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  DEADLY CRIMES

  A gripping detective thriller full of suspense

  DCI SOPHIE ALLEN BOOK 2

  MICHAEL HAMBLING

  First published 2016

  Joffe Books, London

  www.joffebooks.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The spelling used is British English except where fidelity to the author’s rendering of accent or dialect supersedes this.

  The right of Michael Hambling to be identified as the author of the work has been asserted in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  ©Michael Hambling

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  THERE IS A GLOSSARY OF ENGLISH VOCABULARY IN THE BACK OF THIS BOOK FOR US READERS.

  ORDER THE FIRST DCI SOPHIE ALLEN BOOK NOW!

  http://www.amazon.co.uk/CRIMES-gripping-detective-thriller-suspense-ebook/dp/B01B1W9CIG

  http://www.amazon.com/CRIMES-gripping-detective-thriller-suspense-ebook/dp/B01B1W9CIG

  A young woman’s body is discovered on a deserted footpath in a Dorset seaside town late on a cold November night. She has been stabbed through the heart.

  It seems like a simple crime for DCI Sophie Allen and her team to solve. But not when the victim’s mother is found strangled the next morning. The case grows more complex as DCI Sophie Allen discovers that the victims had secret histories, involving violence and intimidation. There’s an obvious suspect but Detective Allen isn't convinced. Could someone else be lurking in the shadows, someone savagely violent, looking for a warped revenge?

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  http://www.amazon.co.uk/SECRET-gripping-detective-thriller-suspense-ebook/dp/B018UFBN48/

  http://www.amazon.com/SECRET-gripping-detective-thriller-suspense-ebook/dp/B018UFBN48/

  Who killed Gray Mitchell?

  Gray Mitchell’s body is found buried under fresh snowfall in the early hours of the morning outside Stromford Cathedral. D.I. Jim Neal and D.S. Ava Merry are called in to investigate. It seems that a number of people had motives to kill him, including Mitchell's partner.

  Then another shocking act of violence occurs, also connected to the cathedral. Detectives Neal and Merry’s investigation reveals an intricate web of secrets connecting the crimes. But there is something the detectives have missed, the dark secret which can break open the case.

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1: Mother, Father, Daughter

  Chapter 2: The Agglestone

  Chapter 3: The Lost Girl

  Chapter 4: Pink and Blue Clothes

  Chapter 5: Horror Story

  Chapter 6: Bodies in the Field

  Chapter 7: Blossom

  Chapter 8: Help Us

  Chapter 9: Blossom Quits

  Chapter 10: A New Friend

  Chapter 11: Anagram

  Chapter 12: Charlie Duff

  Chapter 13: The Visit to Gloucester

  Chapter 14: Into the Safe House

  Chapter 15: The Kitten and the Puppy

  Chapter 16: Midwinter Tide

  Chapter 17: The Body in the Yard

  Chapter 18: The Gun

  Chapter 19: Need Your Love So Bad

  Chapter 20: Visit to a Dying Man

  Chapter 21: Sorina

  Chapter 22: Friction Between Friends

  Chapter 23: Family Secrets

  Chapter 24: Death in the Gardens

  Chapter 25: The Two Daughters Meet

  Chapter 26: Freezing Night

  Chapter 27: Conjectures Confirmed

  Chapter 28: Not for the Faint Hearted

  Chapter 29: Satin and Suspenders

  Chapter 30: Revenge

  Chapter 31: S & M

  Chapter 32: You’re the Boss

  Chapter 33: Family Lunch

  Chapter 34: The Arrest

  Chapter 35: The Final Visit

  Epilogue

  ORDER THE FIRST DCI SOPHIE ALLEN BOOK NOW!

  Glossary of English terms for US readers

  CHARACTER LIST

  Dedication

  This novel would not exist without the help and support of a number of people. It is dedicated firstly, to my wife, Margaret, for being who she is: the most important person in my life, now as always. Secondly to my daughter-in-law, Kat, who is always willing to offer help with grammar and punctuation. Lastly, to my three sons, their wives and my grandchildren.

  If you have never visited the Isle of Purbeck on Dorset’s Jurassic Coast then you should really try to do so. The area has beautiful scenery, picturesque beaches and some of the best pubs in the South West of England. The DCI Sophie Allen novels are partly dedicated to this wonderful area.

  Prologue

  Gloucester: December 1969

  A few days before Christmas, in the cold, dead hours of the night, the city centre streets were bleak and deserted. The rain was falling in torrents. At least the young man had an umbrella which kept his head and shoulders dry, but his trousers were soaked and water trickled down his legs into his shoes.

  He held the umbrella lowered to protect his face from the driving rain. He could hardly see where he was going. He raised it a little and saw the sign for Northgate Street. So he was still heading the right way. He continued on and collided with someone coming towards him. He raised the umbrella again and started to laugh, ready to apologise for his carelessness, but then stopped. The other man’s eyes were jumping with tension, his expression vicious. He glanced sideways, looking for an escape route. He saw a jewellery shop with its door open. A van. Several men dressed in black, balaclavas pulled down over their faces.

  The figure in front of him was now holding a small, black, metal object. He looked at the eyes. They held no pity. He looked up at the sky and found nothing there. Instead of a prayer, he whispered a single name: Susan.

  * * *

  Poole Harbour, January 2012

  The small cruise launch finally came to rest and dropped anchor. It was night and the mist was down over Poole Harbour. A dark figure waited on the rickety jetty that jutted out across the mudflats. A crewman threw a line across and the boat was made secure. The figure stepped carefully onto the slippery deck.

  ‘Quick,’ he said.

  He kept watch on deck as the two crewmen went below. The younger of them returned almost at once. He led a group of six young women, their faces sickly in the dull light. They shuffled forward one by one across the gangway onto the slimy planking of the jetty. They made their way to the shore where a fourth man was waiting beside an old van. The two crewmen peered into the gloom, but nothing stirred.

  The last young woman to reach the shore gasped when she saw the figure waiting at the van.

  ‘Stefan,’ she whispered.

  She was bundled into the van with the others. One of the women complained when she was pushed too hard. The man who’d hurried them from the boat grabbed her shoulder, spun her around and punched her hard in the face. Then he shoved her through the doors, where she sprawled face down on the floor, weeping. The elder of the two shore-men took a wad of money out of his pocket and handed it across to the crewmen. They returned to their boat, untied the line and disappeared into the misty darkness. On shore, the van began to make its way westwards, along a boggy track.

  Seated beside the driver, Stefan chewed at his finger nails. His own cousin. He’d had no idea she would end up being caught in their elaborate snare. What
could be done? He would have to speak to Barbu and then one of the bosses. The thought made him nervous. He knew how cruel they could be. He had seen what they did to some of the young women. He had even been involved himself. But he couldn’t just leave Nadia here with these men.

  They pushed the girls in through the farmhouse door and herded them upstairs. Then Stefan went to see Barbu.

  ‘That girl, the one called Nadia. She is my cousin, Barbu. We must get her out of here,’ he said in Romanian.

  Barbu laughed. He spat on the floor.

  ‘You think we will change the plans just for that? After all the money, and the danger of bringing them across? You are mad. Forget it, Stefan. Put her out of your mind. Just get on with your job. And make some food, quick. We’ve had nothing since we left France.’

  Stefan was dismayed. He went into the kitchen and started to prepare a stew out of tinned meat and vegetables. He opened a fresh loaf of bread and set plates and cutlery out on the worktop. He placed a helping of food on each of the eleven dishes and called to Barbu that the meal was ready. Barbu and one of the other men took plates upstairs for the young women.

  Some time later, three of the men pushed the girls into the large downstairs room. The young women looked exhausted and panic-stricken. Barbu had poured glasses of fruit juice for them. He added the drug Rohypnol to each glass. Nadia refused to drink. She looked at Stefan, but he would not meet her eye. One of the other men tried to force her to drink, but she spat it out. Barbu stalked across the room and slapped her face, hard. She shrank back away from him. Stefan came forward and pushed Barbu away from his cousin.

  ‘What are you doing?’ said one of the men in English. ‘Fuck off, you dickhead!’

  Barbu pushed Stefan out of the room and closed the door behind him. Stefan stalked down the corridor to the kitchen, where he began to kick the wall in frustration. This was becoming a nightmare. He could hear the girls screaming as the men pushed them back up the stairs. He knew exactly what was going to happen now. He had often taken part himself. What could he do? He sat in the kitchen with his head in his hands and the minutes ticked by. Then the gang leader walked in and Stefan looked up at him. Maybe he would understand.

  Chapter 1: Mother, Father, Daughter

  Monday and Tuesday, Week 1

  Susan Carswell had just finished eating and was stacking the dishwasher when her doorbell rang. She looked out of the kitchen window of her flat but could see nothing. Her street in the upmarket Bristol suburb of Clifton was its usual quiet self. It was a Monday evening in January, and most people were at home indoors, insulated from the chill January air. She walked through to the small hallway, smoothing down her pale grey shift dress, and looked through the peephole. A smartly dressed young man was standing, waiting. He looked as if he was an official of some sort. She engaged the security chain, as her daughter had instructed her, and opened the door an inch or two.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Ms Susan Carswell?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I’m Detective Constable Peter Spence from Gloucestershire police. Here’s my warrant card.’ He held his wallet open close to the gap so that Susan could clearly see the identification. ‘I’m from the cold-case unit, investigating the death of a young man some years ago. I think that you may be able to help us. May I come in?’

  ‘Of course. I’d be glad to help. My daughter’s a detective chief inspector.’

  She closed the door, released the chain and reopened it. She beckoned the man to follow her through to the lounge.

  ‘Would you like some tea or coffee? I’ve just made a pot of coffee and was about to pour myself a cup. It’s a new blend and tastes lovely.’

  ‘That would be fine, Ms Carswell. It would go down a treat on a chilly evening like this. It is Ms Carswell, isn’t it? Not Mrs?’

  ‘Yes. I’m not married. I never have been, despite having fifty-nine years on my clock. Excuse me while I fetch the coffee. Please sit down.’

  Her voice was cheerful, matter-of-fact. It masked the tension that was beginning to gather in the pit of her stomach. She went through to the kitchen, poured two coffees, spread some biscuits out on a plate and carried it all back to the sitting room on a tray.

  ‘It’s ready to drink. It’s had its five minutes in the cafetière. Now, please tell me how I can help you.’

  ‘It’s a complicated story. Recently, a major crime gang from the West Midlands was infiltrated and broken up and a number of arrests were made. The Thompson brothers? You may have read about it in the papers.’

  ‘Yes, I do remember. And Sophie — she’s my daughter — has talked about it. She worked in the West Midlands crime squad some years ago.’

  Did he look at her more carefully? Susan wondered if he’d guessed who her daughter was.

  ‘Well, this gang has been operating for decades. One of the brothers is dying of cancer and has been talking to the local police. The gang started operating almost fifty years ago, so you can imagine how much work there is, clearing it all up.’ He took a sip from his cup. ‘Apparently one of their first serious crimes was a late-night break-in at a jeweller’s shop in Gloucester. It’s been preying on the mind of Billy Thompson ever since. A young man happened to walk by and witness the break-in. Someone in the gang panicked and shot him. They shoved the body into their van as they made their getaway, and dropped it down the vent of a disused mine shaft. It lay there until two weeks ago. When Billy finally talked about it, the West Midlands force contacted us and we retrieved the remains.’

  Susan’s cup was raised midway to her lips. She put it slowly down again.

  ‘How long ago did this take place?’ she whispered.

  ‘In 1968. Forty-three years ago.’

  ‘Was it Graham?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, you have the right name. We’ve traced one of his friends who was at university with him here in Bristol. He remembered your name.’

  Susan got to her feet and walked unsteadily through to her bedroom. She came back a minute or so later with a small, old and rather blurred snapshot of a young couple at a party. She handed the photo over.

  ‘Yes, that’s the young man. We’ve got a successful DNA match with his parents and they’ve given us a photo. His name was Graham Howard. Is that right?’

  Susan managed a slight nod. ‘So his parents are still alive? Both of them?’

  ‘They’re in their late eighties. The father is still alert and very active for his age. I think he’s eighty-six. His wife is two years older. She’s not so fit, but is still mentally very bright.’

  ‘Did they have any other children? I don’t remember Graham talking of any siblings.’

  ‘No. He was an only child.’

  All those years of not knowing what had happened to their only child. What must their lives have been like? So she wasn’t the only one who’d been through hell, thought Susan.

  ‘Would I be able to meet them sometime?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m sure they’d like that. They don’t know about you yet. As I said, I only found out this afternoon from one of his old student friends. The parents told me they’d be happy to have visits from anyone who was a close friend at university. I think they are relieved that the uncertainty is finally over, after more than forty years of not knowing what happened to him. They are understandably upset but are showing a lot of courage.’ He took another look at the photo. ‘Are you the young woman?’

  ‘Yes. I was only sixteen at the time, but he didn’t know that. He thought I was eighteen and that I’d left school. I have a daughter by him. He never knew I was pregnant. He just vanished and it broke my heart.’ She paused and drew a breath. ‘So his parents don’t know that they have a granddaughter. And two great-granddaughters.’

  Middle-aged and smartly dressed, her dark hair showing flecks of grey, Susan looked composed but the news this man had just delivered had struck her like a bomb exploding. Underneath her well-groomed, ordinary appearance a maelstrom of emotions swirled.<
br />
  They talked for a while longer. After the police officer left, Susan sat weeping. She had been strong for so many years. Now she felt fragile, vulnerable and alone. Finally she phoned her daughter.

  * * *

  DC Spence arrived at the cold-case unit premises at Gloucester police headquarters at eight thirty the following morning. As he passed the reception desk, someone stood up from the row of seats along the wall and followed him to the door leading through to the offices. He turned and saw a fair-haired woman in her forties.

  ‘I’m Sophie Allen,’ she said.

  ‘I didn’t expect you so soon, ma’am.’ He looked past her at Susan Carswell. She looked tired. ‘I was really impressed by your mother, ma’am. She must have been almost overwhelmed by my news, but she held herself together. She doesn’t look as though she’s slept much since I saw her.’

  ‘No. Nor have I. And there’s no need for the ma’am. I’m not here in an official capacity. Do you think it might be possible for us to see my grandparents? I’ve been waiting forty-two years.’

  * * *

  Not long afterwards, Spence was in a quiet area of Gloucester, ringing the doorbell of a detached house. Sophie and her mother stood back while he spoke to the elderly man who answered the door.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Howard. I won’t stay, if you don’t mind. I’ve brought Detective Chief Inspector Sophie Allen, and Ms Susan Carswell to see you. They have personal information about Graham that is not really within my remit. All I will say is that I am satisfied that everything they will tell you is true. It will all be confirmed by DNA tests, but that will only be in a few days’ time.’

  He turned to Sophie. ‘I’m going back to the office. Please contact me if you need anything. It’s been a pleasure to meet you, ma’am, even in such difficult circumstances.’