The Sholes Key (An Evans & Blackwell Mystery #1) Read online

  “You know Dr. Nevega,” replied Shields. “Everything has to happen on his time schedule. I think he shows up late on purpose.”

  “Dr. Nevega?” Theo groaned. “That man drives me insane, treats me as if I’m a child. Attending his postmortems is like being in primary school. I feel like I should raise my hand to ask him a question. Did they find any plastic bags?”

  “No, why?” Shields asked.

  “He had to transport her somehow. Puddle of water here,” Theo said as he pointed toward the body, “no puddles of water up the stairs. Meaning the killer unwrapped her and placed her here. He took the bag with him. And what’s with the doors?” All the doors lay on their sides blocking the empty closet and surrounding walls. “Did the estate agent do this? Did he take the doors down for some reason?”

  “He says no, but I think we should ask him again when he’s more lucid,” Shields suggested.

  Theo examined the doors. “Whether the estate agent took them down or not, he assuredly did not paint those H’s all over the closet door. Have you found out anything about that?”

  “No,” Shields said. “We don’t know what the hell that is. I plan to get one of my men on it directly.”

  “Maybe his name starts with an H,” suggested Liam. “Henry, Harry, Harold, Hannah?”

  Just then, a man at least twenty years Sophia’s senior and twice as tall entered the room and yelled, “What’s going on in here?”

  Theo turned to see who spoke and took a deep breath. “Good evening… morning, Dr. Nevega.”

  “How are you, DI Blackwell?” he asked, patting him on the shoulder. “This isn’t too disturbing for you, is it?”

  “I’ll be fine.” Theo rolled his eyes. “And how are you coping? Shall I get you some water or coffee?”

  “Coffee would be lovely, thank you,” he said.

  Not the reaction Theo expected. Before he could turn and send one of the officers to fetch coffee for the man, Dr. Nevega grabbed his hand. “I deal with this sort of thing every day, Blackwell. I cut them open with a knife in fact.”

  “So I needn’t get you a vomit bag?” Theo grabbed his hand back. “When will you be able to tell us how long she’s been here?”

  “I will with time. These things take time, Blackwell.”

  “Fine. I need to see her back. Apparently she has some characters carved there. Will you be able to flip her over?” As soon as the words left his lips, he regretted saying them.

  “How do you know she has something on her back? Has someone touched her? Who touched the body?” Dr. Nevega asked him.

  “Look, calm down. The estate agent who discovered the body moved her. No one else did. There’s nothing we can do about it now except find her killer, and now I need to see her back.”

  “Listen, young man, when people come to a crime scene and move things, it contaminates the scene. You will not solve the case if people are allowed to come in and move—”

  “You listen to me,” Theo interrupted. Their voices had risen above acceptable levels, and many of the SOCO team stopped to stare. “We’re not children.”

  “That’s debatable.”

  “We’re not children,” Theo repeated. “Both officers and SOCO know better than to move things without filming it first. They know about evidence and they know about bloody murder. Now, I have a killer who has possibly killed before and may not stop until we catch him, so the sooner you stop dicking about and start getting on with your job, the sooner we catch the person who did this.”

  Dr. Nevega ignored him and knelt down near the head of the body. He turned the victim’s head over and examined her matted-down hair. He examined her neck closely. Lifting up her arms, he examined the fingers and wrists, placing them down by her side. Finally, he turned the body over on its side. Everyone gasped.

  Ribbons of cut flesh dangled from various spots on her back, from her shoulders to her hips. The killer had used some thick, sharp object to carve the code into the skin. The cuts were deep. A photographer came and took pictures of the back. Sophia stood beside Theo and with a small camera photographed the code.

  Dr. Nevega started to turn the body back over again.

  “Wait.” Sophia grabbed her notebook from her pocket and wrote down the code as fast as she could. When she finished, she asked, “Shields, can you read what you see? When you get to the next line, let me know.”

  Shields repeated the symbols and numbers to her as she ticked each of them off in her book.

  “What’s the killer trying to say?” Theo asked.

  “I have no idea,” Sophia replied. “However, I can assure you this code is the same as the other.”

  “This is one sick bastard,” said Dr. Nevega, examining the rest of her naked body.

  “Have you seen this type of thing before?” Theo asked him.

  “Never. The good news is that this happened after she was dead. She didn’t feel anything. There would’ve been little blood, but it still looks to me like he washed the body. Sad really, because it may contain little evidence now. For example, her fingernails are clean, showing no signs of struggle. From the blow to the head, I doubt she knew what hit her.”

  “What blow to the head?” Shields asked.

  Turning the head on its side, Dr. Nevega pointed to where the hair sunk into the head. “She was hit here,” he explained, “but it’s difficult to say with what. The wound looks round, like from a metal or hard wooden ball or bat maybe, something of the sort. I may have a better idea after the autopsy.”

  “Do you think it killed her?” Theo asked.

  “I don’t know,” Dr. Nevega said. “She has the blow to the head, but it appears she has also been strangled.”

  Theo knelt onto the wet, red muck. His knees sank into the moisture of the carpet. The body smelled stronger from this position, and it was bad. Looking at the neck, he could see dark brown marks encircling it. “This looks more like ligature than manual strangulation,” he remarked.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Dr. Nevega said, pointing to the neck. “No marks left by fingers or thumb. If she was hit across the back of the head first, she may not have put up much of a fight when strangled.”

  “And the broken limbs?” asked Dorland. He stood outside the bedroom door, holding a steaming cup of coffee.

  “Lack of bruising makes me suspect he broke her bones after death. If she was frozen, she may have been bent in a certain position to fit whatever freezer unit she was stuffed into.” Dr. Nevega got up off the floor and went to Dorland. He took a big gulp of the coffee handed to him.

  “The fact that she’s still thawing makes me suspect she’s not been out of a freezer for long,” Shields suggested.

  “Exactly.” Dr. Nevega handed Dorland back the cup, then he and his team prepared the body. They wrapped new plastic around her to prevent liquid from leaking, and they covered her head and her hands carefully with baggies.

  Theo walked around the room noting the various bagged objects. He hoped something SOCO collected would bring them closer to finding the killer.

  Chapter 12

  The sun was shining when Sophia looked up from her steering wheel. She couldn’t remember the drive but sat neatly at the destination. She exhaled sharply and laid her head on her hands.

  Her body wanted to give out, but each time she closed her eyes her mind replayed the scenes she had just witnessed. Codes, bodies, killers, and victims. The puzzle wasn’t fitting together; there were no neat pieces.

  She pulled down her sun visor and looked into the mirror. Her hair stuck out in all directions and her eyes were red, but she didn’t care. She just bloody didn’t. She didn’t care about anything.

  With effort, she found her way from her vehicle and up the front steps. She turned toward the second floor flat across the street and waved her middle finger at it. MI5 could watch and record what they wanted for all she cared. The damage was done. She knocked—twice. Footsteps descended inside the house. She heard them stop on the other side of the do
or.

  “It’s me,” she whispered.

  As if he heard, the door opened. “Sophia, what are you doing here?”

  “May I come in, Marc?”

  “Yeah, yeah, of course.” With a look behind her, he drew her in quickly. “What are you doing here?” He held her at arm’s length and studied her eyes.

  Sophia wrapped her arms around him and held on tight. He reciprocated. “You don’t want to hurt me, do you?” she asked. “I mean, if you hated me, you would tell me, wouldn’t you?”

  “Sophia.” He pushed her back again. “What are you on about? Why would I want to hurt you? What happened? Are you hurt?” He turned her around and checked all uncovered portions of her body.

  She wanted to tell him everything, tell him she worked for the government, tell him she was spying on him, tell him about the flat across the street, and tell him about the bodies and the codes. She wanted him to say everything was all right, that he wasn’t angry, that he didn’t feel betrayed, but she couldn’t. “Can I have a bath?”

  “I’ll run you a bath while you take off those clothes. Then I want you to tell me everything.”

  She nodded.

  “Marc,” Sophia said, once settled in the tub, “I don’t want to be an estate agent anymore.”

  “What happened?” He squirted some of his sporty body wash on a loofah and rubbed her back.

  “What are you going to do with me? When does it end? How does it end? What happens? I need to know. I can’t stand all the questions anymore.”

  He dropped his hand and raised his eyebrows. “You can’t stand all the questions? That’s all you’ve given me.” He paused and grabbed her wet hands. “All right, you mad woman, I have no idea what you want to hear from me but I will say this: You’re beautiful when you’re confusing.”

  “Are you going to hurt me?”

  Marc laughed until he saw she didn’t—and stopped. Getting off his knees, he sat down on the toilet. Sophia brought her knees to her chest and laid her chin on them. She knew this was a pivotal moment where life changed directions based on what was said next. “I love you,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I’ve never felt this way before about anyone.” She shook her head. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I pretend I don’t. I tell myself it’s too soon, but I know I’m lying to myself.” She took in a couple of deep breaths when he knelt down beside her. “I’ve never wanted to be a wife… or a mother… but, now, I’ve never been this afraid before. I’m so afraid something will go wrong.” She grabbed his face in her hands and shook it. “Am I mad?”

  He didn’t answer. He just kissed her.

  * * *

  When she awoke, she saw Marc standing by the window in his bedroom. “How long have I been asleep?” she asked.

  “Not long.” He didn’t turn to meet her eyes but continued looking out the window. “Whose red Fiat is that?”

  Shit. How could she make such a stupid mistake? “Um, that’s one of my father’s. I thought his car would be easier to park round here. Why? Were you hoping to take it out for a drive?” She crawled out of bed, went to him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “No, just curious.” He pushed her away and put his trousers on.

  What the hell happened while she slept? “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He donned his watch and placed his wallet in his back pocket. “I just have some things to sort out. It’s nothing.” He gave her a weak smile and glanced at his watch. “I’m late.”

  “But—”

  “Look, we’ll talk when I get back from work, all right?” He kissed her forehead and bounded down the stairs.

  Sophia took his dressing gown from behind the bedroom door and followed him. “What did I do?”

  Marc crouched at the front door and tied his laces. “Nothing. We’ll talk later, okay?” With that, he left her alone in his house. A situation she had hoped to be in months ago, having the opportunity to search in peace. She felt anything but easy. She didn’t want to betray him, yet she knew she might never have this chance again. Or was this a trap he left for her? A test.

  Chapter 13

  Liam looked round the table at the five men staring at him. Bloody detectives. Why was it always so important to convene over every little matter—especially at the police station? Spooks acted then talked later, over drinks. He could use a drink now.

  “Where’s the girl?” Shields asked.

  A question he’d been asking for the past hour. Damn if he knew. Bloody miracle if he could find her on a good day. “I can’t give you that information,” Liam replied.

  “Why not?” Shields asked. “Who is she?” He stuffed a mini carrot in his mouth and crunched down. With a grimace, he slapped his cheek and cursed.

  Liam reached toward the mobile hidden under the table and pressed the send button. Again. He had given back her mobile after taking out the bug, but he wasn’t sure she used the phone anymore. Sophia better reply to his message before an all-out posturing event broke out.

  “You’re a bloody spook and so is she,” Shields went on, still holding his cheek. “I want to know what’s going on. You lot believe you’re holier-than-thou and I’m sick of it. You can’t expect us to share our information with you and you remain tight-lipped.”

  “That’s not what’s happening,” Liam protested. Stupid police, always wanting to share information. Why couldn’t they find their own bloody information? “I plan to share what I know with you. But the girl is out. She can’t get involved.” He glanced at Theo sitting across from him.

  “If she’s involved—” Shields said.

  The boss, a man named Deveau, held up his hand to silence Shields.

  “I still don’t know what it has to do with me,” a man named Winters said.

  The posturing had begun. Liam didn’t know much about Winters or Deveau from the quick introductions before the meeting began. Winters, a thin, tall man in his late thirties, carried lines on his face, probably from each murder he had to solve. Deveau had short, dark brown hair but his receding hairline and white eyebrows gave away his age.

  Theo Blackwell stood up and pushed his chair back. “Look, Sophia’s involved. You can pretend all you want but that’s the fact. The first code with a picture of my missing woman, the killer sent to Sophia’s home. The killer knows her, knows where she lives—”

  “Why would he send her code?” Shields asked.

  Liam looked at Theo and shook his head vigorously. Don’t do it, Theo. Don’t ruin her life.

  “Sophia works with codes, she solves codes for the bloody government,” Theo said.

  “I knew you two were bloody spooks,” Shields stated, pointing his pen at Liam.

  “It doesn’t matter who anyone is,” Theo responded. “If we don’t catch the killer, we’re all useless. Bickering as we are, we’ll never get anywhere. I’ll start first. As I was saying, Lorna’s dead face and the code were sent to Sophia—Miss Evans—and as far as she knows, she isn’t familiar with the victim. However, she’s afraid the killer is after her. A possibility we have to consider.”

  “She works for us. We will worry about her safety.” Liam felt a silent buzz in his hand and he looked down at his mobile: a text from Sophia. Finally.

  Alone in Marc’s house. Trap? What do I do?

  Bloody hell. That girl is going to get herself killed.

  “Did the killer send a picture of Margaret Hill and code to this Miss Evans?” Shields asked.

  “No,” Liam said. “Not to my knowledge.”

  “How did she find out about the body?” Shields asked. “She showed up at the crime scene before the medical examiner.”

  “That,” Theo said, “is my fault. She was with me when Dorland rang with the information.” He held up his hands. “It’s not what you think.”

  Liam pounded his fist on the table. That girl, he was going to kill her.

  “The code,” Theo said, “wasn’t as interesting as the location. The body was fo
und in Miss Evans’s previous residence.”

  Shields said, “The killer knows where Miss Evans lives, used to live, and knows what she does for work? And she doesn’t know any of the victims?”

  Liam shook his head.

  Shields stood up. “I don’t care if this woman works for the government. If the killer is someone involved with her work, we have the right to know.”

  “The killer’s not related to her work,” Liam said cautiously. “The cases she’s working on, the people she works with, don’t know where she lives, or who she really is. We’re careful.”

  “Not careful enough,” Theo said. “Someone obviously knows both.”

  “I would like to know more about the victims,” Liam said.

  “Let me go through some of the cases that we feel are related,” Theo started. “The first one is the Carrie-Ann Morgan case. Although we haven’t received any codes, we think she’s related to the others. It’s a woman who disappeared without a trace, and the killer left behind the child. Neighbors reported that Miss Morgan went walking her two-year-old son around nine-thirty at night in his pushchair. One hour later, the police received a phone call. A man walking in a park nearby found Carrie-Ann’s son sleeping in his pushchair, mother nowhere in sight. No one saw Carrie-Ann get in a car with anyone or abandon the two-year-old in the park.”

  “What about the man who made the phone call to the police, the one who found Carrie-Ann’s son?”

  “We checked his background. The man, Derrick Paulson, a solicitor, lives in the area. He walks through that park every night. He knew Carrie-Ann and her son by sight. He made the call to the police, but we dropped him from our list of suspects when others in the park confirmed his story.”

  “Any DNA or evidence left on the pushchair or in her home?” Liam asked.

  “None,” replied Theo, “except for the mother and son’s DNA. And the two-year-old is not talking. Earlier in the evening, she went on a date with a man named Tony Matheson—first date. He became our only suspect. Our first thought, the date went bad and he came back to kill her. However, from nine-thirty to ten-thirty he had an alibi, went to a church fundraiser meeting. Twenty people can vouch for him. In fact, everyone we questioned had solid alibis. The woman just disappeared.”