‘ But, as I say, my words sound trite. That’s my advice, anyway. Take it or leave it.’
She blew her nose again.
‘ Having said all that, Danny…’ Henry paused, faltering slightly. ‘I have some more bad news, I’m afraid.’ He perched himself on the edge of her desk. ‘I know I might well be making assumptions here, but I think there’s an added dimension to Trent’s escapades.’
Danny’s eyebrows creased.
‘ It may only be a coincidence, but the body of a young girl has just been found in some bushes in a rec in North Shore. I’ve no further details yet — I’m going to the scene now with FE. It’s your call here, Danny. If you feel up to it, you can come. If not, I’ll understand.’
Danny’s eyes flashed instinctively to the MFH report on her desk. Once again she referred to the Almighty. ‘Dear God, please don’t let it be Claire.’
Chapter Twelve
The lovers twisted into each other’s arms as soon as the engine was turned off. They tore greedily at each other, their teeth clashing on first contact of their mouths. Even though there was a handbrake and gear lever between them, and the man’s movements were impeded by the steering-wheel, within a matter of moments his trousers were unfastened, her blouse had been ripped open and her bra had been hoisted somewhere up around her neck.
‘ Oh my God!’ they gasped together as the man’s hand reached her vagina, and she grabbed his cock. She went onto him, making him writhe ecstatically in his seat, whilst at the same time he fondled her freely hanging left breast with his left hand.
She rose for air and looked out of the window.
‘ We need to do this properly,’ she slavered, tasting him.
‘ You’re dead right.’
‘ Come on, let’s get out.’
They were parked on the grass verge of a narrow lane in the picturesque countryside above Darwen in East Lancashire.
They clambered comically out of the car in their state of undress. He shuffled along, holding up his pants precariously whilst she, having dispensed with her knickers, ran around the car and into the trees, covering her boobs with her arms. She led him into a small clearing a few yards from the roadside, but far enough to be out of sight of anyone passing.
They immediately started to ravage each other, dragging clothing off and tossing it away with abandon into the bushes. Moments later, both were naked, rolling around the cool woodland floor, screwing wildly, emitting animal-like rutting noises. They moved from position to position. To oral sex and back again. They finished up with him (a chartered accountant), mounting her (his secretary) from the rear.
When her hands sunk into some soft ground, she thought nothing of it. She was too busy concentrating on the timings of her reverse thrusts. However, when her fingers touched something hard, cold and dome-shaped, she wondered what the hell she’d found. Her fingers curled around the object and pulled it out of the ground.
It was the top part of a skull, without the lower jaw attachment.
She screamed, reared up and fell backwards onto her unsuspecting lover. For a moment he thought it was a new move and tried to ride with it. When he saw the skull circling up through the air where she had thrown it, he realised this tryst had ended before he had come.
Myrna Rosza walked noiselessly through the offices of Kruger Investigations, painfully aware that every single pair of eyes was on her. She had just ended a short meeting with the other execs from the firm and had volunteered to take on the task of formally announcing the death of Steve Kruger.
To most of them, at that moment, it was just a rumour. She faced the horrendous job of turning that into fact.
Five minutes later, everyone who was available that morning was gathered together in the boardroom, which was the single largest room. They were expectant, fearful, and totally silent.
Myrna did not know where to begin, but she knew the act of saying the words, ‘Steve Kruger is dead,’ would help her grieve, and start to come to terms with his loss.
She opened her arms in a gesture of helplessness. Croakily, she began to speak.
‘ Thank you all for coming,’ she said stupidly, as if they would have refused. ‘Early this morning Steve Kruger was involved in an enquiry at Miami International Airport, concerning the activities of Mario Bussola. You all know he is suspected of murdering Jimmy and Dale. So… to cut a long story short, a firefight ensued in a multi-storey parking lot during which Steve was fatally injured. He died of gunshot wounds at the scene.’
A gasp of horror went up from the staff. Several of them, men and women, began to cry.
Myrna licked her dry lips.
‘ What the hell happened, Myrna?’ one asked.
‘ Look, I was there when he was shot, okay,’ she responded, losing her hold. ‘I know I should answer your question, George, but hell, I don’t feel like it right now. Maybe later, huh? Sorry. I gotta go.’
Two detectives stood side by side and looked down at the pathetic body of a girl.
Henry James Christie and Danielle Louise Furness were silent, each in a world of their own.
From the position of her limbs and the way her clothing had been ripped off, it seemed fairly obvious she had been sexually molested either before or after her death. There were stab-wounds in her chest.
Henry ran a hand down his face, shook his head. In his career as a detective he had been involved in eight child-murder investigations: from the simple, but tragic, domestic murder to a serial killing. And he could not get used to seeing a young person dead, mainly because the images of his two daughters constantly flashed into his mind. How the hell he would ever cope if either of them came to such an end, he didn’t know. Probably wouldn’t. He would be destroyed, unable to operate as a fully functioning human being ever again. He knew his wife, Kate, would be worse.
It was very hard for him to remain in control when faced with investigating such deaths. Hard to refrain from beating the offender — if caught — to a pulp. He squinted sideways at Danny, but was unable to identify the meaning of the expression on her face… mainly because she was experiencing conflicting emotions.
The first was relief.
At least it was not Claire Lilton lying there, having been dragged, beaten, mutilated, raped in the bushes, then horribly murdered.
The second was repulsion.
Who — WHO? — could have done such a thing? It beggared all belief and understanding in the human condition. To put someone through such suffering… The savagery people could stoop to constantly amazed her.
Henry’s voice broke into her train of thought. ‘What do you think?’
‘ I think we’d better step up the hunt for Trent. He’s never killed before. He came close, but now I think we’re dealing with someone who’s gone right over the edge. Uncontrollable. He’s my prime suspect.’
‘ I agree, but let’s not blind ourselves to the possibility it might not be him.’
‘ Yep,’ Danny said flatly. Her gaze returned to the dead girl. ‘Let’s make sure we do things right — and when we’ve identified her, let me tell her parents.’
‘ You sure? You’ve had a tough few days.’
She spun on Henry. ‘Of all the people, I didn’t expect you to patronise me, Henry.’
‘ Hey — whoa, sorry.’ He retreated, taken aback by her anger.
She stormed away, leaving him open-mouthed.
Halfway across the Atlantic Ocean, a man called Charlie Gilbert sat in the first-class cabin in a plane travelling at 37,000 feet, Miami International Airport 1500 miles behind.
