Hide and Seek Read online

  As he took off up the road, he hoped that the impact of the hard tarmac on her soft, naked body had been enough to finish the job.

  Chapter Three

  The shrill ringtone awoke DSI Franklin with a start. The room appeared different from when he first slumped on his sofa; the bright late spring sunshine having been replaced by night. Although his hangover remained, it was far less potent than before, and he didn’t regret making the excuse to leave the office early, so he could return home.

  Not yet anyway.

  ‘Boss, where are you?’

  ‘I’m out in the field following up a lead.’ Detective Superintendent Franklin knew that his team only respected him because of his position of authority. Much as they tried to hide it, the slight shaking of heads and unwitting roll of eyes that greeted a number of his key decisions revealed this. Other people with his status may not have noticed, much less cared, but it was his emotional intelligence that had got him so far. His police work had been solid at best, but he’d risen through the ranks from an ability to be in the right place at the right time, as well as a willingness to seek credit for the actions of others. It was only natural when a superior moved on for there to be some jockeying for position, but Franklin had maintained an advantage by anticipating things long before they happened. He liked to build up networks of contacts so that he could sense the way the wind was blowing; well in advance of a decision being made. He had become skilled at knowing the right time to brown nose certain people and when to disassociate himself from others.

  Even with his retirement looming, he still longed for one final step up. It wasn’t just that being DSI wasn’t sufficiently elevated to satisfy his ambitions, the position itself was an awkward balancing act between managing those on the ground and fulfilling the demands from above. If he could just join the top brass, then he wouldn’t have to deal directly with pricks like DC Pulford calling him. Instead he would only then have to harry DSIs, in much the way he had been badgered over the years. Demanding results would be much easier than having to deliver them. But, try as he might, and despite using every political trick he had honed over his career, he had been unsuccessful in getting that leg up. Whereas some of the DSIs whom he had befriended walked into promotions after only a token year or two in the job and, worse still, others refused requests for them to apply, Franklin had always found himself blocked.

  He knew his increasing frustration at having to remain in a post that he neither wanted nor was particularly good at, was a contributing factor in the breakdown of his marriage. It wasn’t the sole cause and, when his wife had confessed to falling out of love with him, it shouldn’t have come as such a shock given he had never loved her in the first place. He had approached relationships in the same calculated way as his career. By his early thirties he felt that having a family would give the impression of stability and dependability; allowing him to adorn his desk with the sort of photos that his superiors felt necessary to demonstrate their humanity whilst delivering tough decisions.

  Franklin had chosen his partner carefully; neither attractive enough to be considered a trophy wife and provoke jealousy from others, nor sufficiently unappealing as to lower his credibility among the men of the force. That she was career driven helped because the additional money had come in handy, and it meant she didn’t complain about his long hours. They had taken expensive holidays together and had been able to send their two children to independent school. But with them growing up and more interested in social media than having a conversation with their father, and Franklin using alcohol more frequently to anaesthetise him from the increasingly frustrating days at work, he and his wife had grown apart.

  What he needed was one high profile case, one that was firmly rooted in the public domain, where the credit he would take for cracking it would make his next application impossible to ignore. Perhaps then he could focus on winning his wife back and spend his retirement learning how to love her.

  Franklin had observed the events unfolding in Nottinghamshire with a growing sense of injustice, which only intensified when the murderer decided to move on to Kent. When it finally came to his patch, he could barely conceal his delight. Not only was it all over the national newspapers, but his solving of something two other constabularies had failed to do was certain to see the top brass begging for him to join them.

  Except he hadn’t been able to solve it. The attack in Milton Keynes appeared as random as the others.

  ‘Look, what is it?’ He demanded grumpily.

  ‘There’s been another attack.’

  Franklin didn’t need to know who the caller was referring to. ‘Here?’

  ‘No, guv, back in Nottingham.’

  ‘Fuck!’ He had known the DSI there for a number of years and knew he played with a straight bat. He would follow protocol and share the necessary information, but Franklin didn’t like that the limelight would be shifting back to him. He’d very much enjoyed taking the central position in the recent press conference and had viewed Potter playing second fiddle as handing him the baton. ‘When? I need details!’

  ‘If you were here you would know that…’

  ‘You mind your tone! I’ve already told you that I’m following up something important!’ Franklin made a mental note to ensure that Pulford’s next leave request found some spurious reason not to be granted. Perhaps an office reshuffle that saw him moved to just outside the toilets would also be in order.

  ‘Sorry, guv,’ Pulford said without sounding even the least bit remorseful. ‘Is it the guy from the email?’

  ‘What?’ Franklin had no idea what he was referring to.

  ‘You know, the image of the suspect we were sent earlier.’

  ‘Yes, that’s the one.’ He didn’t like how unconvincing he sounded and, although he still needed the details from Pulford, knew he should end this call as soon as possible. ‘Look, I’m just finishing up here. I’ll be with you in half an hour.’ He hung up without waiting for reply, in a petulant attempt to reassert his authority.

  Franklin immediately opened his work emails on his phone. As soon as he found out what the hell Pulford was going on about, he would jump in his car and get back to the station. He might even call Potter on his way to see if he could get the information straight from the horse’s mouth. It would also serve as a reminder that he wasn’t going to be cut out of the loop on this one.

  There it was, at the bottom of the list of all the various messages he had been sent over the past few hours. He didn’t bother reading the contents and went straight for the attached image.

  His mouth opened to laugh at the grainy CCTV-derived still, so indistinct as to demonstrate the desperation on the part of those who sent it. But no sound emerged from Franklin. Even on the small screen of his smartphone, there was no doubt in his mind who this person was.

  It was Jeff. It was his friend and colleague of many years, former Detective Superintendent Jeffrey Brandt.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ Franklin whispered. With his mind unable to process the implications of what he had viewed, he reverted back to the body of the email. There it was in black and white. The man in the photo, having been seen on cameras around some of the locations, and at times consistent with when the murders had taken place, was wanted for questioning.

  Whilst Franklin remained certain that the image was undoubtedly of Brandt, he couldn’t believe that his friend would somehow be involved. What was troubling him most was that he had been sent this hours earlier, and for him not to have noticed that it was the man whom he had spent the whole of the previous day with would, at the very least, make him seem incompetent.

  ‘Shit!’ What made matters worse was that Franklin had just told DC Pulford that he had been following this up for the last few hours. He needed to think and to think fast. Perhaps if he could get to Brandt first, not only could he cover up his own mistake of leaving work early and not checking his messages but, by proving Nottingham had the wrong guy, he could discredit Potter’s team in th
e process. A sound plan and one that could see him coming out of this smelling of roses.

  A telephone conversation was likely to be awkward and it wouldn’t explain his lengthy absence from the office; he would need to go around to Brandt’s house and talk to him man to man. Quickly rushing into the kitchen to splash some water on his face and to sort out his hair, flattened at the back whilst he had been asleep, he grabbed his coat and headed out to his car.

  Chapter Four

  Initially sure that either he or the car would fail on some part of the journey, it was with relief he arrived back in his home town. Once Brandt had made it to the motorway, despite his head still throbbing, he spent the remainder of the time thinking through his options. There were many variables to consider but the upside was it drove any drowsiness from his mind. The first thing of concern was whether he was in immediate danger. It felt like there was a more than even chance Johnson had survived her fall, and he was grateful that he had at no point shared his identity with her. However, he was troubled by the look she had given him when he first approached. Beneath the initial shock he was sure there was some form of recognition and no matter how much he tried to reassure himself that he must have misinterpreted her expression at a time of high emotion, he had learned long ago to trust his instincts.

  Nevertheless, even if, for some reason, she had recognised him, Brandt was sure she didn’t know his name. If she did it was game over anyway because that would mean she also knew his address and the police would be waiting for him back at his house. Even if it wasn’t for the need to go home and collect his money, fleeing altogether now would clearly leave the issue of the car. It didn’t matter that it was unlikely she noticed the number plate, a simple description of the vehicle either by her, or one of the neighbours who must have been alerted by the commotion outside, would be sufficient. How long it would take to track would depend on the quality of the description and the proximity of the nearest camera. Once they were able to establish the registration, they could then use the various ANPRs to trace his route. If they knew who he was, without any money, he wouldn’t get far.

  If, as was far more likely, his name was yet unknown, then the car wasn’t too much of a concern because it had always been part of the plan for him to dump it. One of the key reasons why he had bought one of those he found advertised on a verge, in this case sold by a traveller, was so that it would be extremely hard to trace it back to him. Even if his encounter with Johnson had gone smoothly, the knowledge that officers’ personal details were carefully guarded would have led to the assumption that she had been followed from the police station. It would not have taken them long to work out which vehicle was involved. The spot would be sufficiently far from the nearest camera and suitably secluded to take the police some time to find it. Moreover, even once they did, it would be far enough from Brandt’s home to provide no likely link.

  But things hadn’t gone smoothly. With all the other variables, Brandt thought he couldn’t afford the subsequent four-mile walk and would have to risk bringing the car much closer to home to give him sufficient time to collect what he needed and make his escape. He settled on a location a mile or so beyond his house, knowing they would assume he had stopped short of his destination instead.

  It was with a slight tinge of regret that he got out of his vehicle. It had fought the odds of its low price and dubious provenance to provide him with reliable transport, notwithstanding its multitude of faults. It would never be driven again, all that awaited it was to be trailered somewhere to be forensically analysed before finding itself sent to the crusher. As he set off on foot, Brandt hoped the car’s certain future wasn’t a metaphor for his own.

  The relatively short journey seemed to take an age but, even if it had not been for fear of worsening the pain in his head, he didn’t want to draw attention to himself by rushing. With the clouds obscuring the light from the moon, so that the blood on his clothes was barely visible, he hoped to any observers that he would appear to be a middle-aged man doing nothing more sinister than walking home from the pub.

  As soon as Brandt entered his street, he used his trained eyes to establish there was no one staking out his house. This also meant it was highly unlikely that there would be anyone inside waiting for him, but he still felt trepidation as he opened his front door.

  All was exactly how he had left it.

  Chapter Five

  Johnson was in Canterbury. She was in the hotel lift and McNeil was kissing her. She wanted to wait until she got him into her room but could not resist his soft open mouth and probing tongue. Fiercely kissing him in return, she looped her hand round the back of his head, so she could draw him in closer. She wanted her whole body in contact with him and her arousal became heightened by the feeling of his erection digging into her.

  The ping of the lift to announce its arrival at their floor was an unwelcome interruption but as she pulled away, she could see her disappointment reflected in McNeil’s face. She laughed; she couldn’t help herself. This is what she had wanted for some time now and she was only moments away from getting it. As soon as she had decided to go to Canterbury and inspect the body, she knew there was a chance that this would happen. She hadn’t wanted to rush it, not least because she hadn’t been sure that McNeil wanted it too. So, she had conspired to ensure they stayed overnight and spent just enough time buying the right clothes and applying the right make up so that he would forget the age gap and the challenges that they would face keeping it a secret at work.

  And yet he hadn’t displayed the impetuousness of youth; appearing content instead to visit some of Canterbury’s pubs, each one as lifeless as the last. Having consumed enough wine, Johnson found the courage to make her move. But even then, as they had walked back to the hotel, she wasn’t sure it was what he wanted until she saw the look of anguish on his face when she cruelly led him to believe that her suggestion of room service had been entirely innocent.

  ‘Your place or mine?’

  Johnson knows the confidence of the question is belied by the nervousness of his tone. But he has every right to be nervous because she has planned this to the nth degree, and he is going to get the workout of his life.

  ‘Mine, definitely mine.’

  She pauses by her door, searching for her key card. She needs to remove the obstacle of her phone, so she can look for it properly. She is about to hand it to McNeil but a voice in her head screams for her not to. It tells her to forget the fucking key card and use his bed instead. But she had spent a lot of time getting her room ready and, besides, she doesn’t like being told what to do, even by her own consciousness. What’s so wrong with asking him to hold her phone anyway? It’s not as though there’s anything on there that he shouldn’t see.

  But there is something on there that he shouldn’t see. Not only does Johnson know exactly what’s on there but she also understands why she knows. This isn’t happening. Some of it did happen but she’s not in Canterbury anymore.

  * * *

  She woke up in a room she had never seen before, but her surroundings instantly informed her of where she was. The process of lifting her left arm to observe the drip being fed into her via the cannula on the back of her hand, took tremendous effort. Looking back up the tube she could see it split between saline solution and something much smaller which she guessed to be morphine or some other potent pain relief.

  It was consideration of the various aches she could feel throughout her body that caused her to recollect how she got there. Johnson recalled arriving home to be interrupted on her doorstep. That moment of recognising the man from the CCTV images the instant before she saw the swing of his fist. She had been too late to react and had woken naked, bar her pants, and tied to her bed. Then he was crawling over her, releasing his erection from his trousers. She remembered him biting her nipple and could instantly feel the discomfort of her breast once more. Then there was the crash of her front door and the struggle between McNeil and her attacker. The sickening thumps
of the two bodies falling down the stairs before McNeil staggered back to her. Johnson screwed her eyes shut in an attempt to block what came next and reached behind her to find the alarm.

  Moments later a nurse rushed in. ‘Oh gosh, you’re awake. Here, let me turn this up a bit for you.’ She was reaching for the smaller of the two drip liquids.

  ‘No, no!’ Johnson bellowed, unable to stretch enough to intercept her. ‘Don’t you fucking touch that!’

  The force of her command caused the nurse to stop. She stared, frightened, into Johnson’s wild eyes.

  ‘McNeil, where is he?’

  The nurse remained motionless, transfixed. ‘I don’t kn… know who you mean,’ she stammered after a few moments.

  ‘McNeil,’ she cried. ‘The man who would have been brought in with me.’

  The nurse didn’t respond but the look of horror on her face was sufficient as an answer.

  Johnson’s screams brought the police officer stationed outside her room charging in. His initial panic was halted by the nurse shouting: ‘Don’t just stand there, hold her down!’

  Johnson managed to catch him with a wild flail of her right arm before he launched himself onto the bed in an effort to pin her down. The feeling, so reminiscent of being straddled by that sick bastard earlier, caused her to buck and writhe and thrash all the more. She barely noticed the cool sensation of the fluid being pumped through the cannula and directly into her blood stream, but a few moments later she could feel her strength draining. At the same time, the body on top of her began to get lighter and the fury that drove her was replaced by calmness.

  ‘Thank fuck for that,’ the officer murmured, unsure whether it was now safe to get up.

  ‘I think we’d better strap her down before she wakes again,’ the nurse said, laughing nervously.