The Killer Inside: A gripping serial killer thriller (Detective Jessica Daniel thriller series Book 1) (20 page)

P
aul Keegan watched
her take the flyer. He had stopped sorting himself and glanced up. ‘Have you found it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can I see it?’

‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’ Jessica didn’t think he was the type to go storming off looking for revenge, but she didn’t want to risk giving it back to him. It looked as if he understood.

He nodded gently and simply made one request. ‘Make sure you get him,’ he said.

Jessica followed the details on the flyer to the address it had given. Things almost made sense, though there were still gaps. The location listed would have almost certainly been the place closest to all four homes if they wanted to get keys cut. As well as being the nearest spot, there was a good chance it would also be the cheapest. All the victims were local and would have known that.

It was quite possible the person that ran the place would have had the skills to replace a lock for Claire Hogan too, but even if he didn’t himself, there was a reasonable connection. Jessica didn’t know if she would ever truly know the whole story – unless Nigel Collins was willing to talk after he had been caught.

The biggest problem Jessica had was that she couldn’t find the place listed. She knew she was roughly in the right area but found herself walking in circles. She had made at least two laps of the site, weaving in and out of pedestrians, and checking each possible location individually. She didn’t understand how she could be missing it.

Eventually, she decided she didn’t have enough knowledge of that precise area and that she should ask someone who did. She walked up to the closest person, took out the flyer and held it up to the man in front of her.

‘Hi. I was wondering if you knew where this place is?’

The man squinted to look at the paper in her hand. ‘Hang on a minute, love. I’ll need my glasses.’ The man fiddled with a pocket on the inside of his jacket and took out a case, before removing a pair of bifocals. He put them on and reached for the flyer. Jessica was reluctant to let it go, given it could be used as evidence at some point, but released her grip nonetheless. The man took it and scanned the words. ‘Sorry love, I’m only here on Saturdays. Not a clue.’

He gave it back but Jessica was silently fuming. Why didn’t you bloody say that in the first place?

Jessica decided to ask a woman close by, walking over and holding the flyer out once again. ‘Hi. I was just wondering if you know where this place is?’

The woman took the paper and gave it a read. ‘Do you know the offer’s out of date?’ Jessica felt like shaking the woman.
Of course I bloody know.

‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘I was looking to find the place rather than use the offer.’

The woman shrugged, pointing the way Jessica had come from. ‘It should be on the end, over there.’

Jessica took the flyer back, put it in her bag, said, ‘Thank you’, and turned around. She was puzzled, as she knew she had checked each place behind her. She figured the woman knew better than her, so walked back the way she had come and paid even more attention to her surroundings.

She reached the place on the end, where the woman had told her she should be looking, and got as close as she could without drawing too much attention. The woman must surely be wrong – this place didn’t deal with keys…

And then Jessica saw it.

It
did
deal with keys. It also engraved signs and trophies, plus sold batteries and various leather goods, but that wasn’t the main function of the Gorton Market stall.

Now she could see why she had missed it. Each time she had walked past before, she had simply seen the sign for shoe repairs.

And now she knew exactly who Nigel Collins was.

T
here had been
no better feeling than ditching the name ‘Nigel Collins’. It was something that had reminded him of being weak and pathetic, of seeing those fists pounding down upon him until he’d awoken in hospital. When he’d had that name, people had thought he was stupid and weird – but there was nothing wrong with being quiet. His parents had died, for crying out loud. He had been left in a children’s home he despised. What did people want him to say and do? He had only been a child, and all the other kids had picked on him.

That had been a few years ago. He was finally getting things together. The main thing was getting rid of that name, which had taken a while. He never would have felt able to get on with his life, the way things had been after he’d left hospital. Luckily, he had made friends while living on the street. It was funny that people who were overlooked could be so resourceful. Some of them were lost to drugs, but that had never appealed to him. One of the people he had met told him he could get him a new ID and national insurance number. His friend had come through with a brown envelope containing the few basic documents he would need.

He wouldn’t be able to drive without risking being discovered, or be able to leave the country, but that could change with time. Homeless people rarely got anything for nothing – but Nigel found that passing on money he picked up from begging and the odd bout of slippery fingers got him what he wanted. He learned all sorts of new tricks.

With a new identity, things had started to come good. He got himself a flat. It was horrible, but a roof was always better than no roof. Then he got a job. It was nothing special – fixing shoes, engraving and cutting keys on the market – but the stall’s owner had been great with him, looking to pass on his skills so he could semi-retire but still take some income. Nigel had found out lots about himself, about how practical and creative he could be. With a new name, somewhere to live and a job, he had found his confidence growing at last. He’d started making friends and creating a new life.

He’d started talking to girls.

And then, within days of each other, two people had walked into his life as if to taunt him; a reminder of a past he had forgotten. He recognised the faces as parents of the people who had destroyed his life. Names weren’t a strong point, but he never forgot a face. These were features he knew, but they had looked through him, not knowing or caring what their children had done.

First, a man, mumbling something about having been burgled and needing new keys, pretending he didn’t know who he was talking to. A name and address wasn’t necessarily needed for this job – but people rarely questioned it when asked. Every now and then Nigel had got a few girls’ names and numbers in a similar way. When the man returned, he got his keys – without knowing about the extra one that had been cut.

At the time, the man formerly known as Nigel Collins didn’t know how the key could come in handy in the future. But then there had come a second gift.

Two days later, a mother of one of his other tormentors came to the stall, also pretending she didn’t know who he was. She had the same story – she’d been burgled and wanted to chat, without even acknowledging who he was. She had been only too happy to give her address details, and another key had been pocketed.

He had wondered if the other two would walk into his life – two more gifts – but they hadn’t so far. Maybe fate or God was telling him he had to find the other two himself? Perhaps it was time to be Nigel Collins for one final, short period of his life? After that, he could get back on with things: find a career and a girlfriend. It would be time to settle down.

O
ne of the
hardest parts of leaving an identity behind was choosing a new name. It had to be something the individual felt comfortable answering to, but also something he or she actually liked. After the tedium of ‘Nigel’, he wanted it to be more memorable – not weird, but something not exactly regulation either. Although he had decided on his new moniker a few years before, he had only really begun to feel it sticking recently. He felt his senses moving more quickly when people spoke his name. His response was becoming instant and natural. He liked it.

The plan that started forming seven months ago was beginning to work, too. The other two he’d wanted to target had not come directly to him, so he’d had to make sure they did. The first was easy – the woman even lived in the same house as years ago, although he didn’t recognise the man with her. He resolved it would have to be the woman he took; the man might be completely blameless, but not her. He began to watch the location and realised it would be difficult to get her alone. The first two would be easy, but this would be a lot harder. He felt sure the right opportunity would come if he waited long enough.

He had thought of a way to try to make sure she came to him in the first instance, giving him complete access to her. Everyone loved to save a bit of money and a good offer. In his head it would be successful and, if fate kept favouring him, it would work.

He had used the Internet to check the final name on his list and had seen the tormenter was in prison, where he belonged. But that shouldn’t let him off the hook. Finding anyone close to him had proven hard, though. He didn’t even know if they lived in the same area now. He had been waiting for fate to guide him, with little luck. He did not want to continue with a plan that only contained three of the four people.

And then he’d seen what he had been wanting to see for all these months – and she had been right in front of him the whole time. Like someone who was homeless, whores could almost live in plain sight, with many people driving and walking past, not noticing what was in front of them. He had walked past the row of shops on many occasions as he went home. He usually kept his head down. He had even heard her voice, ‘Do you fancy…’ as he hurried past. Then one night, he’d glanced up and seen what he had been looking for the entire time. A familiar face from years before, a face he remembered walking young Shaun to school. Befriending her was easy; money tended to do that. Afterwards, she
wanted
to be friends, offering him cigarettes and complaining about the local kids.

Then everything had appeared: a way to get access to both his final places. He had learned skills from the stall and now he had used them. He repaired the lock he had damaged the night before and pocketed a third key, and then the final woman came to him on the stall, and the fourth and final key had been created.

Now he had to wait and watch. He didn’t know if he was capable of doing what he’d planned. He would have to be focused and think of what had been done to him in the past. He would have to build up his strength first, develop his body and keep a close eye on the comings and goings of his targets. When the time came, he would have to be careful not to leave a trace. There were enough TV shows to help with that. Hairnets, gloves, and more.

Would it matter if he did leave hairs or skin? He’d never been arrested. Nobody had him on record… He’d have to look into it.

In the meantime, he could plan, and wait for the perfect time.

And then, when all four were gone and he could live with himself again, he could finally say goodbye to Nigel Collins and start his life over. It would be his tormenters who would have to live with the wreckage they had caused, not him.

J
essica didn’t recognise
the old man standing on the stall, but she instantly knew why not. The person who had worked there had got himself a new job. She kept repeating to herself over and over that she must be wrong. She had to be sure.

She approached the stall. She had been staring at it, trying to take everything in, and the holder must have been anxious as she reached the point where she was directly in front of him.

‘Are you all right, darling?’ he asked in a local accent.

Jessica couldn’t think straight. ‘Sorry. I was wondering about a man who worked here…’

The man snorted. ‘Heh, you’re not the first. I think a few of the girls round here have had their eye on m’boy over the past couple of years.’

‘
Your
boy?’

‘Oh, not my son but, yeah, he’s a good lad. He has a new job, so I’m sorry, he won’t be around any longer.’ Jessica didn’t know what to say, but the man misunderstood the look on her face. ‘Oh, don’t worry, it’s a good job. I’m pleased he’s sorted himself out. It means I’ve had to come out of retirement until I can find someone else to take over.’

Jessica hadn’t been listening but thanked him anyway. Her mind was racing and she felt as if she were in a trance. It couldn’t be…

She felt she had to hear someone else say it before it would be true. She had taken a few steps away from the stall, but turned around again and walked back towards the man. ‘Could you tell me his name…?’

‘You didn’t even know? I didn’t think he was that shy. It was Randall – Randall Anderson. Maybe you’ll get lucky and come across him one day? I think he’s got a girlfriend though, so you might have to wait in line.’

The man laughed, but Jessica didn’t. She moved quickly away from the stall, fumbling with her bag to pull her phone out. Once again, as she needed to move quickly, her fingers betrayed her. She finally pulled it out of her bag, but it caught on one of the handles and she dropped it.

Her heart froze as she saw it fall almost in slow motion. There was a small crash as it hit the ground. She bent down and snatched it up, but the screen had a crack across it, although it seemed slightly responsive. Jessica pressed the button for her contacts list. The phone was being slow and the scroll was only half-working, but she managed to get up a list of recent contacts then pressed the ‘call’ button next to Caroline’s name.

‘Answer, answer, answer,’ Jessica muttered quietly as the phone rang. She heard a click, and for a moment thought her friend was about to speak. Instead, it was her voicemail message. While she listened to her friend’s voice, Jessica remembered that morning’s text about being called into work. As the other end of the line beeped, Jessica spoke frantically.

‘Caz, it’s Jess. Look, wherever you are, go somewhere safe or somewhere public. If Randall is with you, make some excuse to get away and call me back. It’s urgent.’

She hung up and swore, much to the annoyance of a woman walking nearby with a young child.

What did she do now?

The obvious answer was to do what she always told everyone else to do – phone the police – but Jessica was thinking of her friend. What if there had been a mistake? She would be risking throwing away their friendship and perhaps her own career.

She wasn’t worried about treading on toes, considering the case had been taken from her. It was better to be wrong and get a telling off than be right and do nothing. But if she ended up making allegations that turned out to be untrue, especially if it looked as if it were designed to coincide with Caroline moving out, their friendship would surely be irreparable.

More practically, if the police were looking for the killer and Nigel Collins – or whatever he was called – got wind of it, he could go to ground and disappear. He had done it before, and Jessica couldn’t risk that happening.

Jessica decided she should head back to the flat to see if Caroline had returned from work. If not, she would at least be able to pick up her car and drive to her friend’s office, and then the two of them could go to the police station while people senior to her decided what to do. There was a taxi rank next to the market and Jessica jogged towards it, opening the door on the first cab.

She gave the driver her address and then tried using her half-working phone again. She dialled Caroline over and over, with no luck.

As the taxi drove, Jessica tried to think of things that might not fit with her theory, but instead could only come up with things that justified her fears even more. Caroline had never met Randall’s parents. He said they lived abroad, but that was an easy thing to say to get out of having a girlfriend meet them.

And what about Ryan?

He claimed he had found Jessica’s files on the coffee table after she had left them under her bag – but maybe he
had
found them where he said, because Randall had already gone through them? It was a horrible thought. It could have been Jessica carrying those files around that had led to Claire Hogan and Mary Keegan being killed quicker, before the police could find the connection.

The taxi driver was good and Jessica gave him a ten-pound note before dashing out of the car towards her flat. She put her key in the front door, thinking about how a key had been turned by Nigel Collins or Randall Anderson to let himself into the victims’ homes.

She pushed the door open and went inside. ‘Caroline?’

There was no answer. Jessica put her bag on the floor next to the front door and took her phone out, putting it in her pocket, and then went to grab the car keys from her room. As she moved, she thought she could hear some sort of rustling coming from Caroline’s room. At first her heart leapt, with her instant thought being her friend was at home – but then something far more sinister occurred to her.

Jessica crept along the carpeted hallway. She knew where the squeaky floorboards were and moved to avoid them. She passed her own bedroom door and carefully approached Caroline’s. It was almost shut, but there was a crack and she could definitely hear something inside. Jessica held her breath and tried to peer through the gap where the hinges met the wall, but could see nothing. She looked through the already open part of the door, but could only see one side of Caroline’s bed. She slowly pushed the door open to reveal more of the bed through the widening crack, squeezing silently through the gap and glancing behind the door.

Randall was standing there, hands reaching into the built-in wardrobe, but he turned to give her a puzzled look. ‘Jess? I didn’t hear you come in. Caroline was called into work but left me her key so I could start moving things for her. Didn’t she text you?’

Jessica felt frozen.

What should she do?

Randall was bigger and stronger than her. It wasn’t as if she could go straight in and accuse him of being Nigel Collins and call the police. She already knew what he was capable of, having seen all four bodies. Not only that but, if he did kill her here, the police would assume that Collins had come to deal with the officer assigned to his case. Even if Randall’s DNA was found at the scene, that would be expected, as he was Caroline’s boyfriend.

She also couldn’t risk letting him leave and losing him for good.

Jessica tried to keep her voice calm. ‘She sent me a message this morning. I’ve been out and about.’ She thought her voice had faltered slightly but, if it had, Randall said nothing.

‘Do you want to help?’ he asked. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing with all these clothes and things. I’ve got these boxes but have no idea how it should be sorted or anything.’ He indicated some cardboard boxes on the floor by his feet and was smiling.

Jessica tried to return the smile but it was excruciating. If she could get away from him for a few minutes, she could call the station and get help.

‘No worries. I’m going to get a drink. Do you want anything?’

‘Some water would be fine.’

Jessica backed out of the room, heart racing. She turned and went into the kitchen; she put two glasses on the draining board and let the tap run as she took her phone out from her pocket. Even if he was nearby, perhaps he would hear the water and not her?

Her cracked phone screen was still not properly working. She pressed the screen to view her contacts but it wouldn’t load. She used one hand to fill both glasses, using the other to jab at the front of her phone ever harder. Eventually she had both glasses filled but left the water running anyway. Finally, the phone started to respond. She needed both thumbs but managed to get the list of names scrolling. She could see her hand shaking and felt sick but kept telling herself to focus. She got to the entry ‘Station’ and pressed ‘call’. She put the phone to her ear and turned to face the door.

Randall was standing there, a pair of scissors in his hand.