Nails In A Coffin (Demi Reynolds Book 1) (20 page)

Both DCI Francis and DI Craig were back at the CCTV centre, looking over more footage. They’d been there for a good two hours now, trawling through the various still shots they had of the vehicles they’d found at the scene of the crime. The thing was, they were missing one of the vehicles. It was a 4x4. The CCTV operator had managed to track the vehicle to the scene but hadn’t had any luck figuring out where it ended up.

“A vehicle just can’t disappear into thin air,” Amy offered as she watched the operator go about his business. It seemed to be a recurring thing — watching the man decipher moving images, that is. She had grown tired of sitting in the same chair she had been sitting in before. Her partner Lionel was standing this time. It seemed as if he, too, had grown weary of sitting. After all, that was all they had been doing for the past couple of days. Sitting and waiting. They were anxious to get it out of the way and get back to chasing. That was what they really wanted to be doing. But being a police officer meant that they did a lot of sitting before they got to chasing. That was the way of the job. Nobody told them that as recruits. Maybe if they had been told, they would have brought foldable chairs that were comfier than the ones they usually parked their rears on.

“You’re right. Cars don’t vanish into thin air. But what comes up, must come down. Just like what goes in, must come out,” the operator said as he searched through the data files on screen.

“What are you saying?” Amy asked him. “That the 4x4 floated into the air?”

“No, I’m just saying that whatever happens, we will find the missing car.”

Lionel walked past Amy, who was sitting on a chair in the middle of the dark room. He walked up to the desk where the operator was sitting and leant beside the man. He watched him work from up close. Amy could tell that the operator didn’t like being observed intently.

“What are you doing?” he asked Lionel, a hint of fear present in his voice.

“I’m just watching you work. Nothing wrong with that, now, is it?”

“I guess not,” he said, turning his attention back to the screen in front of him. He began to type. His fingers moved quickly over the keys. Amy could hear the plastic hitting against his digits. She could hear each key being momentarily buried and then springing back to life. She listened to that sound for a long while. She imagined which keys were being hit, until nothing but silence followed. She opened her eyes and saw Lionel staring at the screen in silence. The operator had stopped what he was doing. He, too, was staring at the screen. She couldn’t see what they were looking at. So she got up and walked over to them. The darkness around the room was slowly disappearing as her eyes locked onto the bright screen. She looked in shock at what she saw.

“Is that who I think it is?” she asked in a low tone from behind the two men. They both turned quickly, as if the sound of her voice had startled them.

“Yeah. That’s Demi Reynolds, your number-one suspect!” Lionel said, a smile creeping across his face.

Amy darted her eyes between Lionel and the still CCTV image on the screen. It looked grainy and pixelated. She focused on what was on the screen. It flickered a few times, and she smiled. It was her suspect. After all this time, she could see her face. Amy was ecstatic. On the inside she was jumping for joy, but she was sure to make it look like she wasn’t fazed by the developments. She didn’t want to come across as too keen. That was the last thing any police officer wants to be. Your colleagues end up seeing you as a liability once you become too keen. So Amy held her breath and smiled once again.

“There she is,” was all she could manage. She felt Lionel’s big hand clasp her back in a half-arsed hug. She looked at him and smiled some more.

“But look what she’s driving,” the CCTV operator said.

Amy’s eyes widened. “It’s that damn 4X4!” she said.

“Exactly. I’ve just run a search on the plates, and they match the plates from the 4x4 that entered Ashford. So we’ve finally found our missing vehicle. And now we know who’s responsible for the body count at the farm.”

Amy’s smile disappeared. She had just realized the same thing. Demi Reynolds was no longer a kidnapped damsel in distress. She was a wanted woman. A cold-blooded killer. She didn’t quite know how she felt about that. Since the case had begun, she’d felt some sort of connection to Demi, albeit a very minute one. She saw similarities between her and Demi. Every now and then a case comes along in a detective’s career where they ask themselves
“would I do the same thing?”

Amy had asked herself that question. And the deeper they went into this rabbit hole of a case, the further from knowing the answer she got.

“So, that’s our killer?” Amy asked out loud.

“Looks that way. But first we’d need evidence. But I have an idea,” the operator said, reaching for his phone.

“What are you doing?” Amy asked.

“I’m phoning Land Rover,” the operator said.

“Now’s not the time to order a car,” Lionel quipped, to little laughter. In fact, everyone went silent. He decided he’d leave the jokes for another time.

“I’m phoning Land Rover to see if this particular car has onboard tracking. Some models have it, you see. Just in case it gets reported stolen, they can track the vehicle.”

“But what if it isn’t stolen?” Amy asked. “We did a search on the plates, and everything seems to be kosher.”

“Yeah, but who said that Land Rover would only use that tracking device when a car is stolen?”

“You just did!” Amy said.

The operator smiled and said, “Trust me. I’m sure I can get them to reveal certain information…unless they want their vehicle to become infamous with this multiple murder case.”

“That’s pushing it. You reckon they’ll fall for such a thing?” Lionel asked.

“There’s only one way to find out,” the operator said, dialling the number and placing the phone to his ear.

One long phone call later…

“They said yes.”

Amy looked at the operator and asked a question with her eyes.

“Yes?” she said, not entirely sure what that meant exactly.

“Yes. They said yes,” the operator repeated.

“Yes to what exactly?” Lionel asked. He was sitting on the corner of the desk the operator worked from.

“They gave us three pinpoints as to where the vehicle has been and where it is now.”

Amy’s face lit up. She was trying not to seem too keen, but this was an entirely different set of circumstances. They had a possible hit on their suspect, and that could only mean good news. But, judging by the sour look on the operator’s face, it wasn’t all good news.

“What? What’s with the face?”

“Do you want the good news or the really, really, really, really bad news?” he asked.

That was when Amy’s face dropped and her keenness dissipated into what could be construed as trapped wind by the expression she wore on her face.

“I’ve never heard somebody use the word ‘really’ four times,” Amy said. “It must be bad news.”

“Well, it depends on how you look at it. Firstly though, we have two pieces of good news. One; we know of two locations where the 4x4 has traveled in the past day.”

“That’s great,” Lionel said, trying to reassure Amy with a smile. But she was far from able to muster as much as a slight twitch, let alone a full-blown smile.

“One of them is a clearing in a forest near Ramsgate. The vehicle was parked there for eight minutes. And then it did a U-turn and traveled to a hotel, where it was parked for eight hours. It then left and made its way to Ramsgate Ferry Port. It was there for a grand total of ten minutes before it boarded what we assume to be a ferry, unless it was able to drive into the sea and turn into some sort of submarine.”

“So the bad news is?” Amy asked, looking at the operator.

“The bad news is, the 4x4 is currently three-quarters of the way to Spain. It will hit Santander within the hour. And then she’s gone.”

“But what about the tracker? We can still use it to pinpoint her location, and the local police could sweep in and save the day.”

“The Spanish police don’t tend to do too many favors for us. Especially since most of our fugitives jump to the Costa Del Sol. Let’s just say, they don’t hold us in the highest of regard. Even if we managed to ring them and tell them that they have a murderous witch of a woman about to enter their land, they’d probably tell us to fuck ourselves,” the operator said.

“Man, that’s news to me. So what are we supposed to do? Admit defeat and let this bitch walk?” Amy asked.

“Nope. We go after her the only way we know how,” Lionel said.

“No,” the operator said “We don’t go after her. We entrap her. We mount a case, and then we swoop in.”

“But we don’t have a case. We have nothing. Nothing but bodies. I don’t know how much actual police work you’ve done in your life….” Amy said to the operator.

He interrupted her and said, “Name’s Steve. Feel free to call me Stevo.”

“Whatever, Steve. Just don’t go telling us how to do our job!”

“I’m not. I’m just saying that maybe we have more than we think. Maybe we have the mother lode.”

“Like what? What do we have?” Lionel asked.

“Think about it. The vehicle was parked in a forest just outside Ramsgate. It was there for eight minutes. What do you think a woman like that was doing in a forest?”

“Catching butterflies and ripping their wings off. Seems about right for a bitch like that,” Amy offered.

“No. She was either hiding something or getting something,” the operator said.

Amy pondered that assumption for a second or two, and grinned at the operator. “You know what, Steve? You may be right. I say we go down to the forest and see what she was up to.”

Lionel nodded. Steve the operator smiled. And before they knew it, they would bust the case wide open.

Twenty-Seven Minutes Later:

Amy Francis pulled up to a row of trees. She’d been driving with Lionel for nearly fifteen minutes. They had left London in a helicopter and were taken to a spot where the Met had a car waiting for them. It was nice that the Met were finally playing ball with the both of them. As Amy pulled in and turned the engine off, she imagined the sort of commendations the both of them would be getting. If anything, the Met were trying to cover their tracks. They didn’t want the public knowing that they could have prevented all this from happening. Hence why Amy was suspecting some sort of commendation.

“At least we’re here,” Amy said, sighing loudly and resting her head on the headrest.

Lionel patted her on the shoulder and said, “Looks like we have company.”

They could see three CSIs in white lab coats and protective masks making their way to the car. Looking around, Amy could see that they had turned up in their own van. The Metropolitan police insignia was tattooed on the side of their vehicle. She saw that one of the approaching CSI men was holding a clear bag in his hand. It had something shiny and metallic in it. At first Amy couldn’t make out what it was, but suddenly she recognized the distinct shape.

“YES!” she screamed rather loudly. She began pulling on the steering wheel, shaking it violently. Her partner looked on in awe. He was shocked to see her reaction. But then his vision locked on to the oncoming CSI and what one of them was holding.

“Fuck!” he yelled, joining in on all the hysteria. The three approaching CSI figures were smiling under their protective masks. One of them slid the mask off to show his grin. They reached the car, and Amy rolled down the window. It creaked and squealed as it rubbed against the metal body of the vehicle. She couldn’t get the window down fast enough. The anticipation was killing her. But finally the window came down, and she got an up-close and personal look at what the lead CSI man had in his hands.

“I present to you one murder weapon, with four usable prints,” the man said.

“One step closer to Spain,” Lionel said, leaning into the driver’s seat and planting a big sloppy kiss on Amy’s cheek.

“Well done, Amy!” he said. “I always knew you were right.”

She smiled and said, “When have I ever been wrong!”

They laughed a little. The CSI guy nodded his head and said, “We’ll be taking this bad boy off for testing. Expect some sort of result within the hour.”

Amy and Lionel watched as the three men walked off toward their van. The doors slid open and then shut. The engine roared to life, and they sped off.

“Within the hour,” Lionel said.

“Within the hour, the bitch is mine,” Amy retorted.

She turned the engine on and followed the speeding van out of the forest enclosure. Amy caught one last look at the row of trees behind them. She then focused on the woodland road. They were off to the local laboratory. They’d have the results soon.

“Within the hour!” Lionel said, sounding as if he couldn’t hold in his excitement. They were that much closer to casting their net. And when they did, they’d catch their girl.

Seventeen Minutes Later:

Demi Reynolds was watching the coast of Spain come into focus. The ferry’s PA speakers crackled into life, and the captain notified the passengers that they were only ten minutes off from hitting the coast and disembarking. Demi hung on to the guardrail of the ferry. She was on portside. She watched as the waves battered against the ship’s stern. She smiled as the seagulls in the sky circled the boat. She sighed as the smell of the air changed from the familiar to the unknown. Demi hadn’t traveled much, but she did in fact pick up a few things on her voyage to freedom. She realized that every town and every city had a distinct smell, and that England’s air smelled different from Spain’s air. She came to that realization only seconds prior to the captain making his announcement over the PA system. She wondered if anybody else in the world had noticed such things. If somebody had gotten off a plane and realized that the air smelled different. It was still air. It did the same thing. But for some reason, during the ferry trip, Demi had noticed a change in its texture. A change in the way it hit her nostrils. She smiled to herself as she pondered the validity of her observations on air and whether a scientist would debunk her theory.

Her thoughts meandered into nothingness as she stared at the coast of Spain and the city of Santander approaching on the horizon. She smiled at the sight of European architecture rising from the rocks. The night sky acting as a safety blanket over the buildings. The indoor lights melting into the cold. Demi had always wanted to travel, and now she was doing so. Sure, it was under circumstances she would much rather be different, but she was traveling nonetheless.

Demi had told herself that she would forget the whole ordeal back home. Spain was a new chapter. It was a new beginning. A life of pleasure. No pain. No sorrow. And, above all, no killing.

She was adamant about that. So much so that since she’d stepped onto the ferry, she managed to push all her memories of England to the back of her mind. She was no longer scared. She wasn’t thinking of Donny the Hat anymore. She was trying to block out the image of Hamish dying from a gut shot. But something was making her think of England again. Something was messing with her perfectly formulated plan to push all thoughts of England to one side. She snapped herself out of her daydream and stared at the dark blue sea beneath her. The sky above her was blue as well. Dark blue. Not one cloud in the sky. All twinkling stars. That’s another thing that she noticed about England. It always had a blanket of clouds. And when it didn’t, it usually meant that the country was experiencing some sort of “record heat wave” that wouldn’t even touch the sides in Spain or Portugal, let alone anywhere else.

“A new life,” she said under her breath, attempting to push the memories of England away once again. But something was making her feel uneasy. As if she had forgotten something. And then it clicked, and the penny dropped.

“The gun,” she said, immediately checking her person for the cold metal piece. She patted herself down, careful not to draw too much attention. The deck was quiet. Most of the passengers were at the small bar above. She continued to quietly pat herself down and realized she wasn’t carrying her gun.

“The car,” she said, quickly strolling toward her vehicle. She made a left and walked past a few dozen cars that were parked in a row. Hers was on the end. She was one of the last people to get on the ferry. She passed an old couple looking at the waves, much like she’d been doing seconds before. After a brisk minute walk, she reached the 4x4. She opened the driver’s door and got in. She searched the interior like a woman possessed. Demi didn’t let up. She turned every inch of the inside of that car. She checked the glove compartment. The foot well. The dash. The compartment on the driver’s door. The passenger’s door. The floor. Under the mats. Between the gaps in the seats. Under the seats. Every possible location. She was breathless as she got out of the car and made her way to the back. She opened the boot and saw it was completely empty. There was no use checking it. There was nothing to turn inside out.

She slammed the boot shut and cursed. A man walking by her looked concerned but didn’t dare ask if she was okay. He cowered away and got into his own car, which was a few rows down from hers.

“Fuck!” she shouted. Luckily, no one was close enough to give a damn. She kicked the body work of the Land Rover. She made a dent. She kicked it again. And again.

But then she stopped. Something popped into her head. A flashback. She was bending down. Uncovering dirt. A piece of plywood. And then a bag. A bag full of money, passports, and documents. Her eyes widened as she remembered standing up. And then she heard a thud. She closed her eyes and replayed the image over and over again. Every time she replayed the image of herself getting back up, after fishing the see-through bag out of the ground, she heard that thud.

“I dropped it!” she said, opening her eyes.

The sound of the ferry blowing its horn startled her back to reality. Santander’s port came into shot. They were pulling in. A bell sounded. People began to rush back to their cars.

She had arrived in Spain.

Back In England:

Amy and Lionel were standing in a room. The walls were bright white. The place smelled of disinfectant. They were standing behind a seated man who was staring at a screen. Amy and Lionel had been staring at the screen for a good twenty minutes. Amy herself hadn’t blinked, or at least that’s what it felt like.

“This may take a while,” the man seated at the computer said, to no answer. He was just about to suggest that they get a coffee when a buzzer went off. The screen flickered, and “searching” changed into “match found.”

“We got you now, you bitch,” Amy said as a picture of Demi Reynolds loaded, along with her personal information.

“You can run…but I’ll get you. I’ll get you good,” Amy said under her breath.

TO BE CONTINUED