A Liverpool Lullaby E-Book

Brian L. Porter

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

After a woman's body is found in a local beauty spot, her heart surgically removed, D.I. Andy Ross and his team are called in to investigate.

But this time, they face a criminal mastermind unlike any they have before, who soon becomes known as The Doctor. All evidence points to romantic connections between the killer and his prey, with an eerie lullaby left playing on an old tape recorder next to the victims.

As one body after another is found, Andy Ross and his team race against time to identify the killer. But The Doctor is already courting his next victim...

Leseprobe

A Liverpool Lullaby

Mersey Murder Mysteries Book VIII

Brian L. Porter

Copyright (C) 2020 Brian L. Porter

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2020 by Next Chapter

Published 2020 by Next Chapter

Edited by Debbie Poole

Cover Design byhttp://www.thecovercollection.com/

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Dedicated to the memory of Leslie and Enid Anne Porter and to my wife, Juliet

Introduction

Welcome to the eighth book in my series of Mersey Mysteries, featuring Detective Inspector Andy Ross and his squad of detectives that make up the fictional Merseyside Police Special Murder Investigation Team, a specialist squad of hand-picked detectives set up to investigate strange or unusual murder cases, and considered to be outside the purview of the regular Criminal Investigation Department.

Readers of previous books in the series will be familiar with the central characters, but for newcomers to the series, a little background information to help you settle in with the team.

The Merseyside Police's Specialist Murder Investigation Team is a fictional creation and features a small team of highly skilled detectives, brought together to investigate the more bizarre and often extra-violent crimes that the force is frequently faced with.

Headed by Detective Chief Inspector Oscar Agostini, the squad is run on a day-to-day basis by Detective Inspector Andy Ross and his assistant Detective Sergeant Izzie Drake. At the time of writing this book Drake is absent on maternity leave, having given birth to her first child. The team is a small, select group of some of the finest detectives on the Merseyside Force, hand-picked for their outstanding skills and abilities. Dissent and discord within Ross's team is non-existent as anyone who doesn't fit in to the team and its ideals is rapidly show the door.

As well as Ross and Drake, the team includes Detective Sergeant (DS) Paul Ferris, their resident computer expert who works closely with their civilian Administrative Assistant Kat Bellamy, DS Fenella Church, Acting DS Derek McLennan, and Detective Constables (DCs) Tony Curtis, (real name Leonard but given his nickname due to his striking similarity to the movie star Tony Curtis), Nick Dodds, Samantha Gable, Gary (Ginger) Devenish, and as you'll soon meet, the newest member of the team, DC Ishaan Singh.

For readers from the USA and other countries who may be unfamiliar with it, the Liverpudlian accent and dialogue is unique to the Merseyside are of England so readers might find some of the words and grammar used by some of the characters a little different from standard everyday English. This is not a mistake, merely used to create realism.

Finally, I welcome you to the city of Liverpool and to the cases of the Merseyside Police, Specialist Murder Investigation Team.

Chapter 1

Frances

At first, Frances thought she'd gone blind. She couldn't see a thing, and then, the frightening realisation stuck her. She was blindfolded, by a dark material that kept every scrap of light from reaching her eyes. Her head ached, and she felt as if she had a terrible hangover, but she couldn't remember having anything to drink. Then, a further realisation hit her. She tried to move her hands, and discovered they were fastened to the top of whatever surface she was lying on by tightly fitting handcuffs, and the same applied to her legs, chained by the ankles to the other end of the hard, cold surface. Cold! Yes, she was cold, and a ripple of fear ran through her body as she realised she was naked. Naked, and chained, spread-eagled on some kind of…what? A table? A bed? No, she thought, too hard for a bed.

As a degree of lucidity returned to her befuddled brain, she tried interrogating herself. Where was she? How did she get here, and more importantly, who brought her here, and for what purpose? Whatever it was, it couldn't be for anything good, that was certain. Why couldn't she remember anything? Whoever brought her to this place must have drugged her, she finally concluded, and having stretched her addled mental faculties as far as they'd allow at that time, she promptly fell back into a troubled sleep.

* * *

'The doctor' watched the sleeping woman, seated in a comfortable chair in his private study. The tiny yet powerful wall-mounted cameras in the cellar pictured her from various angles and no part of her superb body was left unexposed to his view. He wasn't really a doctor, of course, but it suited him, and his current project, to present a veneer of professionalism and respectability, and what could be more professional and respectable than a doctor. The women fell for it every time.

He'd made his way down to the cellar, opening the locked door and advancing on the helpless woman. As he stood looking down at her, seeing her as if for the first time, his breath caught in his throat. She was magnificent, was the only thought that registered with his brain. He allowed himself the pleasure of running the back of his hand down one cheek, feeling the softness of her skin. Growing confident, he did the same thing to her tummy, so soft and warm, then, suddenly, he snatched his hand back. He stood, silently watching the rise and fall of chest as it moved in time with her breathing. Eventually, he snapped out of his moment of admiration and moved to the steel table nearby, which held his instruments and vials. He quickly filled a syringe, and injected her in her left thigh, knowing that the drug would keep her unconscious for at least a couple of hours, easily long enough for him to move her, and prepare her for the next stage of his plan. He allowed ten minutes, to be certain she was fully under the influence of the anaesthetising drug, then quickly released her from her bonds, and manhandled her into a waiting wheelchair. Set into one wall of the cellar was a door, identical to elevator doors such as you'd find in a department store, and which he'd had installed when he bought the house. The builders hadn't queried his request for the installation. Why should they? They were being well paid. When they reached the second floor, the lift stopped and the doors obediently swished open. Wheeling his prize to the centre of the room, he now set about restraining her to the king-size bed that was the centrepiece of the room.

The woman, Frances, yes, that was her name, not that it mattered much to him, was beautiful for sure, her well-styled auburn hair hanging in a cascade of waves, neatly brushed, by his own hands of course, to drape over the front of her shoulders and almost down to the swell of her ample breasts, which took up his attention for a full minute before he allowed his eyes to wander further down her body, the smooth, soft, sensuous skin of her belly, and then the small triangle of pubic hair, pointing like an arrow at her most feminine of places. His eyes lingered there for a long minute, his mind imagining the sensuous pleasure yet to come as he allowed them to continue their voyage of discovery. Her legs, fastened as they were to the corners of the bed, stretched wide and under tension were, he judged, quite superb. All in all, he decided, he couldn't have made a better selection. Now, all he had to do was convince her how much he loved her, and in return, how she should love him too.

* * *

Frances Daley slept on, blissfully unaware of what was happening to her. She dreamed, and the dream took her back to her meeting with the handsome man, who'd introduced himself as Doctor Kyle Fletcher. He hadn't needed to ask her name, of course. It was there for all to see on the staff badge she wore just above her left breast, on the white blouse of the tea room uniform she wore, in company with the rest of the waiting staff.

As for the man, he'd watched the comings and goings in the tearoom, from outside, through the plate glass window, admiring her as she bustled here and there, serving her customers. He liked the uniform the women wore, the white blouse and black pencil skirt reminding him of pictures he'd seen of such establishments from the nineteen thirties and forties. As they bent forward to place the customer's orders on the tables, he almost salivated at the flaring of their hips as their skirts tightened with the action. By the time he'd entered the tearoom, he knew exactly which tables she served, and he quickly sat at one of 'her' tables. He'd seen the previous occupants of the table leave a couple of minutes earlier and stood and watched as she bent over to wipe the table-top with a cloth, before setting it out for the next customer.

Her dream continued, but, as dreams do, it skipped parts of reality. She took the man's order, he seemed so nice, speaking to her respectfully and complimenting her on her quality of service and telling her how pretty she was. She was flattered, and quickly fell for his smooth talking. When he asked if he could take her out to dinner, she was completely taken aback, and though she hesitated, he convinced her he was quite serious and after a little gentle persuasion, she agreed.

She'd given her address and he arranged to collect her at 8 pm that evening. She dressed in her prettiest dress and applied her make-up carefully. When the knock came at her door right on time, she answered it and was quite surprised to see the car he'd arrived in. it was quite luxurious and she thought he must be very rich, wondering why he'd be interested in her. Dinner was superb at one of the city's best restaurants, and he acted the perfect gentleman. When the evening drew to a close, he offered to drive her home of course, but insisted they enjoyed a last drink together first. He rose from the table and personally went to the bar to obtain the drinks. She never saw him add the white powder to her drink, that quickly dissolved, and which rendered her completely unconscious within minutes of her climbing into the car.

She slept on in blissful ignorance until he decided the time was right, and he injected her with yet another drug, a stimulant that would wake her in a very short time. That was when Frances's nightmare really began.

Chapter 2

New Blood

Detective Chief Inspector Oscar Agostini walked into an unusually quiet squad room, belonging to the Merseyside Police's Specialist Murder Investigation Team. Set up to investigate crimes of an unusual and particularly challenging aspect, the team had been in existence for almost eight years, ably led by Detective Inspector Andy Ross and, until recently, his trusted side-kick, Detective Sergeant Izzie Drake, now absent for at least nine months on maternity leave, with her baby expected any time soon. It was spring, 2006 and along with the change in seasons, changes were taking place in the personnel of the team.

The team had also been further depleted by the loss of Sofie Meyer, the German detective who'd been on attachment with the Merseyside Force and, her time at an end, had recently returned to Hamburg, to once again take up her duties with the German Federal Police, the Bundeskriminalamt, (the BKA).

To help compensate for these losses, the team had been joined by Detective Sergeant Fenella Church, previously with the Cold Case Unit, who had been hugely instrumental in solving the recent murders at St. Emma's Priory, thus firmly cementing her place in the team. Fenella had an impressive record with the Force, having picked up a bravery award for entering a burning house to carry out and save the life of a young child. As a result of her actions, she'd suffered severe burns to her head, especially her face, and only the fact she'd been wearing gloves saved her from severe burns to her hands. A number of skin grafts followed at the Mersey Regional Burns, Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery Unit, before she was eventually cleared for a return to duty. The right side of her face was left with visible scars which she did her best to mask with make-up and worst of all, her hair had been completely burned off in the fire, the roots damaged beyond repair, and she now possessed a series of wigs. She looked on the bright side, by telling people she now saved a fortune in trips to the hairdresser and could change her hairstyle or colour in minutes.

When the chief constable had given his approval to increase the team's numbers by two, Ross, who had been impressed by Fenella when she had to present him with cold case information on the St. Emma's case, made further enquiries about her capabilities from her previous boss and had requested, and been granted approval to have her transferred to his team.

In addition to Fenella, the loss of Izzie Drake was partly compensated for by the promotion of Detective Constable Derek McLennan, one of Ross's longest serving team members to Acting Detective Sergeant. McLennan would be filling Drake's role as Ross's assistant in her absence.

The team still had one vacancy to fill, which was the reason for Agostini's visit to the squad room that morning. Nodding in greeting to Detective Sergeant Paul Ferris, the team's resident computer expert, and Kat Bellamy the admin assistant, and to Detective Constables Lenny (Tony) Curtis, Nick Dodds and Samantha Gable, Agostini gave a brisk knock on Ross's office door, and entered on hearing a brief, “Come” from inside.

The small (Ross would say, tiny), office looked especially small this morning, with Ross, McLennan and Church, filling most of the breathing space. With two filing cabinets and Ross's desk taking up most of the remaining space, Agostini walked in, closed the door behind him, and leaned against it.

“Not interrupting anything, am I,” he asked, smiling at the trio.

“Oh, yeah, sir,” Ross was in a good mood. “We're just making plans for the staff Christmas party. I know it's not for months yet, but…”

Agostini accepted the joke and replied in kind, “Well, I hope you've included DCS Hollingsworth on the guest list.”

“Very funny, Oscar,” Ross quipped. “What brings down to the land of living dead this morning?”

“Actually, I'm glad to catch you all together. You'll all be interested in what I've got to tell you.”

“Go on then, surprise us,” Ross replied, allowing a pregnant pause at the end of his words.

“Actually, Detective Chief Superintendent Hollingsworth and I have been in contact quite a bit over the last few days.”

“And?”

“Well, you know how the Chief Super said you could have two more team members? You've got Fenella of course, and so you need one more yet.”

“And the DCS has given you her ideas, a sort of 'approved short list' of candidates.”

“You're so sharp, one of these days you'll cut yourself, Andy, but yes, that's exactly right.”

“And the short list is contained in the file you have under your arm, if I'm not mistaken?”

“Well done. Top marks for observation too. Yes, I want to show you these files and get your opinion. You're not obliged to take any of them if you don't think they meet the team's standards, but the DCS…”

“Hasn't got a clue,” Ross interrupted.

“Oh, give her some credit, man. Just take a look and let me know what you think, okay.”

“Okay,” said Ross. “Oh, and good morning to you, Oscar.”

Agostini laughed. “Good morning to you all, too. How are you finding it being a DS, Derek?” he asked McLennan.

“Oh, just great, sir,” McLennan grinned. “So far the only order I've given was to ask Tony Curtis to fetch me and the boss a coffee each.”

“Oh well, we all have to start somewhere, Derek,” Agostini chuckled. “I'm sure you'll get your chance to flex your muscles when we get a new case.”

“Speaking of cases, nothing for us yet, sir?” Ross asked.

“Nope, I'll let you know as soon as we get something. You settled in okay, Fenella?”

“Yes, thank you, sir,” Church replied.

“Okay, that's it for now,” Agostini said, depositing the file he'd brought with him on Ross's desk. “Have a look, see what you think and get back to me.”

Once he'd gone, Ross picked up the file and looked at the three resumés it contained. He remained silent for a minute as he briefly scanned the documents, and as he finished one, he passed them to his two sergeants to peruse. After all three of them had read through the resumés, he finally spoke again.

“Comments, anyone?”

“I like the look of this one,” Church pointed to the first file they'd looked at.

“Funnily enough, so do I,” McLennan agreed with her.

“Well,” Ross said, “I concur with you two. I like the look of him, too. Good arrest record, good recommendations from his senior officers, and sounds like an intelligent guy.”

“Don't get me wrong, sir. They're all good, but this one stands out,” Church said.

“I thought so too,” McLennan concurred.

“Well then, as we all like the look of him, I'd better have a word with the boss, and arrange to interview him.”

* * *

DCI Agostini, having agreed with Ross's choice put the wheels in motion and a week later, after passing a detailed and gruelling interview, during which it transpired that the candidate was already friendly with one of the team, Ross was able to introduce the latest member of the team to the others, after his move from CID to Ross's team was fast-tracked. At the regular morning briefing, Ross had arranged for the newcomer to be brought in by DCI Agostini after he'd announced him to the team. Things were so quiet at present, he thought a little drama might be appropriate.

After going through the routine business of the briefing which didn't take long, Ross announced to the team,

“Okay, everyone, you know we've been looking for another body to join our team. Well, I'm pleased to tell you, we've got one. DCI Agostini is waiting outside to bring him in to meet you.”

Derek McLennan, who with Fenella Church were the only ones to know the newcomer's identity, was stationed at the door, and at a nod from Ross, he opened it to allow Oscar Agostini and their new detective constable to walk into the squad room.”

Heads turned and there were a few surprised looks when they saw their new teammate, and suddenly, Tony Curtis exclaimed, “Ishi, you rogue. You never told me.”

“Well, Tony, you clearly know DC Singh already. Everyone, this is Detective Constable Ishaan Singh, formerly with CID, and who has obviously been exposed to Tony's corrupting influence already.”

There was much scraping of chairs on the floor as everyone rose and moved to welcome DC Singh.

The newest member of the team, Ishaan Singh, had been born in Liverpool to Indian parents, who had arrived in the UK forty years previously, with their own parents, who ran a small corner shop in Wavertree until their retirement. Ishaan's father went to University and qualified as a doctor, later being part of a practice in the city. He was now approaching retirement himself. The young Ishaan grew up with a singular ambition. He wanted to be a policeman. He'd achieved his ambition, being accepted into the Merseyside Police Force at the age of nineteen. He achieved detective status at the age of 25, had picked up a commendation for bravery at the age of 26, earned, similarly to Derek McLennan for his actions in tackling a pair of armed robbers, and now, at 29 years of age, he'd reached the pinnacle of his career to date.

Ross, Church and McLennan left everyone to their own devices for a time, to allow them to get to know their new colleague, the trio retreating to the minor sanctuary of Ross's office, where Ross intended to lay out his plans for the coming week, in the absence of any 'live' investigations. Within minutes, however, they were interrupted by the jangling sound of the telephone on Ross's desk.

Answering it, Ross listened carefully to the speaker, and Derek McLennan knew from experience that Ross's body language indicated that something had taken place, somewhere in the city, that just might end their period of inactivity.

He made a signal with his free hand that indicated to McLennan to have a pen and paper ready. After DCI Agostini stopped speaking, Ross repeated most of the information back to him, thus enabling his Acting DS to make some notes.

“Right sir, definitely sounds like one for us. Female body, sand dunes at Southport, Sandhills Nature Reserve, sorry, repeat that last bit…he did what? Bugger, sounds like a bad one. Uniforms on site, got it. Consider us on our way.”

Hanging up the phone he said to McLennan, “Did you get all that, Derek?”

“Yes, sir,” said McLennan, at the same time leaning to one side to show Church what he'd written.

“When you asked DCI Agostini to repeat himself, what did that refer to,” Church asked.

“Oh yes, that bit. The bastard who did this, he cut out her heart.”

Church went pale in the face, and McLennan gasped, “Oh fuck,” as the horror of their new case struck home.

“Let's get out there,” Ross said, as he rose from his seat. “I want the two of you, plus Sam, Ginger, Tony and Nick with us, oh yes, Singh too. Miles Booker's scenes of crimes team is already en-route to the site and the pathologist's been summoned.”

“Fat Willy, sir?” McLennan asked, referring to Doctor William Nugent, the rotund and overweight, but brilliant Medical Examiner and the city's leading pathologist.

“Who else?” Ross replied. “Now, come on, let's gather the troops and hit the road. We've got ourselves a murder to solve.”

Chapter 3

“And I Will Sing a Lullaby”

Frances Daley woke slowly once again, but something was different. She realised she was lying on something soft, and the room was warmer, and there was a sweet smell that she couldn't quite place. She tried to move, but, as before she couldn't. Her arms were stretched out above her, securely cuffed to the corners of the headboard and her ankles similarly secured to the footboard of the bed on which 'The Doctor' had placed her. That's when she realised what was different from before. She was on a bed. The bastard who'd done this had moved her while she slept. Memories of the previous night, (was it just one night ago?), came slowly back into her drugged mind, the man from the tearoom collecting her from home, taking her for a lovely meal, wining and dining her and offering to take her home. She faintly recalled getting into his car, and then, everything after that was a blank, until she'd woken up in the cold, dark place she assumed to be a cellar. She still couldn't see, the blindfold made sure of that, but she instinctively knew she was naked as before.

“So, you're awake, Frances. Remember me?”

His voice seemed to come from nowhere and was vaguely familiar.

“Feeling a bit groggy, are we?”

She remembered. The doctor, that's who it was, or at least, he'd said he was a doctor. She now had serious doubts about his profession, and his intents.

“Don't try to talk, at least, not yet. We have lots to talk about, but I want you fully awake when we have our little discussion.”

Leaning over the naked woman, he gently reached behind her head, and unfastened the strap holding her blindfold in place. Frances blinked and screwed up her eyes as the sudden bright light assaulted her pupils. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she was able to take in her surroundings, as far as her restraints allowed. The room she was in was large, the walls papered in an old-fashioned, almost Victorian style, and the doors and wood panelling that divided sections of the walls were in a dark oak finish. Heavy velvet curtains in deep burgundy covered the windows, and the whole ambience of the room was dark and foreboding.

The man leaned over her and offered her a drink from a straw, fitted to a bottle containing a clear liquid.

“Drink,” he said, “It's only water. You must be parched.”

Tentatively, she took a sip, and satisfied that it was indeed water, she drank deeper, until her throat felt better and her mouth less dry. Eventually, she felt strong enough to venture a few words.

“Why am I here? What have you done to me?”

At first, he didn't reply and as her eyes fully adjusted to the light, she looked up and got a better look at him. It was him alright, the man she knew as Kyle, but whereas when she first saw him, smiling, handsome and caring in his demeanour, as a doctor should be, he now appeared different. There was a different look in his eyes, hard, feral, cruel. Her body shivered involuntarily.

After remaining silent for over a minute, he replied to her questions.

“My dear Frances, to answer your second question first, I haven't done anything to you…yet. As for the first, isn't it obvious why you're here?”

She gave him a quizzical look, and did her best to shake her head, not very successfully. His next words chilled her to her very soul.

“I thought it would be obvious to you, but it seems you need me to clarify things for you. I love you, Frances, with all my heart, and want you to be mine, forever. By the time this night is over, you will give me your heart, and the last thing you see will be the love in my eyes, as I make sure you can never give your love to another man, ever.”

With that, tears ran unbidden down her face and she knew she was in the hands of a madman. She also knew she had little hope of leaving this place ever again.

“Now, before we begin, let's make sure you don't make too much noise. We wouldn't want to disturb anybody, now would we?”

The room was perfectly soundproofed, but his words were intended to terrify the woman as opposed to having any practical purpose.

He reached across to the bedside table, picked something up, and then held it up for her to see. It was a gag, a large, red ball gag, which he immediately began to force into her mouth, despite her feeble efforts to twist her head to avoid it. He quickly fastened it in place behind her neck and stood back to admire his work.

With Frances muted, he smiled as he said,

“Yes, that should do nicely. Now, some music I think.”

He walked across the room to a table, where he began to fiddle around with something she couldn't see. Moments later, a CD or a record began to play. It was a collection of nursery rhymes, no not nursery rhymes, she realised, they were lullabies.

Frances's fear level rose exponentially as he walked back to where she lay, restrained and fully exposed to his leering gaze. He was as naked as she was. As the music played softly in the background, 'The Doctor' climbed onto the bed and knelt between her legs, from where he proceeded to gently stroke her body all over, from her head to her toes, all the time uttering words of love and sometimes, singing along with the lullabies that continued unabated as Frances tried to struggle against her bonds, to no avail.

She began to silently pray as he eventually stopped his perverse stroking and began to reposition himself. Frances had an idea of what he intended next and was unable to prevent him from penetrating her. Thankfully, he seemed to be so excited by the act that he climaxed in seconds and withdrew from her body.

“Frances, that was so good. You're an amazing lover,” he said, and she realised he was totally serious in saying it. He began unfastening her restraints, and for one hopeful moment, she hoped against hope that he was so pleased with her 'performance' that he was going to release her. Unfortunately, as soon as her limbs were free, she had no chance to struggle or try and flee, as he quickly flipped her over until she was lying face down. Within seconds, she was secured in place, her head buried in the pillows, unable to see what he intended next.

By the time he'd finished with her, she was barely conscious and when he rose from the bed, she could only sob uncontrollably into the already soaked pillows. For a few seconds the only thing she was aware of was the sound of 'that damn music', the soft and caring words of the lullabies that continued to torment her, in a gross parody of love and affection. The next thing she was aware of was the feel of something being placed around her neck from behind, she guessed at a silk scarf or something similar, and then, before she had a chance to think another thought, he pulled it tight, then tighter, and tighter, as she choked against the gag which was still in place, and made the most unseemly gurgling noises, (so he thought), until, at last Frances Brady lay still, her life extinguished by the man who'd told her he loved her.

In the background, the lullabies continued their accompaniment to murder, the words of Mozart's Lullaby perversely playing as Frances breathed her final breath. Kyle, 'The Doctor', watched the unmoving body on the bed for a minute or two, and then as if galvanised by a hidden signal, he began the next part of his hideous ritual. First, he had to move Frances back to the cellar, a task that seemed much harder now she was dead, her body literally a dead weight as before as he manhandled her onto a wheeled gurney and into the elevator. He descended to the cellar one again, where he laid her body on the cold hard surgical table, which in fact resembled an autopsy table, complete with channels to carry away the blood to the end of the table, where it could run and fall into a strategically placed barrel-like plastic container on the floor. Once he'd completed his 'work', the blood could be disposed of down a specially prepared drain he'd had installed in the cellar floor.

His final 'operation' completed, he sealed Frances's body in a black body bag, and after taking care to clean and sterilise the entire area, he now opened a large concealed door in the cellar wall, which opened to allow access to an underground garage, where a black van with tinted windows stood waiting, and where he placed the body and strapped the body bag down on a long shelf that ran the whole length of the interior. Loading a bag containing the final elements of his 'love affair' with Frances Daley onto the front passenger seat, he was ready to complete his work.

As he drove to his chosen destination, he allowed himself a smile, and he hummed a song to himself, and of course, it was a lullaby.

Chapter 4

At the Beach

As they drove the seventeen miles to Ainsdale, Southport, Derek McLennan, driving the car containing himself, Ross, and Fenella Church, had an observation to make.

“This is a bad one, isn't it, sir?” he asked,

Ross, in the front seat, replied, “What makes you say that, Derek?”

“Well, for one thing, we don't usually get called in within hours of the discovery of a body, unless there are indications that it's our kind of case, and second, the way you said, He did what? to the chief when he called, told me there was some unusual feature about the case, and for us, unusual always means bad.”

“Very good, Derek. You should have been a detective,” Ross allowed himself a quiet laugh. “But yes, you're right of course. I'm telling you two now,” he said, turning to look at Church in the back seat, “we've got a dead woman laid out in the sand dunes, complete with various items which point to a ritualistic or possibly, psychopathic killer, and the clincher, which the first responders discovered, is the fact that the poor woman has got no heart.”

“You mean he removed it?” Church asked, merely for clarification.

“Exactly, Fenella. He not only removed it, but from what Oscar Agostini told me, he's bloody well still got it.”

“Shit, we've got a trophy hunter,” McLennan said, without hesitation.

“Quite possibly,” Ross agreed, “but let's not make any assumptions until we see what we're dealing with.”

On arrival at the Nature Reserve, or to give it its full title, The Ainsdale and Birkdale Sandhills Nature Reserve, Derek McLennan couldn't help displaying some of his almost encyclopaedic knowledge of the local area.

“Did you know this is one of the largest areas of wild dunes left in Britain, and that it's home to some rare species, like the Natterjack Toad, the Great Crested Newt, and the Sand Lizard?”

“That's interesting, Derek,” said Fenella Church, with genuine interest, while Ross kept quiet. Once Derek got started it was sometimes hard to shut him up.

“Yes, and there's quite a few rare wildflowers grow here too,” he added.

“You must tell me about them another time,” Fenella replied, knowing they needed to concentrate on the case, as he pulled up and they exited the car. As they stood and looked around, seeing two uniformed officers standing in front of a long length of blue and white police tape, hopefully strung out across the trail leading to the dunes, the second car pulled up, Tony Curtis at the wheel, with Nick Dodds and Ishaan Singh his passengers, closely followed by Sam Gable, driving the third car, also containing Gary (Ginger) Devenish.

There were half a dozen cars in the car park, not including the unmarked police vehicles and one car Ross recognised as belonging to Doctor William Nugent and of course, Miles Booker's Mondeo parked side by side with the van belonging to his scenes of crime team. It seemed the forces of law and order well outnumbered the public in visiting the dunes that day, although none of the owners of the civilian cars were in sight. Ross called on of the uniformed officers to him, showed his warrant card and ordered him to detain the owners of any of the civilian vehicles for questioning if and when they returned to their cars. P.C. Bevan was further instructed to notify D.C. Gable when he'd detained any such returnees and quickly made Sam responsible for organising any necessary interviews.

That done, he gathered his team around him, for a fast briefing.

“Listen up, everyone. I apologise for rushing you all out of the office like that, but the DCI made it clear to me that we need to lock this area down tight asap. What we're about to see, apparently, is pretty gruesome, so be prepared for a shock or two. I can tell you that we have a female victim, late twenties, found by a dog walker…”

“Dodgy pastime, dog walking,” Tony Curtis jibed. “How many bodies have we investigated after they were found by bloody dog walkers?”

“Yes, quite, Tony. Thank you for that piece of priceless intel, though I doubt it will have much bearing on the long-term disposition of the case.”

Ross paused for a moment, looking round, before speaking again.

“Where is the bloody dog walker, anyway? Bevan…” he called out to the harassed young constable. “I was told the body was found by a dog walker. Don't tell me someone let him go home.”

“She, sir,” Bevan corrected him, “it was a lady dog walker, and Sergeant Wainwright has taken her to the nearby tearoom to take a statement from her.” Bevan pointed in the direction of the tearoom. “It's over there sir, along that path.”

Thankful that someone had shown some initiative, that might prove useful, he turned to D.C Curtis and sent him to find the sergeant in charge of the uniformed officers and to sit in on any statement taken.

“Okay people let's go see what's waiting for us,” Ross said, as he led the team along the path in the direction indicated by P.C. Bevan. As the path opened up to reveal a wider area, surrounded by dunes and grassland, they saw that Miles Booker's Scenes of Crimes people had already erected a tall canvas screen around the site where Ross presumed the body was located. Another P.C. was on duty outside the screened-off area, a clipboard in his hand and the man judiciously entered the names of each member of Ross's team on it, after checking their identities. Frustrating, but Ross knew the lad was simply doing his duty and he couldn't criticise him for that.

Pulling back the flap, Ross, McLennan and Church entered the closed-off area. The others had been instructed to wait outside until the facts were established.

“Suit up, Andy,” Miles Booker called out on seeing Ross and his people entering 'his' crime scene. Obediently, Ross, McLennan and Church each pulled on white forensic suits and boots. They could see the Medical Examiner bending over the body, Nugent's bulk being enough to prevent any view of the victim from where they stood. His cadaverous assistant, Francis Lees, who had a habit of looking more dead than some of the bodies he dealt with, hovered close by, his camera taking shots of the body from all angles. Fenella Church thought, but didn't say, that he resembled a Praying Mantis with St. Vitus's dance. Lees spoke to his boss, who looked up from his task, saw the detectives and called out,

“Inspector Ross, ye may draw near. Just dinna come too close until I've finished.”

His broad Glaswegian accent belayed the fact he'd lived and worked in Liverpool for almost thirty years, and only really showed itself markedly when the man was angry, irritated or frustrated. Ross wondered which of those it was, this time. He also knew that it had been many years since Nugent had last paid a visit to Glasgow. Something about his past seemed to haunt the pathologist, but whatever it was, he'd never confided in Ross. When asked one time about why he never visited the city of his birth, he'd simply replied, “Bad memories, D.I. Ross, bad memories,” and Ross had never pushed him on the subject. Izzie Drake, married to the Administration Manager of Mortuary Services. Paul Foster, (she kept her maiden name for work purposes), had even tried to find out from her husband what made Nugent stay away from Glasgow. Paul was forced to admit he'd no idea, and the only person who might know was Francis Lees, who'd worked with the Doctor for many years, and he definitely wouldn't tell.

With Church and McLennan standing on either side of him, Ross approached the scene, as Nugent rose to his full height, and stepped aside.

“Bloody hell, Doc!” he exclaimed.

“Sweet Jesus,” was Church's initial reaction.

“The bastard,” McLennan almost spat the words out at seeing the work of the killer.

There, before them on the ground, lay the naked body of a woman, displayed for all the world to see, with her arms and legs splayed wide. Her face was beautifully made up, as if she was ready to go out on the town and her hair had been brushed neatly to fall over her shoulders. By her side, a vase of red roses had been placed, and what looked like a small wooden chest, about twelve inches long and ten wide, stood unopened beside it.

The woman might have been sleeping except for one grotesque fact, the thing that had brought the initial reaction from the three of them. Her killer had, it appeared to the detectives, expertly opened her chest cavity, and removed her heart, leaving the chest open to the elements, raw and bloody.

Fenella Church actually found herself fighting off the urge to be sick, and Derek McLennan subconsciously placed a steadying hand on her right arm. Sensing his gesture more than feeling it, she looked up at him and nodded. At six feet two, Derek stood a full foot taller than Fenella's five feet two.

“The heart, Doc?” Ross asked.

“No sign of it, I'm afraid,” the pathologist replied. “Your perpetrator has kept himself a wee trophy, if ye ask me, the bloody evil swine.”

That answered Ross's question about the doctor's mood. He was actually angry, at the killer, an unusual emotion for Nugent to show at the site of a murder.

“How long has she been here, Doc, do you know?”

“Not long, that's for sure, hours maybe. If she'd been here any length of time there'd be greater natural predation and insect activity, out here in the open. There are plenty of wee beasties around here that would have feasted on an open wound like this. I'll know more when I get the poor girl back to the lab.”

“What's with the box and the flowers, boss?” Derek asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Ross replied, and called to Miles Booker.

“Miles, your boys looked at the box yet?”

“All done and dusted, Andy. Go ahead and open it. I thought it important you saw it as he left it, in relation to the body. Also got the lady's purse. He'd placed it under her body, for some reason. Her name's Frances Daley, age 29 according to her driving licence.”

Ross looked at the purse, already enclosed in an evidence bag, studied the picture on the driving licence then bent down, and carefully picked up the box in his gloved hands. It had no lock or other fastening, and the lid lifted easily to reveal, an old-fashioned cassette player.

“D'you think he's left us a message?” Church ventured the thought.