CAFFEINE NIGHTS PUBLISHING
K.A Richardson
With Deadly Intent
Fiction aimed at the heart
and the head…
Published by Caffeine Nights Publishing 2016
Copyright © K.A. Richardson, 2016
K.A. Richardson has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998 to be identified as the author of this work
CONDITIONS OF SALE
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, scanning, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher
This book has been sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental
Published in Great Britain by
Caffeine Nights Publishing
4 Eton Close
Walderslade
Chatham
Kent
ME5 9AT
www.caffeinenights.com
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978-1-910720-36-3
Cover design by
Mark (Wills) Williams
Everything else by
Default, Luck and Accident
For my Grandad
always loved and missed
Acknowledgements
I’d like to say a massive thank you to the team at Caffeine Nights – particularly Darren Laws for believing in me and this novel enough to give me a contract.
My thoughts go out to the friends and family of my first ever editor, Jenny Drewery, who sadly passed away in July 2015. She pushed me to my limits and beyond, and believed unfalteringly that I would land a contract. Her friendship and influence live on through this novel.
Crime Scene personnel and police officers who have put up with me constantly double checking facts, thanks for the unwavering belief in my writing, and for regaling me with endless tales of crime scene gallows humour. To my own Inspector, Rachel, I give thanks for beta reading and also for the numerous questions asked about the police side of a crime novel.
Special thanks to my amazing mum Jeannet, who has encouraged and believed in me my whole life. My dad Derek for being a steady presence believing whatever I do is the right thing. My amazingly wonderful and patient husband, Peter, who ensures a steady stream of coffee is present while I write, my Aunty Mary for her utter joy at knowing she’d finally be able to read my novel, and my brother Michael, for his constant questions about whether his name would feature in my book (it does now bro). They all make me so proud every single day.
My friends are my rocks – constant support through good and bad, and not being too shy to tell me when I’m doing something I shouldn’t be! You know who you are – but to mention a few names (by no means all) Claire, Angela, Dionne, Rachel, Vicky, Eileen and Char. Keep filling the world with your outstanding sparkle.
Finally, I’d like to thank YOU, the reader who has bought this novel. Writing really wouldn’t be possible without each and every one of you, whether I know you or not, you make my dreams a reality. It makes me very proud to admit I’m a member of The Book Club on Facebook – interaction, banter, and suggestions for books to read, characters and plots to write. I look forward to meeting more of you at the various events planned over the next year.
Prologue
It was dark inside his mind. The kind of dark so black no number of lights could illuminate it. His hopes and dreams had been crushed by the weight of a thousand sins. Yet despite this he smiled, the corners of his mouth curving upwards towards the still, cold depths of his icy blue eyes.
He could be charming, when he wanted, to men and women alike. But one look into those eyes, and you pulled back quickly, like a hand burnt by fire. The tiny hairs stood to attention on the back of your neck, and a shudder passed down your spine.
And you knew that something just wasn’t right.
They say the eyes are the window to the soul, so what do you see when there is no soul? He had lost his, somewhere along the way. Or maybe it had just been replaced with something else. He had needs like everybody. He craved human contact at times; he ate and slept. But that was where the similarities ended.
Physiologically he was human.
Mentally he was something else.
Dark desires filled his mind, ruling his every thought and whenever the need overtook him he acted on them. He loved, but he loved the things most people hate: pain, fear and death. And now, years after the animal torture, truancy and lies of his early life, he was finally free to do as he wished. At the learned age of forty-two, he was finally ready to re-enact all of his deepest fantasies.
He had done his research, perfected his methods. Years of training had prepared him for this moment. He needed to feel – and he would do anything to make that happen.
He carefully packed the rusted, red metal toolbox with the items he knew he would need. Then he went to the bathroom to prepare himself. There would be a wondrous show tonight – the first of its kind. A premiere.
He smiled into the mirror at his theatrics. It would be a good show; a fantastic show, in fact. At least for him. He wasn’t naive enough to believe his victim would enjoy it for one second. Well maybe one second: the instant when he chose to finish the performance with one last act. Another shiver of anticipation ran through him; this was the most excitement he had felt in forever.
It felt good.
He put on his dark jacket, tied his standard lace-ups, grabbed the toolbox and left.
Chapter One
Present Day, 19th September, 1950 hours –
Sunderland Outreach Centre
‘Fuck off, Brian,’ muttered Scott Anderson.
‘Scott, enough with the attitude already. You’ve been warned about your language. I can’t keep you in the programme if your behaviour continues. You’re disrupting other kids,’ said Brian Mackintosh sternly.
He paused, and sighed in exasperation.
‘Look, you’re a good kid, Scott. I know that. When you admit and deal with your problems you’ll be a great kid. Please, just try and keep your attitude in check, OK?’
‘Whatever ... Dad,’ said Scott sarcastically, shoving his hands into the pockets of his tracksuit bottoms. ‘Can I go now?’
Brian nodded, watching as the teen practically ran from the confines of his office in the Outreach building. He was frustrated. He loved his job, but the kids in the centre sometimes came with too many problems for him to be able to deal with in the time he had them with him. And others just didn’t want the help.
Scott had been kicked out of school for fighting, and assigned to the centre when he’d been caught breaking into a car. He was sullen, argumentative, full of himself and generally behaved like a pain in the arse. He’d recently starting hanging out with some older lads who exhibited a kind of gang mentality. They weren’t part of the centre, but they hung about, pushing the younger kids around and trying to steal from them, and, worse still, getting the kids to steal for them. He had moved them on more times than enough: but obviously, not far enough from Scott, who had taken to leaving the centre to be with them.
Despite this, though, there was somethi
ng about Scott that grabbed his soul. Behind the tough-guy act was a scared kid with haunted eyes. Brian had an idea what made him that way, the yellowing bruises he occasionally displayed giving him a clue. But despite Brian reporting it twice to social services, Scott still lived at home.
Quickly scribbling some notes in a barely legible scrawl, Brian decided he was going to speak with his boss about getting Scott some additional help. He didn’t want to give up on Scott just because of his bad attitude. Every kid deserved a second chance. He just hoped Scott would take it.
He glanced up at the wall clock and frowned. It was gone 8 p.m. and Maureen, his wife’s mother, hadn’t rung him. She was looking after the kids, Abbie, who was three, and Michael, who was six. Michael wasn’t well; he had a stomach bug and had been throwing up for two days now. Suddenly Brian wanted more than anything to be home with his son. Deciding the paperwork would still be on his desk tomorrow, he grabbed his jacket and wandered to the tuck-shop area of the centre.
‘Hey, Gill. Would you mind if I sneak off and let you lock up? Stan’s still out back if you need him. I just wanna get home to Mikey.’
‘Yeah sure, sugar, no problem. You get yourself home to your babies,’ said Gill Thompson with a wide smile.
‘You, Gill, are an absolute gem. I’ll owe you one.’
‘Hell, sugar, you owe me way more than one,’ she purred, flashing him a quick wink before turning and sauntering off, her bright orange heels clicking on the tiled floor.
Brian smiled after her. She had breezed into the centre six months before, made firm friends with the kids and then the staff, and established herself as a worthwhile member of the team virtually from the outset. She was a rare phenomenon – one of those mad, pretty, geeky women who lit the room up when they entered and turned the lights out as they left. Her blonde hair had coloured tips that changed on a pretty much weekly basis and she always wore her bright green-and-white spotted glasses. She was easy to get a feel for, though he had figured out early on that she only let you see what she wanted you to; and she cared more than anyone he had ever met. He had a lot of respect for her. He didn’t know if she was aware of it, but she was an excellent fit at the centre.
He often wondered what her story was, why she had ended up at the centre. Maybe one day he would find out.
Grinning to himself, he pulled his car keys from his jacket pocket, headed for his beat-up Fiesta and drove home.
19th September, 2100 hours – Asda, Leechmere
Susan sighed her frustration as she checked her mobile for the umpteenth time that night. She did it discreetly, hiding it under the counter of the cigarette kiosk and checking to make sure no one was watching. Mobile phone use was forbidden at work, especially on the shop floor.
He still hadn’t texted.
It was only an hour until she was due to finish her shift. She couldn’t leave it any longer to tell her husband the lie that she had been asked to work late.
Besides, how dare he not text? He wasn’t the only one with a life; a separate life from the few stolen moments they shared together, at any rate. It was hard to believe it had been going on for three months now. She did feel guilty for her husband, but it seemed like forever since he had shown her any affection. All he ever did was talk about the kids or work. And the kids? They made her feel guilty too, but sometimes she needed a moment when she could forget about all the worries at home and just live in that moment. That’s what he gave her: a release, of sorts. Somewhere to go where she was more than just a mum and a wife. He gave her a place to be her again. Even if it was only for a little while.
He had an aura of danger about him, his clear eyes holding a hint of sophistication. Susan firmly believed that when she spoke, he truly listened.
But their relationship had become a little strained lately. Their meetings had become less frequent and he had begun to leave her hanging. Like tonight. He had promised he would ring. He knew she needed to talk to him. But he hadn’t rung, and now she would have to go home to face the kids and her husband, and listen to the squabbling and the moaning.
None of them knew her secret. They didn’t suspect.
She sighed again, pushing the section of her fringe that had dropped back to its place behind her ear, and then jumped as her eyes focused on Sheila, her supervisor, who had appeared in front of her from nowhere.
Uh-oh, what the hell have I done now?
‘Ann’s going to cover you for a minute. Can I see you in the office?’
Susan groaned inside as she quickly signed off the till and followed Sheila, wondering which cardinal rule she had managed to break this time.
Once they were seated, Sheila said, ‘Is something wrong, Susan? You’ve been distracted for a couple of weeks and we’ve had some comments from other staff that you’re using your mobile on the shop floor without permission.’
Susan managed to stop herself staring in surprise. Thinking on her feet she said, ‘Michael’s not well. He’s got some sicky bug from school and I was expecting Mum to ring me but she hasn’t. I should have asked to use my phone, though. I’m sorry, Sheila.’
‘Aw, the poor wee love. Listen, we’re OK for staff tonight. Why don’t you get yourself home and look after him?’
‘Thanks, but I’m OK honest, just thought Mum might have rang. But if she hasn’t she must be coping fine. I’ll stay until 10 p.m.’
‘OK, if you’re sure, Susan. But take five now and go ring your mum. It’ll put your mind at rest.’
Susan thanked her and wandered out to the loading area. She really wasn’t good at lying, though Mikey was ill so it wasn’t a complete lie.
Her mobile suddenly buzzed in her pocket.
‘Oh now you text,’ she muttered as she pulled the phone out and flipped open the top.
‘Sorry, can’t make tonight. Maybe tomorrow.’
‘For Christ’s sake,’ she said, quickly typing out her reply: ‘I need to speak to you. It’s urgent.’
Almost instantly her phone buzzed again with the response: ‘I said sorry. GTG.’
Susan stared, wondering what GTG meant. Then it clicked. She shook her head. A single tear rolled down her cheek. Angrily she swiped at it. Fine: tomorrow it was, then. She really did get herself into these predicaments. Brian was going to kill her when he found out.
How did my life become quite so shit?
Susan wiped her eyes with a tissue before heading back inside.
19th September, 2140 hours – Pallion, Sunderland
The moon was bright and full as he made his way purposefully to his car. He knew it was time; he had done his homework and knew her routine almost better than she did.
In no time at all he was parked in the car park to the supermarket where she worked. His breath almost caught in his throat as she came out of the doors, the moonlight glinting off her hair giving it the appearance of spun gold.
‘Yes,’ he thought. ‘She will do nicely.’
As she climbed into her bright red hatchback, he turned the key in his ignition and felt the powerful engine roar to life. His hands remained perfectly steady as he put the car into gear and pressed his foot on the accelerator.
The woman had no idea of his plans for her, didn’t register his car following behind her. But he knew. It had taken months to plan every detail of what he would do to her when he finally had his hands on her, working out the kinks and imagining any potential problems.
Not that there would be any.
He followed her car for several miles, keeping back a safe distance, patiently awaiting the point when he would gain control. He didn’t have to wait long; he watched with a grim smile as her car began to speed up on the incline, just as he’d known it would. His eyes glinted in the darkness as he imagined the horror on her face when she registered her brakes weren’t working. Her car jerked a little, still speeding down the steep hill towards the sharp bend at the bottom. He watched, smiling widely now, as she lost control at the bottom and slammed into a tree with such force that
one of her wheels detached and rolled round the bend out of sight.
Now his work would begin. He hoped the impact hadn’t done his work for him. He pulled in slowly at the side of the road, taking great care not to skid, stepped out and removed the toolbox from the boot. He carried it to the mangled car, placed it on the ground and opened it. He took a breath, surprised once more at the rush of adrenaline that overtook him. Calmer now, he walked over to the driver’s side of the woman’s car, bending slightly to stare inside the broken window. Blood streaked her face and hair, dripping steadily from a laceration across the front of her head, caused by the impact on the steering wheel. She wouldn’t have the chance to wonder why her brakes had failed, let alone her airbags.
He watched her face intently, waiting for the split second when the look of recognition in her eyes died and turned to fear; and then he set to work, whistling softly and smiling – there really was some merit in enjoying one’s work.
Chapter Two
20th September, 0212 hours – Ryhope Police Station
The wind was howling outside in the courtyard. Cassandra Hunt stood at the window, slowly hung up the phone, and stared out, taking a moment to think, as she always did when she was called to an incident. The walls of her office provided little comfort, with posters advertising blood spatter information, rules for recovering footwear marks and entomology guidelines.
It was the worst feeling, being called to an incident when you’d left work for the day. Most people get to leave work behind, but not a Crime Scene Manager. The whirr of the printer in the corner stopped, pulling Cass from the momentary daydream she always had when she had this feeling in the pit of her stomach – the one where she was on a beach somewhere hot, without a job to do. She turned and stared at the printer, willing the now printed pages to disappear. But they remained.