Dead ringer, p.1
Dead Ringer, page 1
part #1 of DI Chilcott Series
DEAD RINGER
A DI CHILCOTT MYSTERY
James D Mortain
Contents
Free Book Offer
Dead Ringer
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Enjoy this book?
Have you read them all?
Also by James D Mortain
Free eBook
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Get one of my eBooks for FREE!
Join my exclusive Crime Scene Team and cop a bargain!
Find details at the back of this book.
Dead Ringer
A DI CHILCOTT MYSTERY
by
JAMES D MORTAIN
In my 50th year, I dedicate this book to my mum.
Chapter One
Friday 21st February
5:45 p.m.
‘Are you doing much this weekend, Sammie?’ Jeremy Singleton asked as Samantha Chamberlain raced through her last-minute Friday afternoon office duties.
Re-assembling the stationery on her desk that was clear for the first time that week, she placed the customised Singleton’s Accountancy embossed pens, correcting fluid and stray treasury tags inside a small metal mesh pot beside her computer terminal. She acknowledged the question from her boss with a nod and smile, but didn’t answer.
Samantha had been with the company for only a few months, having moved back to Bristol following university to be closer to her family, but especially closer to her father who she missed through her formative years when he was always away. At first, she found the attention from Mr Singleton quite flattering – he may have been about the same age as her father, but it was nice to be noticed and welcomed so enthusiastically into a new job. Soon though, it became blatantly clear that he was nothing but a lecherous old sleazeball of a boss and she was his latest “play-thing”. The other girls in the office knew it too. Oddly, they all looked remarkably similar to her: long dark hair, slim athletic builds and well spoken in an educated way. There were times, several times in fact, when she wanted to mention in passing what her dad used to do. You know, just throw it out there and watch Singleton’s face change. She already knew how it would play out; it would be the same reaction as every other male who strayed a little too far over the line, but he was her boss and she needed this job. She’d just have to stomach the flirting, for now. Singleton was married of course and by all accounts had three children aged between three and seven.
‘I’m actually meeting an old school friend and we’re having a good old-fashioned boogie in town,’ she finally answered, placing a Post-It pad onto the top of a stack of three other sealed packs of the sticky yellow labels.
Jeremy perched the butt of his Italian cloth suit onto the edge of Samantha’s desk, managing to trap the tips of her fingers beneath the material and the desktop. She tugged her hand away and placed it into her lap with a short measured smile. He returned the smile with interest and shuffled himself into a more comfortable seated position so that his right thigh was only inches away from her.
Samantha coughed behind closed lips and wheeled her chair back by an inch or two.
‘Oh, I’m in town tomorrow night,’ Jeremy crooned, widening his legs in a deliberate show of confident masculinity.
Samantha’s eyes darted towards his now open groin area and she inwardly flinched. Was that an erection beneath his trousers? She blinked nervously and swiftly turned away, her cheeks flushing.
‘Where will you be going?’ he asked with his affected velvety tone.
Samantha smiled falsely. ‘We haven’t decided.’
‘Is it…’ he leaned towards her conspiratorially. ‘Just… the two of you?’
Samantha caught Michelle’s eyes staring wide at her from across the room. Michelle flashed an urgent look of caution, wobbling her head from side to side and then ducked low when Jeremy quickly turned in her direction.
‘I may bring my boyfriend… and his rugby friends,’ Samantha replied. ‘I haven’t decided yet.’
‘Well,’ Jeremy drooled, now leaning his weight through a hand placed directly in front of her. ‘You’ve got my number.’ He looked over at Michelle’s desk just as her head disappeared behind the computer monitor once again. ‘We could get together separately, if you like. I could…’ he hesitated and then parted his lips looking intentionally down at her mouth with doe-eyes. ‘…I could thank you properly for all of your hard work since Deborah left.’
Samantha glanced again over at Michelle, who again ducked behind her screen as Jeremy followed Samantha’s line of sight. He stood up from the desk and put a gentle hand on Samantha’s shoulder. ‘I’ll wait to hear from you,’ he whispered. ‘It’ll be fun. I promise.’
As he walked away from the desk he glared over at Michelle who stayed low until he had left the room.
‘Bloody hell, Sammie! Stay well away. Do not meet up with him under any circumstances.’
‘Don’t stress, I’m not going to. He’s totally gross.’
‘Is your boyfriend really going out with you?’
‘No – at least, he wasn’t. I might ask him along now though.’ She laughed and turned to the door. Singleton was standing on the other side of the half-frosted glass looking directly back at her.
Samantha blushed and lowered her head.
‘Right, that’s me done,’ Michelle said pushing her chair tight up to the desk. ‘Thank God it’s Friday! Do you want me to wait for you? We can walk to the station together.’
‘No, it’s alright. I need to pop to the shops, but thanks.’
‘Okay, hun. Well have a lovely time tomorrow, sounds like it could be interesting.’ She flashed her mascara-painted eyelids and they both sniggered.
‘Thanks, Miche. And you. Take care and see you on Monday.’
Michelle wrapped a vibrant coloured silk scarf around her neck, pulled on her rain jacket and left the room with a breezy wave. Samantha took her iPhone out of her clutch bag and typed a quick message to her boyfriend before leaving the office.
Just leaving. I’ll pick up some Choo Choo. Home in about an hour xxxxxx
Corkers wine shop was just a five-minute walk from the office along Cotham Hill and a further thirty-minute walk downhill to Temple Meads train station where she caught a sprinter to her flat, which she shared with her boyfriend, Dan. Samantha could have used any of the dozen convenience stores on a more direct route to the station, but none of them stocked her favourite brand of wine: Bacchus Rosso Piceno Ciu Ciu, or Choo Choo as it was pronounced and more easily referred to. She first tasted the moorish red at her favourite Italian restaurant and it had become a staple favourite since.
Bottle in hand, she turned into St Michaels Road and began the long descent towards Bristol city centre. The cool fine drizzle that had clung to her face like a second skin just moments before, was turning into something more persistent and overtly annoying. She pulled the hood of her canary yellow mac up over her head and pulled the belt a little tighter around her waist as the rain began to bite. She enjoyed the changing seasons, but couldn’t wait for the first hints of spring to arrive. It had been a long drawn-out winter. Samantha loved photography and would often visit the Downs with her digital SLR camera, or her swanky new iPhone 11, taking photos that she would share with the rest of the world on social media. Hashtag naturepic and hashtag ourplanet being her two personal favourites to tag to her images.
Although this route took longer to walk than the more direct pavements of Whiteladies Road, Samantha much preferred the solace this offered as opposed to the throng of pedestrians escaping their weekly office routines. Of course, a few people still attempted the steep incline of St Michael’s Hill, but today with the penetrating rain, they were clearly only here if they had to be. As she approached the lower end of the road, she looked back over her shoulder. She was alone, but an inner voice was telling her to move a little quicker between strides. She didn’t get easily spooked, but began to quicken her pace. Nearing the disused church on the high section of raised pavement, she became aware of a dark figure hovering near to a row of trees in her path. She knew the area well, walking it most days. A hot spot for the local graffiti artists trying their luck at becoming the next Banksy, but even they would be lying low in this weather.
She reached the corner of the abandoned church building and the first evergreen tree, from which she’d spied the lurking figure. Now walking briskly, she removed her mobile phone and put it to her ear.
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ she said loudly. ‘That’s me by the church…’ She paused to get the effect of someone talking back to her on the phone. ‘You can see me? Great!’ She waved high in the air as if acknowledging someone ahead on the lower, far side of the road. ‘I’ll be with you in a second.’ She put the phone down to her side, but kept the screen active. The dark hooded figure stepped out into her path looking down to the opposite pavement below them – the way she’d just waved. She tightened her grip around the white recycled paper wrapping the neck of the wine bottle and hugged the metal railings at the side of the tall pavement as she passed the trees. The figure countered the movement and the gap between them swiftly closed. Samantha was now upon him, but he was still facing away. Seven feet, six, five… her breath became shallow and she took a deep gulp of air. Simultaneously and with one smooth, fluid motion, the stranger swivelled to face Samantha and with a sudden sharp thrust of a hand, grabbed her throat forcing what little air she had out of her mouth as her feet were literally swept up off the floor and she found herself ‘floating’ backwards at speed through the trees and towards the church building. She clawed at the hand gripping her throat. She wanted to scream but the force of pressure around her windpipe was preventing any noise from escaping. A second hand joined the first and the pain and fear intensified. She became aware of her feet bouncing and bumping off rubble and debris left by years of damage to the old church, before being slammed down backwards onto a hard stone surface, forcing the remaining capacity of her lungs to escape in one massive surge. Her mobile phone spilled to the ground. The wine bottle was no longer in her grasp. She looked up desperately at the kneeling attacker, unable to see anything of his face other than two intense cold eyes peering down upon her through the narrow slits of a balaclava. He said no words. There was no heavy breathing. No sound of exertion whatsoever. The hands around her neck were pressing tighter and tighter, the thumbs pushing down like crushing vices on her windpipe. The pain was unbearable, but the shock and fear cast that far into the shadows. Samantha’s eyes rolled backwards and she noticed the high fractured and open roof of the derelict church. Rain dribbled down and patted gently onto the stone floor around her. She couldn’t call out. Couldn’t scream. Couldn’t fight back. Darkness filled the periphery of her vision, until slowly, uncontrollably the darkness closed in like an old TV set shutting down to a final, faint, hazy circle of vanishing light. And then everything went black.
He stood astride his victim and assessed his work. It was a shame: she was a fine looking young woman, but a job was a job. The day he saw it as anything other than that would be the day he’d get sloppy and make mistakes. And he didn’t make mistakes.
He had watched her every Friday for the last three weeks, waiting for the conditions to be just right. He almost had to abort again today, but the weather app on his mobile phone hadn’t let him down. He needed the rain and it had come just in time. He lifted his right foot over the body, paying attention to the watery footprint disappearing away on the stone floor leaving no trace. A quick glance back outside satisfied him that nobody had noticed and even if they had, he’d be out of here long before any police could arrive. His escape route was well planned. Twenty-three seconds and he’d be back on his motorcycle and soon after that he’d be in amongst the heavy commuter traffic and able to take one of four different directions away from the scene. No one would be any the wiser. No one would bat an eyelid. This was what he was trained to do. Blend. Execute. Blend. He leant down and felt for a pulse through latex-sleeved fingers. She was dead. The job was done.
Chapter Two
Saturday 22nd February
9:00 a.m.
The detectives gathered in the large open plan briefing room with a palpable buzz of excitement and anticipation, despite their weekends being cut short. There was nothing quite like the initial thrill of a “proper job” to get the investigative juices flowing. Detective Chief Inspector Julie Foster entered the room at a strident pace with DI Jasjit Chowdhury not far behind the DCI’s purposeful wake. DCI Foster took a front and centre position and addressed the assembled detectives.
‘Thank you for coming in today. I appreciate you would have had to make last-minute alterations to your home lives, but that’s what we get paid for.’ She took a moment to peruse the faces of her team. ‘For those of you who haven’t already heard, early last night the body of a twenty-three year-old woman was discovered inside the disused church on St Michael’s Hill. She was strangled and left for dead.’ She glanced around the concerned faces staring back at her. ‘The body was discovered at approximately 9.15 p.m. by a homeless vagrant taking shelter from the poor weather. I was notified shortly after 10 p.m. by the force incident manager at Comms and I have been on duty since.’ DCI Foster blinked moisture into her gravelly eyes. ‘We’ve identified the victim from her bank cards thanks to her purse and mobile phone being found on the ground near to her body and we have already notified her next of kin.’ Her eyes became heavy. ‘This wasn’t a robbery gone wrong and neither does it appear to be sexually motivated, unless the perp took the time to redress the victim fully, once he’d had his wicked way.’ The DCI noticed heads turning to one another. ‘This was a cold-blooded murder. This is a real-time manhunt, people. There is somebody out there with callous intent. I want the area swamped with officers and that means you too. Let’s reassure the public with our presence. I’ve decided DC Fleur Phillips will be the officer in the case for this one. I will be Senior Investigating Officer and DI Chowdhury will be Deputy SIO. Forensics are still in-situ at the crime scene conducting an extensive sweep of the building and general area. Crime Scene Manager, Nathan Parsons is overseeing the forensic recovery and uniformed officers are keeping the scene contained from all access points until we are certain there are no more forensic opportunities.’
DI Chowdhury stood forward. He was relatively new to the Central Major Crime Investigation Team, or more widely referred to by its acronym CMCIT, having been recently promoted from District.
‘This murder was brutal and clinically executed,’ he said. ‘There are no obvious defence wounds on the victim’s body, suggesting the attack was sudden but sustained. Early indications would suggest the victim was strangled, but we must keep an open mind to all possibilities. We need this offender off the streets. I cannot express that enough. This was a determined assault—’ The DI stopped talking and looked over at DC Sasha Elliott who was having her own conversation with the officer sitting alongside her.
‘Elliott? Something you wish to share with us?’
‘Sorry, boss. I was just saying, this smacks of déjà vu—’
DCI Foster furrowed her brow and took over from Chowdhury, controlling the room with an outstretched arm. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I can appreciate the unusual similarities, but let’s put all thoughts of Op Fresco out of our minds. We must approach this crime in isolation and not be distracted by assumptions and what-ifs.’ She searched the faces staring back at her, all of them with the sort of who are you trying to kid look that her own voice was screaming over and over again inside her head. Most murderous attacks ended in the theft of property, sexual assault or as a result of some kind of disturbance or dispute – in other words, there was always a tangible motive that led to a death. It was highly unusual to literally drag someone off the street and leave them for dead, as appeared to be the case now. Highly unusual – but not unheard of. Just seventeen months before, the department investigated the murder of another young woman in Glastonbury, Somerset under very similar circumstances. She was sexually intact, had all of her identification and property still on her person when discovered and it appeared the perpetrator made no attempt to conceal the crime. Operation Fresco was still very much a live investigation, but it had come at a cost to the department. The SIO at the time had to be relieved of duty having suffered a breakdown of sorts, and the department was still reeling from his departure.
