A Deadly Promise E-Book

Rachel Amphlett

• Herausgeber: Saxon Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

When a woman’s mutilated body is discovered in a remote countryside property, Detective Kay Hunter is faced with one of the most challenging investigations of her career.

There is nothing in the victim’s past to explain her brutal slaying, and no clues as to how her killer got away.

Then a second body is found in a run-down storage facility, the man’s remains covered in horrific injuries that bear the hallmarks of prolonged torture.

With two families demanding justice, Kay is under pressure from her superiors to deliver a swift result – but there is no evidence to connect the two victims.

When a third victim is found just a short distance from her own incident room, Kay realises that the killer has no intention of stopping – and they already have their next victim in their sights…

A Deadly Promise is the 13th book in the Detective Kay Hunter series by USA Today bestselling author Rachel Amphlett, and perfect for readers who love fast-paced crime thrillers.

Leseprobe

A DEADLY PROMISE

A DETECTIVE KAY HUNTER CRIME THRILLER

RACHEL AMPHLETT

A Deadly Promise © 2024 by Rachel Amphlett

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. While the locations in this book are a mixture of real and imagined, the characters are totally fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead is entirely coincidental.

CONTENTS

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

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

About the Author

ONE

Estelle Hastings-Jones winced as the end of a low tree branch smacked against the sports car’s bodywork, the sharp slap resonating through the rain that hammered the windscreen.

Beside her, her husband Mark gripped the leather steering wheel, the powerful engine keen to surge forward despite the narrowing lane in front of them.

Just as she thought it couldn’t get any more precarious, the front left wheel lurched into a deep pothole with a spine-juddering thump, and Mark cursed under his breath.

‘The bloody website didn’t say anything about the road to this place being non-existent,’ he muttered. ‘Who was last along here, the fucking Romans?’

‘William the Conqueror, according to…’

‘Don’t be facetious.’ Despite his words, she saw the faint smile that passed his lips in the glow from the dashboard lights. ‘How much further along is it?’

She squinted at her mobile phone, careful to shield the screen from Mark so as not to ruin his night vision. ‘About quarter of a mile. The instructions they emailed to me said to look out for a new set of gates and a green metal post box fixed to one of the pillars. There’s a security panel below the post box for the entry code.’

‘Okay.’

Lowering her phone, Estelle eyed the deep puddles lining the road, her gaze then travelling to the thick foliage that curved above the car like a tunnel far below the earth, and shivered despite the car’s heater warming her toes.

‘Maybe we should’ve booked into that hotel further along the A20 rather than here,’ she said.

‘They were fully booked, I told you. No room at the inn,’ said Mark, glancing across at her. ‘Besides, I don’t see anywhere to turn around, do you?’

She pursed her lips, and instead tried to relax.

His hand found her thigh. ‘I’m sure the place is worth all this. It’ll give us a chance to recharge and relax before driving home tomorrow, right?’

‘We’ll soon find out – this is it, on the left.’

A pair of thick steel-framed gates reared out from the vegetation under the glare from the car’s headlights, blocking their path. The wooden slats resembled that of a castle keep, giving the impression of an impenetrable fortress that only a select few could pass through safely.

Mark slowed the car to a crawl, easing its nose towards the gates. ‘What’s the code?’

‘5371.’

He lowered the window, swore as the wind lashed rain against his face, and reached out for the security panel.

Estelle heard the soft beep of the keypad, and then a faint whirring sound as the gate mechanism eased into action.

As Mark steered the car between the gaping slats, the road changed from decades-old asphalt to freshly laid gravel that crackled under the tyres and spat up into the wheel arches.

He automatically slowed to avoid chipping the paintwork.

The driveway widened, and Estelle saw his hands relax as a stunning Tudor property came into view.

Spotlights sprang to life when he was a few hundred metres away, bathing the parking area and front of the house in a soft hue that welcomed them forward, and she felt some of the tension in her shoulders ebb away.

The curtains had been left open downstairs, so she could see the warm light from lamps in the rooms illuminating the walls, and she wiggled her toes in anticipation.

‘I’m getting in the spa bath before I do anything else tonight,’ she murmured.

‘Sounds good, but first you can help me with the bags.’ Mark grinned, turned off the engine and leaned over to kiss her. ‘It’s not the South of France anymore, but I think it’s going to be a perfect end to the holiday before we head back to Cumbria.’

She smiled, her hand on the door release. ‘Shall I bring some of the champagne in with us?’

‘Good idea. We don’t have to leave until eleven tomorrow, so bring two.’

With that, they dived out into the rain, laughing as it pelted down while they retrieved their suitcases from the back of the car and ran towards the front door, their shoes sending up spray from the soaked gravel.

Mark entered the same code into the security panel beside the door, and then Estelle found herself in a wide hallway, with a crimson and white tiled floor that had been polished to a high sheen.

Her heels clacking across the surface, she dropped her suitcase at the base of an oak staircase and lifted her head to marvel at the chandelier that sparkled above their heads.

‘There’s a note over there,’ said Mark, jerking his chin towards an antique pair of occasional chairs and a matching table.

An envelope was propped against a reading lamp, and when Estelle opened it, she sighed. ‘Oh, this is lovely. It’s from Penelope and Stephen who own the place. It says “Help yourself to the wine and soft drinks in the fridge, as well as the treats and snacks we’ve left out for you on the kitchen table. Our cleaner, Katrina, will have been in a few hours before your arrival so you should find everything in order”, and then she’s left her phone number in case there’re any problems.’

‘Sounds fabulous. We’ll have to use that booking website again.’ Mark skim-read the note over her shoulder, then nuzzled her neck. ‘Let’s go and put that champagne in the fridge, and then we can explore.’

Kicking off her shoes, she followed him in bare feet through a doorway at the back of the hallway, gasping as she walked into a modernised kitchen with a gleaming stainless steel eight-burner gas hob set into a central worktop.

The perimeter of the space had been designed with a mixture of work surfaces and cleverly disguised cupboards. A vase of lilacs gave off a subtle scent from its position on an enormous dining table set for twelve, and fresh fruit had been arranged in a crystal bowl beside packets of different snacks on the central worktop.

When Estelle opened the fridge, her eyes widened in amazement. ‘They’ve even left us fresh steaks and vegetables. And cheeses, and…’

‘Well, we are paying six hundred quid for one night,’ Mark replied. ‘Nice touch though, I have to admit.’

While Mark deposited the champagne in the fridge and retrieved a complimentary bottle of wine originating from the Loire Valley, she searched for a corkscrew, marvelling at the cabinetry workmanship as the drawers swished closed silently.

Finding a pair of crystal glasses, she turned to him and grinned. ‘How about we find that spa bath?’

‘Lead the way.’ His eyes sparkled. ‘We’ll worry about the bags later.’

Estelle insisted on exploring the downstairs rooms before heading upstairs, marvelling at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in the library, and then cooing over the luxurious furnishings in the living room before threading her fingers through Mark’s and taking the stairs up to an expansive landing.

She wrinkled her nose and paused under an oil painting depicting a bucolic landscape. ‘It smells funny up here.’

Sniffing, Mark’s brow furrowed. ‘I thought the note said their cleaner had been in earlier?’

‘It did. Y-you don’t think the place has been burgled do you?’ Estelle’s grip on his hand tightened. ‘I mean, you hear all sorts of things about what burglars do apart from stealing things, don’t you?’

‘I don’t think there’s been a break-in. I didn’t notice any broken windows or anything like that downstairs, did you? And the front door was locked because we had to use the access code.’

She bit her lip. ‘We assumed it was – I didn’t try pushing it open until after you’d entered the code.’

‘But it clicked. The lock clicked, I’m sure it did.’ Mark squeezed her hand, then let go and handed her the wine bottle. ‘I’ll check out the rooms first. Wait here.’

‘No – I’ll go with you.’ Clutching the bottle by the neck, she squared her shoulders. ‘Let’s start at the front of the house.’

Turning right at the top of the stairs, she followed him around the landing overlooking the tiled hallway below, the chandelier lights twinkling at her, taunting.

The smell didn’t linger this side, and when Mark opened the first bedroom door, she heard him breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of an immaculate bedroom complete with matching bunk beds and an action figure mural covering one wall. A laptop had been left on a child-sized desk with its password and the family’s wi-fi code scrawled across a note stuck to its screen along with an invitation to guests to use it if needed.

‘I don’t think they’ve been burgled,’ he said. ‘That’s just the sort of thing that would’ve been taken otherwise.’

‘Then where’s that smell coming from?’ Estelle walked along the landing to the next room and again found a tidy bedroom with two single beds. A plain decor had been applied to the walls, complemented by brightly coloured curtains that she swished closed before shutting the door.

‘No idea. Maybe there’s a leak in the bathroom.’

‘Christ, we’d best check. If we have to get a plumber out at this time of the night…’

She sniffed as they crossed back to the other side of the landing. ‘It’s definitely stronger this side.’

Mark opened another door. ‘This is the main bathroom.’

Switching on the lights, Estelle blinked as the bright LEDs shone off freshly wiped tiles, a faint aroma of citrus emanating from the room-width waterfall shower at one end and the gleaming bath tub.

No water pooled around the base of the bidet or toilet, and when she lifted the lid, a similar lemony scent rose into the air.

‘Okay, so no leaks in here.’

‘Maybe it’s coming from the en suite then.’ Mark was already walking to the far end of the house before she caught up with him. ‘Failing that, it could be one of the sewer pipes under the floorboards.’

Despite her worry, Estelle smiled at his words. ‘Once a builder, always a builder.’

‘I might run the company these days, but I still remember some of the issues we used to have on site.’ He pushed open the door into the master bedroom, then stopped suddenly, emitting a gagging noise. ‘Jesus Christ.’

‘Mark? What’s the matter?’

He didn’t reply, and instead staggered a few steps backward. ‘Oh my God.’

Estelle frowned, and brushed past him.

Then she saw the woman sprawled on the bed, the soiled sheets twisted beneath her prone body, and the blood stains splattering the plush cushions that had been arranged along the headboard.

A cavernous wound split the woman’s alabaster throat from side to side, leaving a dark pool of congealed blood that covered her sweatshirt. Her eyes were wide open in terror as her mouth had gasped its last breath.

Estelle screamed.

TWO

Detective Inspector Kay Hunter pulled up the hood of her waterproof jacket and emerged from the warmth of the pool car, her eyes scanning the scene before her.

Floodlights had been erected on the driveway, highlighting a demarcated path that led from the cluster of vehicles clogging the waterlogged gravel across to the front steps of the imposing Tudor-style residence.

The traffic division had set up a roadblock farther up the lane, diverting any wayward traffic that missed the warning signs on the Faversham road and sending vehicles on a convoluted route that would ensure an in-depth knowledge of the Kentish countryside by the time they reached the end of it.

Kay shoved her hands in her pockets and tried to ignore the fact that one of her ankle boots had sprung a leak since the last downpour.

Instead, she took in the sight of a murder investigation in its early throes, her gaze resting on two uniformed constables at the fringes of the taped-off boundary.

The broader of the two – Kyle Walker – had returned to work full-time twelve weeks ago following a period of ill health, something which Kay knew too well was a direct result of him being present when a colleague had been shot and Kyle almost lost his own life in the process. He stood with his head lowered to his radio underneath a canopy that had been set up to provide a modicum of shelter, the canvas roof flapping in the breeze.

Beside him, Aaron Stewart towered over his colleague, his imposing frame belying a man who was a devoted father and husband. He was speaking with a couple in their fifties, both of them bundled within warm blankets.

Two vans belonging to the team of lead CSI Harriet Baker were parked directly in front of the front steps of the property, the side doors open and a steady stream of technicians moving equipment and empty sample boxes into the house.

Kay glanced over her shoulder at the sound of footsteps crunching across the gravel to see Detective Sergeant Ian Barnes hurrying over, a set of protective coveralls cocooning his bulky form.

Her older colleague’s face was grim, his eyes betraying the horror he had witnessed inside the house.

‘Guv. Harriet’s ready when you are.’ He slicked a hand over wet hair, flicking the water to the ground. ‘I thought you might want to see what we’ve got before you speak to the couple who found her. Kyle’s managed to book them into a hotel down the road for a night – his sister knows someone there, so they’ll be in staff accommodation but…’

‘Out of this and in the warm.’

‘Exactly, and on hand if we need to speak to them again in the morning before they head home to Cumbria.’

‘Okay, let’s take a look.’ Kay squared her shoulders, then followed him across to the tape separating them from the crime scene. After signing in, she handed back the clipboard to Kyle with a brief nod of thanks. ‘Good to see you, PC Walker.’

‘Good to be back, guv.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Shame about the circumstances, though.’

‘Indeed.’

Barnes handed her a sealed plastic bag containing a clean set of biohazard coveralls, then gestured to a large white tent beside the front steps. ‘Pop them on in here, guv.’

Thankful that one of Harriet’s team had thought to lay a blue tarpaulin on the wet ground inside the tent, Kay pulled on the protective clothing, tugged the matching booties over her shoes and took a pair of gloves from Barnes.

‘What do you know so far?’ she said while she got changed, raising her voice over the thrumming of rain on the thin polyester roof.

‘Mark and Estelle Hastings-Jones – the couple talking to Aaron – booked into this place a couple of months ago as a stopping-off point on their way back from a driving holiday in France. The owners, Penelope and Stephen Brassick, spend a lot of time in New York – Stephen works as an actuary for an international investment company so they rent out this place through one of those exclusive sites. When Mark and Estelle arrived, they noticed a smell while they were exploring upstairs. They found the victim in the master bedroom. On the bed.’

Barnes pulled the protective hood of his overalls back over his head, then held open the tent flap for Kay and made his way up the front steps. He paused in the hallway to let a pair of CSIs come down the stairs with a laden evidence box. ‘It’s not pretty, guv.’

‘Injuries?’

‘Where to start?’ He sighed. ‘She’s got bruising to her face, one eye is completely closed up, and whoever did all that to her then sliced open her throat.’

‘Jesus. Is Lucas here?’

‘Been and gone – he got a call-out to another scene at Rochester five minutes before you got here, but he said he’ll phone with a time for the post mortem when he’s back in the office tomorrow.’

‘Thanks.’ Kay took a deep breath, then pulled up her mask as the two technicians passed her. ‘Lead the way.’

She took in the ostentatious decor as they went up the stairs, the bright chandelier bulbs almost blinding her as they climbed. She wondered if the owners would ever return after this, her mind then turning to the tasks she would set for her team, and potential witnesses that would have to be tracked down and interviewed as quickly as possible.

‘What about neighbours?’ she asked when they reached the landing. ‘Who’s speaking to them?’

Barnes shook his head, the movement crinkling the hood that covered his hair. ‘There’s not enough manpower, guv. Aaron’s waiting for another patrol to get here from Sevenoaks, and then they’ll divvy up the interviews between them. There’re only three other properties along here, so it won’t take long.’

‘Still, it’s a delay we could do without…’ Kay bit back the frustration, and looked around her.

The artwork on the walls wasn’t to her taste, but it looked as expensive as the rest of her surroundings, and her covered boots sank into the thick plush carpet that lined the floor in every direction.

Despite the mask, she could smell the unmistakable stench of death.

They fell silent as Barnes led her towards a door at the far end of the landing, and she felt her plastic booties slide when her feet found the raised protective pathway that Harriet’s technicians had set up so no one trod on the carpet this close to the murder victim.

Every fibre below the pathway would be analysed before their work here was done, and nothing was being left to chance by way of cross-contamination.

The stench of urine and shit penetrated Kay’s mask when she entered the room, and she began to take shallower breaths, attempting to offset the assault. Even then, she had to prevent a gasp escaping her lips when Barnes stood to one side, and she saw the woman’s body sprawled across the super king-sized bed.

A mop of dark brown hair mottled with grey roots obscured most of the victim’s face but even from the doorway Kay could see the ugly welts that covered her eye sockets and cheekbones.

Her jeans had been tugged down to her knees, and a criss-cross of scratches covered her thighs and abdomen, some deeper than others.

A shudder wracked her shoulders when she took in the deep slash wound that had obliterated the woman’s throat, her pale-coloured sweatshirt barely visible through the congealed blood that had pooled from her broken body.

‘Evening, Kay.’

Her head jerked up at the familiar voice to see one of the suit-clad technicians watching her from beside the bed.

‘Harriet.’

The CSI lead was the only person who Kay would defer to during her time here, and she held the expert in high regard.

‘If you walk between the yellow flags, you can join me here. We’re nearly done processing her, and then we’ll get her moved so we can do swabs of the bedclothes.’

Barnes gestured for Kay to go ahead. ‘I’ve already seen enough, guv. I’ll wait here.’

Resisting the urge to take a deep breath, Kay trod carefully between the plastic flags Harriet had indicated, nodding her thanks to a technician who moved his equipment box out of the way, then turned her attention to the CSI lead.

‘You’ve been busy.’

‘We were having a quiet night until this,’ said Harriet. ‘Just as well, because I think we’re going to be here for a while yet.’

‘I won’t keep you too long then. What can you tell me so far?’

‘Well, once we pulled the sheet from her, we discovered all these scratches to her legs and abdomen too.’ Harriet paused and traced the patterns with her gloved fingers.

‘Any DNA?’

‘We’ve swabbed everything, but I believe these were done with a knife, the blade going deeper as the attack went on. Lucas will confirm at the post mortem if this was done with the same knife that ended her life.’

Kay swallowed. ‘She was tortured, and then had her throat slit, you mean?’

‘I think so but of course Lucas will have the final view on that. I can only report it as I see the wounds here. Look at the way her fingernails dig into the sheet underneath her as well.’

‘Are those ligature marks around her wrists?’

‘Caused by thin rope, a cord – we’re still looking for that, don’t worry,’ Harriet added, then placed her hand on Kay’s arm. ‘Look at her feet.’

They shuffled to the end of the bed, and Kay’s eyes widened.

‘What the hell…?’

‘Someone used the hair straighteners over there to burn the soles of her feet and her toes.’

‘Jesus Christ.’

‘Interestingly, she wasn’t gagged or silenced in any way. Lucas and I took a look before he left here, and there’s no indication of material being forced into her mouth. She’s bitten through her tongue at some point.’

‘Shit…’

Harriet sighed. ‘This is a bad one, Kay. God knows what else Lucas will find during the post mortem.’

Kay ran her gaze over all the injuries once more. ‘And no one heard this?’

‘Apparently not – the nearest neighbours are back along the lane, about quarter of a mile, and control received no calls about a disturbance prior to Mark Hastings-Jones phoning it in,’ said Barnes from his position on the demarcated pathway. ‘The owners of this place told Aaron they wanted somewhere private, off the beaten track.’

‘He managed to get hold of them?’

‘They left a contact phone number for the guests to call in case there were any problems.’ His eyes clouded. ‘Although I’m not sure they expected something like this.’

‘We’ll still need to formally interview them. Do they know the victim?’

‘She’s their cleaner, Katrina Hovat.’

‘We found her coat and handbag downstairs in a scullery off the kitchen,’ said Harriet, seeing Kay’s surprise. ‘Driving licence, house keys, the lot.’

‘Home address?’

‘Got it written down,’ said Barnes, and patted his breast pocket under the coveralls. ‘I’ve radioed through to control to get a patrol over there as soon as possible.’

‘How did she get here?’

‘Her car’s parked round the back, probably because it’s easier to access the scullery from there – that’s where all the cleaning stuff’s kept, like the vacuum cleaner.’

‘I’ve got a pair of technicians analysing her car at the moment,’ Harriet said. ‘I’ll let you know if we find anything of use.’

‘Thanks. Did she have her own set of keys to this place as well?’

‘No need,’ said Barnes. ‘The back door uses the same security code as the front door and the owners confirmed that’s what she would’ve used.’

‘And whoever did this to her? How did they get in?’ Kay’s eyes rested on the broken form on the bed. ‘Any signs of a break-in?’

‘None,’ said Harriet.

‘Guv, I’m wondering if she knew her attacker, and so let them in through the driveway gates, then answered the front door to them,’ said Barnes.

‘We’ve taken fingerprints off the keypad system, so I’ll let you have the results from those in due course,’ Harriet added.

‘There is one thing,’ Barnes said. ‘We haven’t located a mobile phone for her anywhere yet.’

‘Not in her bag?’

‘No, and nowhere in the rooms we’ve searched so far,’ said Harriet. ‘We’ll do a more thorough search in here once her body’s been moved, so I’ll let you know if that changes anything.’

‘Okay.’ Kay felt condensation forming on her mask and forced down the urge to pull it from her face. ‘Can you show me the scullery, Ian? I’d like to see where her things were found, and her car.’

‘I’ll give you a call with an update about my findings sometime tomorrow,’ Harriet said. ‘And I’ll arrange for two of my people to go to her flat first thing in the morning.’

‘Thanks.’

While she followed Barnes back downstairs, Kay’s thoughts returned to the number of phone calls she would need to make before the night was over.

So much of her role as Senior Investigating Officer was given to organising a large team of people, many of whom held specialist roles and were therefore not based at the Maidstone police station. Even more were now private contractors, the police force giving up in-house expertise to that of outsourced help to save costs.

And then there were the political manoeuvrings that would take place out of necessity – obtaining more officers to join her investigation, even though most of them were already thinly spread throughout West Division and overworked.

Reaching the kitchen, she paused for a moment beside the central worktop, unable to tear her gaze away from the expensive cabinetry and sleek design.

‘Ignore the footprints,’ said Barnes, tearing her away from her thoughts. ‘We’ve already established those belong to Mark and Estelle.’

‘What about Katrina and her attacker? Any footprints belonging to them?’

He shook his head. ‘Penelope Brassick told Kyle when he phoned her that Katrina was due to start here at seven this evening. It didn’t start raining until eight.’

Kay took in the otherwise spotless worktops and polished tiles. ‘And she would’ve cleaned up after herself if she made a mess.’

‘When I interview the Brassicks in the morning, I’ll get a better idea of Katrina’s usual routine if they know it. I’ve already sent them a quick email to request a note of times to set up a video conference call.’

Taking one last look through the back door at the CSIs working their way around the victim’s car, Kay shook her head sadly, then turned to her colleague.

‘Harriet’s right, Ian. Whoever did this to her is evil.’

‘And dangerous, guv.’ His eyes hardened. ‘If this is what they’re capable of and we haven’t seen it before, then they could’ve been doing this a long time.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’

THREE

Kay paced the worn carpet in front of the whiteboard, her gaze taking in the threadbare pattern evidencing the numerous murder enquiries that had tested her team’s investigative skills in the past.

Six hours after returning home from last night’s crime scene, her alarm had gone off and she’d emerged into a rain-soaked morning, the streets of Maidstone awash with muddy puddles and debris-clogged gutters.

Clutching a steaming takeout cup of coffee, she raised her head at the sound of her colleagues walking across to where she waited, the telltale squeak from DC Gavin Piper’s worn-out chair cutting through the chatter and general hubbub.

She managed a smile as DC Laura Hanway hurried to catch up with him while tying her hair into a messy bun. The younger detective had only returned from holiday the day before but had insisted on being rostered in to the investigation as soon as she’d heard the news. Dark circles betrayed her earlier insistence that she was ready to contribute to the team, and Kay had no doubt that the woman would come to regret the decision by mid-afternoon.

‘Best make sure the vending machine’s topped up with coffee pods,’ she murmured to a uniformed constable nearest the whiteboard. ‘I think Laura’s going to need them.’

PC Debbie West grinned. ‘Don’t worry, guv, Barnes has already asked about that. And there’re energy drinks for Gavin, too.’

‘Fuelled and ready, guv.’ Gavin held up a can as he sank into his chair and balanced a notebook on his knee.

‘Great, so I’ll have two hyperactive detectives to deal with by eleven o’clock,’ said Kay. ‘Good job you’re going to be busy.’

A flitter of polite laughter peppered the incident room, and then she gestured to Barnes to join her.

‘Okay, to work,’ she said. ‘For those of you who haven’t met Detective Sergeant Ian Barnes, he’ll be acting as my deputy SIO on this case. Ian, do you want to give us a quick update before I divvy out this morning’s tasks?’

‘Guv.’ Barnes unbuttoned his jacket and waited until Kay had moved to a spare chair. ‘Thanks to Debbie and the admin team for getting these photographs printed out and last night’s witness statements into HOLMES2 so quickly this morning. What we know so far is that the victim is Katrina Hovat. She was forty-three years old and worked part-time as a cleaner for Penelope and Stephen Brassick, the owners of the house where she was found murdered last night. The couple who found her, Mark and Estelle Hastings-Jones, rented the house through a website specialising in short-term lets of executive homes and were due to stay for just one night on their way back up north after a driving holiday to the south of France. They’re now staying in staff accommodation at the hotel on the A20 between here and Charing while we crosscheck their statements against what we glean from the rental company, et cetera.’

He paused to take a sip of coffee, then grimaced. ‘Shit, I thought the new supplier was meant to be an improvement, Debs?’

‘It is. They’re cheaper,’ she responded without missing a beat.

Rueful laughter passed among the gathered officers, then Barnes turned to the photographs and they fell silent.

‘Lucas confirms he’ll do the post mortem this morning, but we know that after Katrina was tortured her killer attempted to strangle her before slicing open her throat. The weapon hasn’t yet been retrieved. He’s also told me that the marks to her neck suggest someone wore gloves and used their hands rather than a ligature like her wrists were tied with. The full extent of her injuries is horrific – and that’s before Lucas tells us what else she endured. In the meantime, Harriet’s team finished processing the house at three o’clock this morning so don’t expect a full report until much later today. What Harriet has been able to tell us is that whoever did this was professional – she believes they wore protective clothing similar to what we wear to crime scenes. She’s got sets of fingerprints to test but we believe – given the sorts of places they were found – that they belong to Mark and Estelle, the Brassicks or Katrina. The Brassicks are providing us with prints via an agency in New York in order to eliminate them as soon as possible. If anything doesn’t match, then we’ll pursue that as a valid lead. Harriet’s team have just arrived at Katrina’s flat this morning and she’ll let us have an update once that’s been processed.’ He turned to Kay and raised an eyebrow. ‘I think that’s it so far, guv.’

‘Thanks, Ian.’ Kay swapped places with him and eyed each of her team members in turn. ‘Whoever did this to Katrina seems to be well-practised in torture methods. The cuts and scratches to her legs and abdomen would have caused her an incredible amount of pain, but none were near a major artery. She wasn’t gagged – so they intended her to talk. The question is, what about? Why was she attacked at the Brassicks’ house and not at her flat? What did she know that was so important to them?’

‘That demonstrates a hell of a lot of confidence by whoever murdered her, guv,’ said Gavin. ‘And a knowledge of her routine.’

‘Not that she had much of a routine,’ Kay said. ‘She only went and cleaned for the Brassicks while they were away if the house was booked out. If they were at home, then she went once a week.’

‘How long have they been in New York?’ said Laura.

Kay peered over the heads of her colleagues until she found Kyle Walker. ‘Kyle? Can you fill us in?’

‘Sure, guv.’ The uniformed constable rose from his seat. ‘When I spoke to Stephen Brassick last night, he said this was a three-month visit for them – he typically has to go there to work two to four times a year. When he isn’t in New York, his employers can either send him to their offices in Zurich, or he works from home and takes the train into London twice a week. It depends a lot on what their clients need.’

‘When did the Brassicks leave for New York this time around?’

‘About ten weeks ago, so they’re due home in two weeks.’ He grimaced. ‘He did say they’ll probably go to his parents’ when they get back and sell the house though.’

‘Thanks. What about Mark and Estelle Hastings-Jones? Do they have any alibis for their time prior to their arrival at the house so we can rule them out?’

‘Mr Hastings-Jones topped up with petrol at the garage just off the M20 fifteen minutes before they got to the house, guv,’ said Kyle. ‘And he had the receipt to prove it. I’ve requested CCTV from the garage to double check though.’

‘Good, thanks.’

‘Do you think the Brassicks might’ve been the intended target, not Katrina?’ said Gavin.

‘It’s a possibility,’ Kay replied, scrawling his suggestion on the board. ‘I’d like you and Laura to do the video interview that Debbie is setting up with them later today. Find out if they’ve received any threats over the past year or so, and what they know about Katrina’s background. Aaron, where are you up to with the neighbours’ statements?’

The constable raised his voice so he could be heard. ‘They’re all complete, guv, and we’ll get those into HOLMES2 after the briefing. As we suspected with the Brassicks’ house being so secluded, none of them heard anything and they were extremely shocked by the news of Katrina’s death. That said, only one neighbour ever saw her, and that was only when her car got a flat tyre in the lane about four weeks ago. None of the neighbours use Katrina’s cleaning services though, and none of them know the Brassicks other than in passing.’

‘Okay, thanks. Laura, when you and Gavin speak to the Brassicks, can you ask them why Katrina was there four weeks ago? If they had guests renting the house then, I’d like their details.’

‘Will do, guv.’

‘On to Katrina’s car – Laura, again, can you follow up with Harriet’s team about that and get onto the DVLA to see what her driving record’s like? Aaron said a neighbour mentioned a flat tyre so see if you can find out where she got that fixed too.’

Kay turned her attention to Gavin. ‘I’d like you to attend the post mortem this morning. Take Laura with you. Lucas has confirmed it’ll be at eleven fifteen, so that gives you both time to get on with these other tasks before you head over to Darent Valley hospital.’

The detective constable’s brow furrowed, but he turned his attention to his notebook.

She sympathised with him – a post mortem was never an easy part of any investigation to witness, but even less so when a victim had been tortured. Yet she knew both he and Laura would gain a lot from the experience, and take what they learned into future investigations.

‘Right, before I head over to Katrina’s flat with Ian, where’s Nadine?’ Kay waited until a petite uniformed constable rose from a chair on the fringes of the group, her cheeks flaming. ‘Everyone, meet PC Nadine Fenning, who joins us today from Tonbridge.’

She waited until a smattering of polite greetings subsided, then continued. ‘Kyle, I’d like you to work with Nadine and Debbie to go through Katrina’s social media profiles. First of all, we need next of kin details as a matter of urgency. I don’t want her family finding out about her murder via the news or anything else until we’ve had a chance to speak with them. After that, look for the obvious – anything to show potential arguments that turned nasty, or incidents where she was threatened. Get a feel for what sort of person she was when she wasn’t working. We also need to find out what else she was doing work-wise. She managed to run a car and rent a flat, so she must’ve had quite a few clients for her cleaning services. Hopefully Dave Morrison’s found something to help us searching the flat, but the social media angle’s important too.’

‘Any news about her mobile phone?’ Laura asked.

‘Not yet – Harriet confirmed just before this briefing that they didn’t find it during the search of the Brassicks’ property, or in Katrina’s handbag or car.’ Kay tapped her pen against the board, then spun on her heel. ‘Aaron, can you organise an urgent search of the lane from the Brassicks’ house out to the main road? Maybe her killer disposed of the phone after they left the scene.’

‘I’ll make a start as soon as we’re finished here, guv.’

Kay ran her gaze over the swirling notes that now criss-crossed the whiteboard and felt a renewed energy surge through her as she faced her team.

‘Okay, everyone, that’s it for now. Let’s find a killer.’

FOUR

Ian Barnes cursed under his breath while a small beat-up hatchback reversed into the sole remaining space on Katrina Hovat’s street, then glared at the driver as he drove past.

Beside him, Kay grinned. ‘You’ll have to get used to this walking malarkey soon, you know. Where are you and Pia off to?’

‘The Pyrenees.’

‘Lots of walking there. Lots of fresh air, healthy food…’

‘Stop it, guv.’ He shook his head, unable to stop the smile forming. ‘I take it you and Pia have been gossiping again?’

‘We might have had coffee the other day,’ she replied nonchalantly. ‘And she might have dropped a hint I need to stop buying you lunches for a while.’

‘Did you see the concoction I had to bring into work yesterday? I mean, since when do walnuts and bits of melon belong in salad?’

His colleague laughed at his indignity. ‘Walnuts are good for protein. And there’s another five months to go yet…’

He groaned in response, then sat up straighter as an SUV pulled out from a space near the junction with the next row of red-brick terraced houses. ‘Bingo.’

Leading the way back to the subdivided house where Katrina’s flat was located, Barnes dodged around piles of dog shit and noted the potholed pavement was pockmarked with patch-worked areas by utilities companies, leaving an uneven surface that caused Kay to curse several times before they reached the property.

He paused at the low decrepit brick wall that separated the three-storey house from the road and took in the overgrown front lawn.

Movement at the communal front door caught his eye, and then PC Dave Morrison peered out.

‘Sarge, guv. Want to come up?’

‘Morning, Dave. Who’s here with you?’

‘A newbie – Sean Gastrell,’ said the constable. ‘Just finished probation and knows what he’s doing so I’ve left him upstairs with Harriet’s lot to learn more.’

Barnes smiled. Not many experienced constables would choose to manage a cordon and let someone else be in the thick of an investigation, but that wasn’t Dave’s style.

‘How’s he getting on?’

‘Good. Seems to have actually listened to what he was taught for a start, and he’s been asking some intelligent questions compared to some of the other youngsters HQ have sent us in the past.’ Dave winked. ‘I reckon he’s a keeper, Sarge.’

‘Noted. We’ll have to see what we can do.’

Kay scrawled her signature under Barnes’s and pulled protective gloves from her bag, handing him a spare pair. ‘Will these be enough, Dave, or do they want us in full noddy suits?’

‘Gloves are fine, guv.’

‘What about the other two residents?’ Barnes said. ‘Had a chance to speak to them?’

‘The one through there on this floor is at work at the moment – I spoke with the bloke upstairs who’s just back from a night shift in Ashford. Luckily he’s also the landlord so he gave me the other tenant’s phone number. I’ll give him a call again later to arrange taking a statement. I also mentioned to the landlord – Harry Knowles – that you’d probably want a word too.’

‘Great, thanks. Right, guv – after you.’ Barnes gestured to Kay to go ahead, trudging up the stairs in her wake, and trying not to sound too out of breath by the time they reached the top.

She grinned over her shoulder at him, but said nothing.

In reply, he rolled his eyes, brushed past her and stuck his head through the open doorway to flat three.

‘Hello?’

A young constable with sandy-coloured hair cropped short and startling green eyes ducked out of a room off to the right of the narrow hallway, a notebook and pen in his hands. ‘Sarge?’

‘DS Ian Barnes, and this is the SIO for this investigation, DI Kay Hunter.’

The constable’s eyes widened slightly. ‘It’s an honour to be on your team, guv.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t go that far just yet.’ Kay smiled. ‘You haven’t worked with me before.’

‘Still…’ The constable’s cheeks flamed red.

‘What have you observed so far – Sean, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, guv. Well, Gareth and Patrick here – the CSIs – got here two hours ago, and have processed the living room, bathroom and bedroom so far. It’s a poky place, so it’s not taking them long…’ He gestured for them to step over the threshold and led the way into a living area that merged into a small kitchenette.

A bare plain wooden table stood near to the oven accompanied by two chipped mismatched chairs, while the living room consisted of a pair of armchairs, a bookshelf, and not much else.

‘No TV?’ Barnes said.

‘There used to be one until recently,’ said Sean. He pointed to the faded paintwork on the wall opposite the armchairs, and then a line of dust on a cabinet below that. ‘Looks like it’s gone.’

‘Stolen?’

‘No sign of a break-in, Ian.’ One of the CSIs emerged from the bedroom farther along the hallway and pulled down his mask. ‘Reckon she pawned it. We found a receipt for it and a laptop computer in the bedroom.’

He handed over a pair of plastic evidence bags, and Barnes looked at the names at the top of the receipt.

‘Thanks, Gareth. I know this place. They’re legit, which will help.’ He handed them over to Kay and pulled out his mobile phone. ‘We should get someone to head over there and retrieve the laptop for evidence.’

Sean cleared his throat. ‘I’ve done that, Sarge, just before you got up here. I thought it might be important.’

‘Good work, constable. Do you know who was sent over?’

‘No – control didn’t provide a name, they just said they’d get someone over there ASAP.’

‘Fair enough.’ Barnes handed back the bags so the CSIs could log them into evidence properly. ‘Anything else?’

‘Not really.’ The CSI shrugged. ‘She certainly wasn’t attacked here – there was no sign of a break-in, and there’s dust everywhere.’

Kay frowned. ‘She was employed as a cleaner. I’m surprised at that.’

‘You know what they say about builders, guv,’ Barnes grinned. ‘Too busy to work on their own places half the time. It could have been the same for Katrina. I mean, cleaning doesn’t pay much – she must’ve had more than one job I reckon.’

‘Anything to suggest that?’ Kay turned her attention back to the CSI technician.

‘Yes, hang on.’ The CSI disappeared back into the bedroom then emerged with a bulkier evidence bag. ‘We’ve got a folder with all her utilities bills and bank statements so we’ll send that over later. I had a quick look at the bank statements, and there are regular cash deposits. This appointments diary was on the bedside table too.’

‘So she sells the laptop and switches to a paper system,’ Barnes murmured as Kay flicked through the pages.

‘And only in the past four weeks,’ she said. ‘No names in here, though. Just initials.’

‘We need to find that mobile phone.’ Barnes glanced at the CSI. ‘I don’t suppose…’

The man shook his head. ‘Sorry. We’ve nearly finished here, and we’ve found nothing.’