Ian's Gang: An Instinct For Murder

By Ian Kidd

In the epic finale of season 7 of Ian's Gang, Maltby is rocked by several series' of brutal murders apparently committed by completely unrelated serial killers. How and why has Maltby suddenly become the place to be for a variety of crazed psychopaths? Ian's Gang's attempts to investigate brings them into conflict with Maltby's antagonistic new Army Commander, John Hawkins, but the killings are about to strike very close to home...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ian Kidd
• Release date: Jan 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310098949

Ian Kidd

I grew up in South Yorkshire, England, before emigrating to South Australia at the age of sixteen. My writing ambitions began as a child, when I became notorious in my class for writing short horror stories that would probably have them calling in the child psychologists nowadays! I have written everything from non-fiction ebooks to published short fiction, and served as script editor on two proposed horror feature film scripts for an LA based director. In terms of fiction I have written dozens of novellas, including more than 70 stories in the "Ian's Gang" sci-fi adventure series. I still live in Queensland, where I work as a freelance writer.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Jessica Holmes stared across the diner table at her lover, Chloe Webster, and smiled. You want the rest of my pie? she asked, indicating the half-eaten cherry pie on her plate. I'm full.

No thanks, Chloe smiled. Feeling pretty stuffed myself.

Jessica looked out of the windows of the diner at the dark sky outside. We'll have to find a motel soon, before all the vacancies fill up.

Come on, Chloe guffawed. In this place? Maltby's not exactly a tourist trap, now is it?

That's what you said last night, Jessica reminded her. I'm not spending another night in the car, Chloe!

No, I suppose a nice warm bed would be preferable, Chloe smiled lasciviously, deliberately brushing Jessica's leg with her feet.

Jessica smiled approvingly. It certainly would.

Okay, Chloe hopped to her feet. I'll just go take a piss and then we'll get out of here, yeah?

Yeah, Jessica nodded.

Chloe departed for the ladies room.

Jessica stared around the cheesy small-town diner, looking at the dozen or so patrons - some teenagers, some housewives, some businessmen, all eminently clean and respectable-looking, but not really seeing them. The seventeen year old redhead was thinking how happy she was, and how different her life had been twelve months earlier. Before she'd met Chloe. Jessica had always half-known she was gay, but had never admitted it to anyone, least of all herself. She'd tried to convince herself it didn't mean anything, the fact she wasn't interested in boys. Then Chloe had come along, and Jessica had suddenly found out in no uncertain terms what she was interested in.

They were currently touring England in the clapped-out old banger they'd saved up for together, spending their summer vacation before starting college on a romantic trip of England's quaint small towns before 'progress' swallowed them up entirely - not that Maltby really qualified anymore, with both Ian's Gang and the multinational Stone Empire now based there. Then they'd start college - the same college, of course. They'd both made damn certain of that.

After about ten minutes rumination, in which time she failed to notice not one person had entered or left the diner - indeed, none of the patrons had even moved - Jessica realised that Chloe seemed to be taking an inordinately long time in the bathroom. Getting to her feet, Jessica wandered across the diner toward the toilets, utterly failing to detect the eye signals and tense body language the diner's patrons were giving off.

Jessica entered the female toilets. It seemed strangely quiet. Chloe? Jessica called. You planning on being all bloody night? No answer. Chloe? Jessica called, more irritated than uneasy. A loud squelch came from one of the cubicles. Chloe? Jessica wandered over. All the cubicles were open and empty, save one whose door was closed. Chloe? What the hell's taking you so long? Are you alright? Jessica pushed the door open.

Chloe Webster sat on the toilet, her jeans and underwear around her ankles, her throat hanging open. She was quite dead. The teenage girl, mouth smothered in blood, sitting beside her, looked up and scowled as she saw Jessica. Get your own, this one's mine! she hissed.

Jessica shrieked.

Oh, shit! the girl shook her head and began moving toward her.

Jessica stumbled out of the bathroom, back into the main diner area, shrieking. Help me! For God's sake, somebody help me! She stopped. The diner's patrons were all standing, watching her. What... what is this? Jessica gasped.

One man, dressed in an Army uniform, moved to grab her. The end of the road for you, honey-bunch.

Jessica screamed.

The diner's patrons advanced upon her.

Lieutenant Smith! the diner's manager called. Try not to get so much blood on the floor this time, will you? I had a hell of a time getting it out last time.

I'll certainly try, Lt. Smith promised. Then he pulled out a butcher's knife and slit Jessica's throat from ear to ear.

CHAPTER TWO

General Blackwood marched down the corridors of Maltby Hospital. A hefty black man in his early fifties, Blackwood carried with him an air of almost casual authority and, usually at least, a genuine joy and pride in his work. Tonight, however, the task at hand made him feel neither joyous nor proud. Blackwood turned into a private room. A wheelchair sat by the bed, whose occupant stirred at his entrance.

General, Commander Wilburts looked startled. This is a surprise.

Hello, Maxwell, Blackwood greeted him uncomfortably. We need to talk.

Thanks again for doing this.

Don't be silly. Glad to be of service, Maia Boothey smiled at her friend Kate Shaw as she helped unpack her boxes in her new flat. "I just can't believe you haven't asked before. You've been in here months. Honestly, you're so disorganised."

Yeah, well, Kate was unpacking boxes of books, stacking them on an empty bookcase. Had other things on my mind, I guess.

Like Michael, Maia guessed.

Yeah. Like Michael, Kate sighed. Honestly, Maia. Sometimes I feel like chucking in the agency and just leaving town altogether.

You can't do that! Maia protested. For starters, I'd miss you too much. For seconds, you can't let that little bitch move in on the agency as well. It's just as much yours as Michael's, remember that.

I guess, Kate sighed, continuing with the book stacking. It's just so hard seeing him with her.

Hate her guts, hey? Maia smirked sympathetically.

No, I don't hate her. There's nothing wrong with her. She's really nice, Kate acknowledged. I just... want to gouge her eyes out with my fingernails, that's all.

Maia laughed. Go, Kate!

Anyway, what about you? Kate asked, changing the subject.

Not much to tell, Maia told her. Chris... I dunno, it's been months now, but... I miss him. Even though I know he was a bad guy, I miss him.

Hasn't Philip been keeping you company? Kate teased.

He tries, Maia smiled briefly. But I... I dunno...

What's to know? Kate asked. You still like him, don't you?

Oh, of course I do, Maia admitted. "But it's not that simple. I mean, Melissa still looks at me sometimes like she thinks I killed Chris. Philip did kill him. Can you imagine how she'd react if we got back together?"

I'm guessing badly, Kate commented.

Try thermonuclear, Maia replied.

What can I do for you? Wilburts asked, pushing himself up in bed.

Blackwood looked awkward, avoiding Wilburts' eyes. How are you, Maxwell?

As well as can be as expected, Wilburts replied honestly. I'm released tomorrow. Still be in that thing, he nodded at the wheelchair, for a while yet, but the Doctors tell me I can expect to regain... ooh, at least seventy five percent of my former mobility. Something to be grateful for, eh? His tone indicated sarcasm.

I'm sorry, Blackwood fumbled.

Don't be, Wilburts cut him off. I'll be back at work soon regardless. I may not be quite the man I was, but I can still do the job.

I'm afraid it's not that simple, Blackwood told him awkwardly.

What do you mean? Wilburts narrowed his eyes.

I mean, Blackwood made himself say it, "the decision has been made. Your replacement as Commander of Maltby Army Base arrives tomorrow. Your permanent replacement."

What?! Wilburts demanded.

I'm sorry, Maxwell, Blackwood finally looked him in the eye. You're out.

Kate saw Maia out, opening the front door. Thanks again for helping.

Don't be daft. Any time, Maia hugged her.

Keep your chin up, Maia, Kate advised.

Thanks. You too, Maia smiled. You never know your luck, Rachael might get hit by a bus tomorrow.

Ooh, you bitch! Kate squealed delightedly.

Sorry, Maia smirked. Couldn't resist it.

I dunno, I should just - Kate stopped, eyes widening.

Kate? You okay? Maia queried, concerned.

I... Kate put her hand to her head. I... She collapsed backwards onto the floor.

Kate! Maia ran to her friend's aid.

Kate was on the floor, her eyes rolled up in their sockets, frothing at the mouth, her entire body twisting and jerking spasmodically.

Kate! Maia tried in vain to hold down her friend's thrashing limbs. Help! she yelled out desperately into the night. Help! There was no response. Despite her best efforts, Kate's terrifying involuntary thrashing continued. Please! Maia screamed. "For God’s sake somebody help me!"

CHAPTER THREE

"Out? Out? What the hell do you mean, I'm Out?" Wilburts snarled.

I'm sorry, Maxwell - Blackwood said again.

I don't want your apologies, man, I want an explanation! Wilburts flared.

The Board felt, with your recent injuries - Blackwood began.

I've already told you I'm going to make a full recovery! Wilburts snapped.

Seventy five percent mobility is hardly a full recovery, Maxwell, Blackwood said sharply.

Oh, I get it. I'm being 'invalided' out for my own good, am I? I see, Wilburts spat. They couldn't pin the Universal Conference disaster on me, so this is Plan B.

The one has nothing to do with the other, Blackwood assured.

The hell it doesn't, Wilburts snapped. The top brass have always wanted me gone. I guess because I never could kiss ass like some people, eh Theodore?

Alright, Maxwell, alright. You want the unofficial reason? Blackwood said angrily. You're being retired before you end up being court-martialled. You're losing it, Maxwell.

What the hell are you talking about? Wilburts demanded.

I've been supervising Maltby Army Base while you've been in here, Blackwood told him. I've heard what's been going on. The Alex Stone affair? You held that man without charge, without bail. You interrogated him without recording the interview, denied his request for legal representation, and made threats of physical violence against his person. You were completely out of control, Maxwell.

The man was as guilty as hell! Wilburts snarled.

Not the point, Commander, not the point at all! Blackwood yelled. "You didn't just break protocol and throw the correct procedure out of the window, you broke the law! You are lucky you're going out of the job this way, with your rank, reputation and pension intact! You could have been court-martialled, and jailed. And why did you do it? Why this extreme behaviour? Because Stone had been threatening and persecuting a member of Ian’s Gang."

Oh, I get it, Wilburts nodded. Too friendly with the aliens, was I? I seem to recall hearing this before. From General Rickman.

Don't get me wrong, Maxwell, this isn't an anti-alien thing, Blackwood informed him. "Cooperation with Ian's Gang is a necessary, indeed essential, part of the job. But that cooperation should be undertaken first and foremost with the army’s best interests at heart. You'd lost it, Maxwell. You got fucked over with the Conference bombing inquiry, nearly lost everything. So after that, you thought 'fuck it'. You put yourself and your friendship with Ian's Gang first. Your duty came a poor second."

That's not true, Wilburts objected, though less forcefully.

No? I think it is. The army turned on you, so you turned on the army, Blackwood insisted. You should be grateful for this injury. Gives you a nice opportunity to slip away easily and quietly. If you'd stayed on, with more behaviour like you showed toward Alex Stone, you'd be going down in flames, Commander. And deep down, you know it.

Wilburts looked at him darkly, but said nothing.

Michael Harper rushed full-pelt down the hospital corridor toward Maia Boothey. What happened? Is she okay?

I think so, Maia told him. She'd stopped seizing by the time the ambulance arrived.

What the hell happened? Michael demanded.

I haven't the foggiest, Maia replied. I was just about to leave. One minute she was laughing and joking, the next she was on the floor, thrashing around. Scared me completely shitless, I don't mind telling you.

What could have caused it? Michael demanded.

Maia shook her head bewilderedly. She's never had anything like this before?

No, never, Michael frowned. Oh, hell. You don't think - you don't think it could be another brain tumour, do you?

You mean, like the one she had when she was a kid, when Doctor Jenkins removed it and put that thing in her head? Maia asked. Michael nodded. Shit, Maia breathed.

Everybody take a pill and relax.