”

  “Spandau Ballet,” Ryan filled in for her.

  She grinned. “Yes, that’s the one. Open the next one.”

  There was a card signed by all his team as well, and a bag in the obvious shape of a bottle of booze. He opened it to find an expensive bottle of red wine inside.

  “Thanks everyone. I think I might hold off on the hair dye until I actually hit fifty, though.”

  “Ah, spoil sport. If you’re lucky, I might even buy you a cupcake with a candle in it later.”

  “Thanks. Can’t wait.” He sounded sarcastic, but he did appreciate that she’d made an effort for him, even if she was ripping it out of him at the same time. It wasn’t as though he had any family left who would bother.

  His phone buzzed, and he checked it to find a text from Donna. “Happy birthday. Hope you have a good day.”

  At least she’d remembered. He wondered what she imagined he’d be doing. Did she think he lived like a carefree bachelor now, out in the bars and clubs all evening, picking up women who were far too young for him. Nothing could be further from the truth.

  “Okay, enough of the celebrations,” he said. “Let’s get up to speed with where we are on the Conham Park case.” He filled them in on what they’d learned about Jacob Tater. “We believe these two more recent cases may be linked back to one from ten years ago. Paint fragments were found on each of the body parts. We need to ask ourselves why. Where did the paint come from?”

  Mallory spoke up. “I’ve requested for each sample of the paint fragments to be analysed in the hope we can narrow it down to one distinct supplier, but we’ll be lucky if that happens.”

  “Good,” Ryan said. “In the meantime, I want everyone to put their heads together and come up with a list of where people use paint. Hardware shops, artists, car repair shops, decorators. Maybe the paint came from where the body parts were stored before they were disposed of, or perhaps how they were transported? No idea is a bad idea at this point.”

  “I’ve been working on the old mispers,” said Shonda Dawson. “So far, I’ve picked out more than seventy missing men between the ages of twenty and fifty, and I’m not even done yet.”

  “Try narrowing it down to those who’ve gone missing within the last three months, and are from the local area,” Ryan suggested. “And remember that one of the victims has a tattoo on his right arm, so if any of the men have tattoos as a distinguishing feature, mark those as potentially being one of our victims. If we can narrow things down enough, we can always contact the families and see if we can obtain DNA samples for comparisons.”

  “I can do that,” she agreed, “but it’s going to mean we’ll be contacting people in the hope that it’s the right family.”

  “And getting their hopes up, only to dash them again,” Ryan said.

  Shonda twirled a pen between her fingers. “It would be better if we had an idea what the tattoo is of.”

  “Hopefully, we’ll get news on that sooner rather than later. Nikki Francis is working on it.” Ryan’s gaze alighted on Dev Kharral. “How are we getting on with the CCTV?”

  “Nothing jumping out at me yet, boss. Sorry. I’m still working on it.”

  Ryan looked around the room. “Anyone got anything that can move this forward?”

  DC Craig Penn lifted his hand. “I interviewed Professor Baker from the university.” He checked his notes. “There are two different types of material in a river, the bedload and the suspended load. The bedload is basically what sits on the riverbed and tends to be the heavier stuff—”

  “Like a body part weighted down with rocks,” Ryan said.

  “Exactly. The movement of larger sediment along the riverbed is called traction, and it moves in a rolling motion. The big pieces of sediment such as rocks only move during periods of high river flow, such as during a storm when the water from the land is running off into it.”

  Ryan tapped his fingers against his lips. “We haven’t had any storms lately. In fact, I can’t even remember the last time we had rain.”

  Craig flipped his notes again. “I checked. It was nineteen days ago, and even then, it was only a drizzle.”

  “But the river is tidal, so there must be some movement.”

  Craig pointed his pen. “Yes, it is, but what’s the one thing we know about tides? They come in, but then they also go back out again, so anything that’s moved one way, it makes sense for it to also move the same amount in the opposite direction with the next tide.”

  “Unless the bags were caught on something, a larger rock or submerged branch, that prevented the movement,” Mallory threw in.

  “Or a fishing line,” Craig said.

  Ryan nodded. “That, too.”

  “Ultimately, the professor says the best thing to do would be to throw identical plastic bags into the river, weighted down by the same weight and volume as the body parts we’d found, and monitor how far it moves over a twenty-four-hour period. I’m looking into how the environment agency monitors river transport.”

  “Okay, good work, everyone. Let’s have a productive day. It feels like we’re getting somewhere.”

  His team went back to their desks.

  His phone rang, and he answered it. “DI Chase.”

  “Ryan, it’s Nikki Francis.”

  “Nikki, hi. We were just talking about you. How are you getting on?”

  “I was able to get a print from the first body.”

  He had to resist punching the air. “Would it be wrong if I said I could kiss you right now?”

  “I’d expect at least dinner and drinks first.”

  He could hear the smile in her voice.

  “Then it’s a date.” He flushed with heat, waiting for a reply that didn’t come.

  Did she think he was joking? Had he been joking?

  “So...umm... I assume you’ve uploaded the print,” he added hurriedly.

  “Yes, it’s all done for you. I just wanted to give you a call so you knew and could get onto it right away.”

  “Absolutely, thanks for that.”

  “And I’ll wait to hear from you about that drink,” she said. “Bye, Ryan.”

  The call ended.

  Ryan motioned to Mallory. “That was Nikki Francis. She’s managed to get a print from the first arm. She’s uploaded it already.”

  “That’s great news. I’ll run it and hope it’s in the system.”

  He should have been thinking about the case, but his thoughts kept going back to what Nikki had said about hi
m taking her out for a drink. Maybe he should phone her back and ask her out this evening. It was his birthday, after all—not that he had any intention of telling her that.

  The way he’d said it had sounded smooth, as though he often casually asked women out for drinks, but that wasn’t the case at all. Immediately, fears that his OCD would flare up while they were out filled his head. What if he was overwhelmed by a compulsion to rearrange the dinner table, or count the items in the breadbasket, or wipe the cutlery? He was sure he’d do something to show himself up. He wasn’t too bad at work, because it was a situation he could control, but a date was a whole different situation.

  What if he told himself he was with a work colleague? Would that make any difference? He experienced a sudden hit of longing not to spend the evening of his birthday at home alone, with his microwave dinner and his single glass of wine. He should phone her back and ask her out, just to a local pub, somewhere that didn’t feel like too much of a challenge.

  Mallory interrupted his thoughts.

  “I’ve got a match,” she called over to him. “Our victim is twenty-seven-year-old Matthew Gordon.”

  “Good work. Has he been reported missing?”

  “No. He lives alone and is currently unemployed. Unmarried and no children that we’re aware of. Looks like no one has noticed him gone.”

  That was going to be him one day, if he wasn’t careful, Ryan thought. When he was old and retired, if he went missing, no one would even notice enough to report it.

  He got to his feet and addressed the rest of his team. “Can I get your attention, everyone. We have an ID on the first victim. I need to find out who the last person was to see Matthew Gordon alive. I want to know every movement he made in the days up to his disappearance, where did he go, who was he with. Do we know if he had a car?”

  “There isn’t one registered to his name through the DVLA,” Mallory said. “I’ve already checked.”

  “What about his family? Do we know who his next of kin are?”

  “I’m looking into it. Hopefully, we can track someone down soon.”

  “Linda,” he said, addressing one of the more mature members of his team.