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  The crime hadn’t been motivated by robbery. The woman wore a nice looking, gold Tag watch, and she had some rather large diamonds in a ring on her right hand. She also wore a large gold band on her wedding finger. Murders were usually motivated by one of three things: possession, passion or pleasure, and Kelly got the distinct feeling that the latter was looking possible.

  She walked to the rear of the victim and crouched down. She shook her head when she saw what was in between the woman’s legs. Kelly covered her nose and peered more closely, not completely believing what she was seeing. She beckoned the forensic officer over and he simply said, ‘I know. Bank notes.’

  It was a disturbing MO. Not just the implied manner of death, but the brazen dumping ground, and Kelly couldn’t help but conclude that the perpetrator was bragging. Like an excited child showing off his painting, the perp was actually showing off his work; and sending them a message.

  A series of events was taking shape in Kelly’s mind, as well as dozens of questions. Investigations always threw up more questions than they answered, but that’s where they started; and that’s all they had, for now. She strongly suspected that the killer knew this woman, and his work was methodical and organised. Apart from the soil, she was clean, and oddly taken care of.

  But one word kept coming back to her as she walked around the victim: punishment.

  This woman had suffered horribly, and the killer had wanted her to. Kelly hoped that she was dead when he sliced off the tops of her fingers. She remembered a similar case from ten years ago. It was equally brutal and brazen. A serial rapist and murderer had terrorised Leytonstone in 2006, until he was apprehended on some traffic misdemeanour, and willingly offered his DNA. The guy was about as brain dead as anyone could be, and the depths of his psychopathy stunned anyone who interviewed him. He stared ahead with dead eyes, and said his victims deserved what they got, because they teased him. He was a great lumbering man who the local press had dubbed ‘The Hammer’, due to the fact that he smashed his victims’ skulls in as he abused them. The Hammer was impenetrable as a human being, and for the first time in her career, he’d convinced Kelly that evil did exist.

  Before that, she’d met bad people and good people. Bad people did bad things, and good people did good things and, sometimes, they overlapped. But The Hammer wasn’t human, he was an animal, and Kelly had nightmares about what he put women through, in the hours before they were allowed to die. Now, as she stood inside a tent at a popular tourist destination, which was about to get extremely busy, she wondered how long it had taken for this poor woman to meet her end.

  For now, Kelly had a nameless body, which had been tortured and mutilated. The first thing she needed was a name, and that would be down to dentals, given the absence of fingerprints. Today, she could start questioning in the local area and keep badgering the coroner. She hoped it was still Ted Wallis. They hadn’t spoken in months.

  She heard plastic wrapping and watched as the woman’s head, hands and feet were secured for her journey. As the body was lifted into a black bag, and the zip closed, Kelly looked around. She was standing in the spot where a sadist had said goodbye to his kill. She was certain that the woman hadn’t been killed here. The scene was too tidy. They’d have to check the dirt to see if that threw them a lead. The woman’s position made her look like she was sleeping and, if disturbed, or in a rush, the killer wouldn’t have been able to achieve this.

  Plus, the money had stayed where it was put. If she’d been dropped, kicked out of a car, or dumped in haste, some of it would have dislodged. Sick bastard. Kelly shivered, despite the day heating up. Maybe now she’d put on her cardigan that she’d tucked into her bag. She needed to keep the details out of the press. She was sure that they could count on Mr Walker to respect their wishes.

  Kelly left the tent and removed her gloves and shoe covers. She smelled of death.

  The church was closed.

  Chapter 3

  Brandy Carter swaggered into the children’s play area, and made her way over to a group of kids, who were playing on the swings.

  ‘Got some pocket money for me, then?’ Brandy said. Her chin jutted out and her eyes were menacing. The younger kids stopped playing, and several of them dug their hands into pockets. There were no adults around; Brandy was the oldest there. She half smiled, revealing stained teeth, and she coughed, forcing her hand out of her pocket to catch whatever landed on it; she wiped it on her jeans. She wore a hoody and this only served to make her look more sinister to her innocent victims. One boy, of perhaps nine years old, moved towards the front of the group and stood up to her.

  ‘We don’t have to give you anything,’ he said.

  For a moment, the other children stopped digging around for something with which to pay off their tormentor, and watched to see what would happen. They didn’t have to wait long.

  Brandy shot a hand out and grabbed the boy’s hair. He didn’t resist and his eyes filled with terror. He’d tried to stand up for his mates, but had only succeeded in making an idiot of himself. He wished his mam was here.

  ‘Anyone else want a piece of me?’ Brandy growled.

  The children shook their heads and Brandy let the nine-year-old go. The boy rubbed his head and handed Brandy a pound coin. The older girl smiled again and the other children followed suit.

  ‘What’s this shit?’ Brandy held up a packet of sweets.

  ‘I haven’t got any money,’ a small girl said.

  ‘Well, fucking make sure you bring some next time, you little bitch.’ Brandy swiped her hand across the girl’s ear, making the girl wince and tears come to her eyes.

  The language shocked the children and made them compliant. They heard stuff like it on You Tube, but this was right in front of them, here in Arogan Park, Penrith, and they froze in fear. Several of them started to cry, and Brandy made baby noises in response. Nobody moved as Brandy counted her booty, she’d stolen the best part of seven pounds and she lumbered off, pleased with herself.

  After leaving the park, she made her way across the recreation field, towards a block of flats that was a home of sorts. She rarely went back to her mam’s. Brandy’s mother, when sober, was a violent creature and liked to throw fag ends at her daughter. The new man in her mother’s life liked to go a little further with his girlfriend’s daughter, and threatened her with his fists. At first, Brandy had been grateful for the notes he gave her for quick blow jobs, but the money had stopped and he’d begun to expect it for free.

  So she’d kind of moved in with Bick. His flat was grubby, but it was warm, and he gave her free drugs in kind. He was rough, but he always said sorry afterwards. For now, she had enough to buy a packet of fags, and she was happy. She scratched at the angry red spots under her nose, and her eyes went watery when she lit up a cigarette.

  When she opened the door to Bick’s place, three of his mates were playing Xbox. Brandy didn’t understand what attracted them to the games, but at least it kept them off her case.

  ‘Give us a fag, Brands,’ one of them asked. She flicked one over to him; another ploy to keep them away. The boys played the same games over and over again, and Brandy wondered why none of them ever got bored. Boys: they’re so dumb, she thought. The TV rocked with gunshots and cars screeching, as well as the odd scream of a woman being brutalised.

  Nice. No wonder they all turned out dickheads, she thought.

  Bick came in and tutted when he saw her. She knew that she wasn’t the best looking girl in his life, but she helped around the flat, keeping it as clean as she could with dirty men coming and going through it. She watched him as he took off his jacket, which he wore every day, regardless of the temperature. It was a Golddigga parka, and Bick thought he looked like a You Tuber who posted videos out of Compton, LA.

  Idiot.

  Bick kept his cap on, but turned it the wrong way round. His jeans slipped past his butt and he walked with an arrogant swagger. He went over to the other lads and picked up a fourth controller,
and began to play.

  Brandy sat and smoked for a while, but was soon bored, so she asked Bick if she could have a wrap.

  ‘Jesus, girl, you fucking eat that stuff! Your brain gonna fry, Brands,’ Bick said, and he went back to the console. Over the years she’d known him, he’d perfected a kind of Jamaican street slang that he heard on the games he played, his friends did the same.

  ‘Please, Bick, I’ll pay you back,’ Brandy said.

  She could see that he was thinking about it. He was so engrossed in the game with Monk and Tinny, that he ignored her for a few minutes until he remembered that she was still there.

  ‘Fine, go take a shower.’ He reached into his pocket and threw her a wrap. It was worth a tenner, and he was giving it to her for free, but nothing from Bick was ever free. She looked at him and slowly, a smirk began to spread across his face. She didn’t like it, and she felt vulnerable suddenly. Monk and Tinny could take things a little too far, and she had no other place to go, besides; she needed a hit. Her tummy turned over. She hoped they wouldn’t hurt her.

  Outside, across the street from the block of flats where Bick, Monk and Tinny waited for Brandy to have her shower, a figure turned and walked away. Brandy Carter had just become a candidate.

  Chapter 4

  Clifton Hall, usually a quiet and plodding place, was awash with activity as Kelly strode in to meet with DCI Cane. It was a dull but necessary task. Usually, she avoided her boss, but she needed him onside to secure a team for this case, and she wanted to get started as soon as possible. Cumbria might be the biggest constabulary geographically, but it was woefully underfunded. She’d have to beg for extra officers. On the outskirts of Penrith, the old pile exuded an air of importance slightly elevated to that of Eden House in the centre of town.

  It was larger, quieter and more serious. Kelly didn’t care for it at all. She knew that if she ever made DCI, she wouldn’t be able stand the static containment of HQ. She’d go mad. She was an operational officer.

  She felt slightly anxious, and her biggest worry was that Cane would want the case for himself. It could be argued that a crime such as this shouldn’t be investigated by one DI alone, and Kelly wondered if she’d be paired with someone, or if she’d lose it to a senior member of the force. Technically, it should be hers, and that’s what she was playing for. She was the DI in charge of the Serious Crime Unit for North Lakes, and intended on staying so. However, Cane might want to court the press, and play the big cheese. She was ready for a fight. She’d already proved her team’s mettle last year in one of the biggest police investigations outside London. Old colleagues had even called her to congratulate her, and she’d gained back some respect. Matt had even called, but she hadn’t acted upon his request to call back. He was still a twat.

  She still hadn’t briefed her team, and her aim was to be made Senior Investigating Officer of the dead woman’s case, and allocate jobs this afternoon. She poked her head around Cane’s open door. He looked perplexed, but not hostile. Kelly suspected that the older officer had grown lazy, cossetted by his desk, and he looked too comfortable in his huge office chair. She wondered when he’d last been on an active case. Years ago, by the look of it. But operational work wasn’t for everyone, she reminded herself.

  She steeled herself, and took a deep breath.

  ‘Kelly, come in.’ He managed a smile, but it was difficult to read. ‘Nasty murder. Really nasty. Name your team. We need this one caught ASAP.’

  Kelly was relieved, and surprised.

  ‘Sir. There was a shoe print at the scene, as well as several items inserted into the victim. My priority is processing them, so I’ll need more uniforms on the ground, asking questions in the local area. We’ve got three working the houses already. I haven’t got a name for the victim yet, but I’ve been on the phone to dentals, and I’m hoping to have an ID by tomorrow. The autopsy will be carried out tomorrow, first thing, by Ted Wallis, in Carlisle.’ Kelly spoke like rapid fire bouncing off the walls of a farmhouse, under siege in an old cowboy movie. She expected everybody’s brain to work as fast as her own. Her face was tanned from running on the fells, and she stood waiting, like a fresh reporter, eager for a lead.

  ‘Ah, yes. The chief coroner. I wonder if he’s seen anything like this one before.’

  Kelly thought of ten-year-old Lottie Davis and guessed that, after that, not much shocked Ted Wallis anymore.

  ‘I’ll give you free rein, Kelly. That’s one screwed-up bastard out there,’ Cane said, finally. Kelly calmed a little; the expected tussle hadn’t happened, and she found herself a little deflated. It meant that her visit to Clifton Hall would be delightfully quick, and she wondered why Cane hadn’t told her all this over the damn phone. Perhaps there was a catch.

  ‘Sit down, Kelly. You’re too energetic. Tell me what you know. I need the distraction. I haven’t asked you all the way over here for you to disappear after a minute. Tell me some good news, brighten my day. You happy with your immediate team? We could always pull some more officers from Carlisle or even here at HQ.’

  Kelly did as she was told and sat down. So she was expected to provide a diversion to his lacklustre day? She could play the game for a little while, if that’s what it took. She looked at her watch.

  ‘My team is excellent, sir. It’ll be a baptism for the new kid on the block. DS Umshaw is superb and the safest pair of hands outside the Sale Sharks. DC Phillips and DC Hide are quality; I wouldn’t change the dream team, sir.’

  ‘Right, then. Let me know as your needs might change. Who’s the new kid?’

  ‘DC Shawcross. Rookie, straight out of exams. Good listener.’

  Cane nodded.

  Kelly shivered. It was colder in here than it was outside and Kelly wished she had more on.

  ‘Let me make you a coffee, walk with me.’ Cane left the room and Kelly rolled her eyes; he’d just told her to sit down. She got up and followed him.

  ‘Sir, I’ve been thinking about the MO, and it smacks of serial psychopathy: no remorse, judgement, superiority, God complex etcetera,’ said Kelly. She was getting ahead of herself entirely, but her mind was racing, as it had been all morning.

  ‘I know, Kelly, but I hope you’re wrong. Be careful using the word ‘serial’. It’s inflammatory and plain incorrect. Don’t throw words like that around your team. However, between me and you, I agree, this type of sophistication isn’t usually displayed on a primary murder. They’ve usually been at it for years.’ They were thinking the same thing, but Kelly didn’t like being told to rein herself in. It reminded her of her mother and the way she’d been treated as a wayward rebel all her life. She was passionate, that was all. If that was seen as a nuisance, then tough.

  ‘I’m thinking of flagging up missing persons, sir,’ she said.

  ‘Go ahead. Just keep me updated,’ Cane said. He placed a cup under the nozzle and pressed the Cappuccino button. It smelled good. She tapped her leg against a unit. Cane watched with interest.

  ‘How many murders did you work in London, Kelly?’ he asked. She was taken aback by the question.

  ‘Erm, I’m not sure, sir. Probably in the twenties,’ she said.

  ‘Go with your instinct.’ He smiled at her. ‘Trust yourself. I do.’ He handed her the coffee and she took it. ‘You have my complete faith. I hear your mother is ill,’ he said.

  She winced.

  ‘Yes, sir, but that won’t impact my ability to…’ she said. Cane held up his hand.

  ‘That’s not what I meant. I just wanted to offer my thoughts that’s all,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Put your requirements in an email and get it to me as soon as you can so I can make the necessary arrangements. Let’s hope we get a name soon,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she said.

  ‘Have you distributed work load yet? I’m being asked almost hourly for updates, and at least one senior officer has pointed out to me that this is work for a DCI. I told them to tell you that t
hemselves, and they shut up.’

  ‘Thanks, sir.’ The corners of Kelly’s mouth curled up.

  ‘Not at all. Now, call me as soon as you get a name.’

  She finished her coffee and walked with him back to his office. They said goodbye and she went back out into the sunshine.

  * * *

  She’d a missed call from her sister, Nikki, which she ignored, and two from the estate agent.

  Shit! She’d missed another viewing. She called him to grovel and promised to rearrange.

  She drove back to Eden House in a brooding mood and thought about the case. Her new Audi drove well, and she felt less conspicuous than she had in her convertible BMW. It was more practical but also had a lot more space to clutter. Her phone rang again and she answered it, hands free. It was the hospital: her mother was being discharged tonight.

  That was good news at least. Wendy Porter had spent three days being tested for irregular heart rhythms, and now she’d stabilised. It would give Kelly some breathing space while she threw herself into this new investigation. Nikki would no doubt accuse her of putting her work first, but she’d gone beyond trying to defend herself. Dad had come under the same heavy fire for his commitment to the force. She was damned either way.

  Kelly’s thoughts turned back to Ted Wallis. Perhaps he’d find something on their victim’s body to link her with where she’d taken her last breath, because Kelly was convinced that it hadn’t been Watermillock. It was impossible to remove every trace of contact. Locard’s Exchange Principal rang true every time; that the perp always brought something to a crime scene and always left with something too, but the difficult bit was finding someone to match the evidence to. If they had no crime scene, then they had no suspects.