The Principle of Evil: A Fast-Paced Serial Killer Thriller. T.M.E. Walsh

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СКАЧАТЬ He was sleepy and wished he could close his eyes.

      The body in the boot – it’s now or never.

      His car was the only one there, almost hidden in the darkness. The cold air hit his face when he emerged from the car. It caught him unawares and he gasped instinctively, clasping his hands tightly together, rubbing them for warmth.

      When he stood in front of the boot, his hand hovered over it as if he had second thoughts about what he was about to do, as if the final act were any worse than what came before it.

      The light inside the boot cast a dull light on what was inside. He looked down at the black bin liners, wrapped crudely around the majority of the body. Only the bottom half of the legs were left uncovered.

      The once soft skin now looked waxy. He thought back to when those legs had kicked out at him, before he’d secured them together.

      Shame, really.

      This one had had such spirit.

      His hands reached in and grabbed cold limbs. He began to haul the body carefully out onto the frozen ground.

       CHAPTER 2

      5^th November

      There was a huge whizz followed by a violent crack in the night sky as the firework exploded high above their heads.

      Claire jumped, instinctively closing the gap between herself and Detective Inspector Stefan Fletcher. He glanced down at her, his tall thin frame buried in an oversized padded coat against the cold. He saw her tense, and ease herself a step or two away from his personal space.

      He smiled inwardly.

      Aloof and sometimes proud, with walls built so high that they could rarely be penetrated. These were Claire’s bad points, but she wore the traits with pride, giving off the impression that nothing could faze her.

      Stefan knew different though.

      After a high-profile case the previous year, Claire had put Haverbridge back on the map. Not always for the right reasons, but in Claire’s case, any publicity had turned out to be fairly good publicity. She’d become one of Haverbridge CID’s best, and had ridden out the storm, forging some close allies amongst her team, and Stefan was one of those people.

      Despite Claire’s misgivings about herself, she was extremely good at her job, and respected. No one would’ve been justified in calling her incompetent, or an easy target.

      But Stefan had seen the signs, seen the cracks appear since that investigation. It had exhausted her, changed her forever in some ways.

      The murdered priest case – how could anyone come back from that completely unscathed?

      More fireworks whizzed skywards, drawing appreciation from the assembled mass around them. Stefan watched Claire from the corner of his eye. Whilst she looked to the heavens with everyone else, he saw the glassy look of her eyes. She was there in body but the mind was elsewhere.

      ‘The kids would’ve loved this,’ he said, his blue eyes scrutinising every twitch in her face when she heard him speak.

      She glanced at him, gave a weak smile.

      Stefan would normally take his kids to Haverbridge Lake’s annual firework display, but his ex had changed her plans and he was expected to fall in line. He felt sad at not seeing his children but, surprisingly, he was very glad to have Claire’s company.

      In the past, Claire had had a few detective sergeants as her subordinates. Most hadn’t lived up to her expectations but Stefan had been different. Having watched him come into his own, and making DI in recent years, she’d relished the chance to work alongside him permanently, where possible, as an equal, despite the difference in rank.

      ‘They wouldn’t have liked the cold, Fletch’ she said, at length. ‘The kids I mean.’

      Stefan shook his head. ‘Kids are tougher than they look.’

      He saw her bite her lip. Claire didn’t have children, or was ever likely to. Sometimes he felt like he was walking on eggshells in the last year. He didn’t know what might upset her, so topics of conversation sometimes felt stilted.

      Claire had her vulnerabilities as much as the next person. She had closed the gap between them earlier, something she’d never admit to if he called her out on it.

      He’d noticed her weight loss, although he’d never say so. Her face had become more chiseled, cheek bones sharp.

      Those ice-blue eyes looked permanently sad.

      Stefan pushed his hands deeper into his pockets, trying to draw the life back into them. The night air was bone-chilling and the breath of the eager crowd hung in the air like thick white smoke.

      He breathed in deeply; the air was heavy with the smell of bonfire smoke and fast food. He followed the line of people surrounding the huge lake and caught sight of the fast food stands. His stomach growled.

      ‘Do you want anything to eat?’

      Claire was rubbing her gloved hands together for warmth and her breath cast out in clouds around her face. She shook her head.

      ‘Mind if I?’

      Claire either didn’t hear him or was too cold to answer. He shrugged and pushed his way through the crowd.

      When he returned, hotdog in hand, Claire saw he looked troubled.

      ‘What’s wrong?’

      Stefan gave half a shrug as he bit into his hotdog. ‘I wanted to talk about DS Crest.’

      Claire waved her hand, dismissing the very mention of his name. ‘Not while I’m enjoying myself.’

      ‘He speaks highly of you too.’

      ‘Look, I really don’t need this right now.’ Her voice turned hard. ‘I couldn’t care less what that Armani-wearing-metrosexual-walking-cliché thinks of me.’ She turned to face him.

      Detective Sergeant Elias Crest was a new addition to her team.

      The last man Detective Superintendent Clifton Donahue had placed under Claire’s watchful eye had lasted barely six months. Claire had hoped DS Crest would be different, but they hadn’t exactly hit it off.

      Elias had transferred from Merseyside after spending five years in Liverpool South’s CID team. There were official reasons given for the transfer, but the real reason wasn’t quite so clear cut.

      Claire knew that more than anyone.

      A steeliness had returned to her voice. ‘I take it by you mentioning him, he’s been kicking off?’

      ‘He’s found a few things out about you from your reputation alone. He thinks you hate him.’

      ‘He’s close… Hate is such a terrible word. He knows where the door is and it’s open any time, day or night, if he wants to walk…’

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