The Girl Must Die

By Peter Repton

A young nurse is brutally murdered. Her remains are found in a local park. The maniac that killed her is still on the loose.

DCI Jack Ford is only weeks from retirement. This will be his last case.

Strange lights are seen in the night sky. Then Lucy Higgins goes missing.

Can Jack Ford and his team save her in time? Nothing is as it appears to be...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter Repton
• Release date: Jul 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386480921

Peter Repton

Peter got married to his wife Denise in 1975 when he was just eighteen. He then worked shifts at his local Scunthorpe steelworks for thirteen years to support his young family.  Peter has spent the last thirty years working as an Investment Consultant. He has managed to free some time to write his first book. He hopes you enjoy it.

Book preview

1

The young woman gasped out aloud in extreme pain. Kerry, terrified and confused couldn’t recall how she had gotten into this situation. She remembered nothing after filling up her car with petrol and driving off. She struggled to open her eyes, seeing the blurred outline of a man

above

her

.    

‘I must have had an accident,’ Kerry thought. Her vision faded away and when it returned she noticed that the figure of the man was

upside

down

.

She glanced to her left, spotting blood dripping from a deep wound in her hand. Kerry's terror escalated, her adrenalin rush shook her mind free of the anaesthetic. She was aware now that everything in the dim room was upside down. The tall man that Kerry thought to be a doctor leant in close to her freckled face; she felt his moist breath on

her

skin

.

Kerry realised that she was hanging upside down by her ankles. The man raised a long-bladed knife in front of her face. Kerry screamed so loud that it almost made her heart burst. If it had done it would have been a blessing.

2

Jack Ford paced up and down his office. Jack was fifty-four, five feet ten inches tall and he did not take any shit from anyone. He was the top dog on his patch, making sure that everybody knew it. Well, except for his wife Mary

that

is

.

Jack drank the rest of his fourth mug of dark, strong coffee, slamming the empty cup into the table and throwing his arms into the air with frustration he said, ‘Why the bloody hell did something like this happen on my patch?’

Jack lived in Scunthorpe, a pleasant small town. Something bad like this had not happened here before. So, where was the fairness in it occurring now when he was just over a year away from drawing his pension?  

His promotion from Inspector to Chief Inspector two years ago had impressed many. His record was excellent. Jack hoped it was good enough for another promotion to Superintendent this year. It would give him a big boost to his salary, and to his police pension, based on his final salary at leaving. Unlike many police officers who always denied being racists or freemasons, Jack made no secrets about his affiliations.

If you didn’t like it then you could lump it was one of his mantras. This current situation needed resolving very quickly. Otherwise, Jack may lose his next pay rise at the next annual appraisal and he could suffer financially throughout his retirement just because of it. Jack must solve this case. Not just because of the money, he had plenty enough for what he needed. No, it was his pride. Jack Ford always won. He was a winner, and everything about his appearance let people know it. No officer attending his Masonic Lodge owned a six-hundred pound Armani suit except him. Or an eight hundred pound Prada overcoat either. Jack wore solid gold cufflinks inlaid with the Union Jack plus a matching tie clip. His wristwatch was a made to order Rolex. The Cross of St. George on the face was made up of small red rubies on a white gold background. He made no secrets about his politics either, always being a fierce advocate of right-wing Nationalism.

Jack could have invented the term of power dressing and he looked the business too, with rugged handsome features and bright blue eyes. Jack was an outdoor type with a tan acquired from many years of playing competitive Golf. His hair was a silvery white, thinning on top and he wouldn’t look out of place commanding a Panzer rolling across Russia during the Second World War. With such natural good looks, he would have made a good poster boy for the Nazi’s.

He wasn’t averse to dealing with violence by reciprocal violence. Criminals in his town knew the meaning of what goes around comes around. His success was phenomenal, in part due to the enforcement employed by Andrew Wilson his Detective Sergeant, even if it was attained by questionable methods of policing.

He let his thoughts drift back to the previous week. It had started with just one or two burglaries, a few car thefts, one violent mugging and a handful of drug abuse offences by the local dope fiends and crack heads. So far it was a typical week for the local police and then two people were both reported missing on the same night. The first report came in from a Lindsay Walker. She was phoned on Thursday evening by the local hospital just after a quarter past ten. One of Kerry’s fellow staff nurses on the night shift had asked where the hell

Kerry

was

.

She should have been on duty at ten o’clock to relieve her, but she did not arrive. Kerry left their flat at twenty minutes to eight, intending to visit her friend Julie before going to work. When Lindsay phoned Julie to check, she found that Kerry did not stop by that evening. Lindsay waited for some time, before calling the hospital back at eleven thirty to see if Kerry had arrived. Finding that there was still no sign of her, Lindsay then called the police. 

The unhelpful desk clerk at the police station sounded bored. He suggested that her friend Kerry may have met up with an old boyfriend, or something like that and she should call back the next day if her friend did not turn up. He added that young girls often go missing for a few hours. Usually, there is nothing to fear. Lindsay was not impressed, telling him so. He was adamant that persons were not officially missing until after twenty-four hours. Six minutes and twenty seconds after the station clerk put the phone down the second missing report came in. The caller was once again a disturbed woman called Mrs Sarah Kempston. Mrs Kempston’s tale was uncannily similar, her husband David went out to fill up his Mercedes car with diesel at the local Shell filling station and to buy a sandwich and he had left home at about ten minutes after Coronation Street came on at seven-thirty, as he hated all soap operas. Four hours passed and Sarah became frantic with worry. Her missing husband didn't take his mobile phone with him, as he had left it charging. Sarah could not attempt to contact him, and not knowing what to do for the best, she decided to inform the police. The clerk listened to Sarah with more compassion than the aggressive nurse who had just pissed him off minutes before. This anxious lady had a husky sort of voice that he found appealing. Sarah Kempston has this effect on almost every man. She knew it, but could never understand it. The only ones uninterested were either gay or else needed a

guide

dog

.

The clerk had identified himself as Steve and he told Sarah he would check with the hospital and call her back soon. She seemed relieved when he said no road accidents involving a Mercedes had occurred. It was a clear cloudless night, the first break in the rain for a long while. With a bright full moon not seen for months, driving conditions were excellent. In fact, just over three hours earlier in his shift a couple of loonies had phoned in. They had reported seeing a dazzling bright light in the sky. Steve assumed they were referring to the recent full moon and as he detected slurred voices, he told them both to piss off and to get

a

life

.

‘Damn druggies in this town have nothing better to do these days,’ Steve muttered as he slammed the

phone

down

.

Steve's colleague, Sam relieved him at five-thirty and at seven-thirty a man called in to report a red Vauxhall Corsa car that was abandoned and blocking his driveway. He’d released the handbrake and moved it aside to get to work as it wasn't locked. Sam then phoned a tow truck company that the police used to remove vehicles parked in the wrong places and he instructed a patrol car to log the cars details, which he assumed was stolen.

3

When Police Constable Daniel Quill arrived at the scene, he examined the small red Vauxhall Corsa and he discovered that it was undamaged with a full tank of fuel, that ruled out a joyriding incident. Danny had witnessed the results of joyriding often. Stolen vehicles were often driven by dope heads until running out of fuel and then were smashed to pieces. Some were set alight by the mindless idiots. This one was different .

Looking inside the small hatchback, the young officer spotted a lady’s handbag. It was a silver imitation Dolce & Gabbana. One of the cheap copies that people often bought on package holidays abroad in Turkey, at a fraction of the original expensive designer prices. Feeling strange as he looked inside the handbag, as any heterosexual man would. Danny found the usual assortment of lady’s essentials.

There were three tampons, one of them a super plus, two lipsticks and one half empty packet of chewing gum.  He found a petrol receipt in a small black purse containing a Visa debit card, and a Debenhams store card. In an outside pocket on the handbag, Danny also found a Samsung mobile phone. The name on the debit card said that the bag belonged to a Miss Kerry Harrison. PC Quill then checked the car’s registration against the police computer and it confirmed that the vehicle belonged to her. When Sam the desk clerk called back and told him that this young twenty-two-year-old nurse, reported missing by her friend the night before, hadn’t shown up, the young officer felt concerned for her safety.

Detective Constable Paul Roberts questioned Kerry’s flatmate Lindsay Walker later that Friday evening and he was trying to find out what Kerry was wearing when she left for work, and to determine who her boyfriend was. He asked about any distinctive marks or tattoos.

Roberts even tried to ask Lindsay out on a date, as he was only two years older than her. He said he liked women in nurse’s uniforms. Paul also admitted he fancied female traffic wardens too, but then Lindsay threw him out. By late Friday night, there was still no sign of Kerry, or of David Kempston; both were still missing.

On Saturday afternoon DC Roberts dropped into the police station to check on developments and he bumped into his close friend PC Danny Quill. Danny, a uniformed constable, joined the force a few months earlier, and had just finishing his initial training. Danny was a big, pleasant twenty-year-old suffering from severe acne. Paul got on with him well. They shared a love of winding each other up, enjoying the internal rivalry that always exists between the uniformed and plain clothes departments in the police force. They never missed an opportunity for any verbal attack on each other.

‘Hello, you spotty faced twat, how are you doing?’ Paul asked.

‘I will be a lot happier next Monday night when we will kick your filthy Scouse arses at football. We will beat you by at least three goals to nil!’ Danny said and grinned

at

Paul

.

‘You have got no chance mate that last Champions League place is as good as ours already. Manchester United have rested on their laurels for long enough.’

Danny Quill was a passionate Manchester United supporter. Much of their friendship revolved around this love of football that they both shared, but they hated the others team of choice.

‘So, what’s happening in your young, exciting life now Danny boy?’ Paul said, changing the subject.

‘Not much, I have just received a call in from a farmer that I have to check out. Someone has dumped a Mercedes amongst his pigs; he wants it shifting. It will involve a lot more paperwork. I am getting all the shitty jobs that no one else wants just because I am the youngest; it isn’t fair mate,’ Danny moaned.

‘Good Danny boy, best go off down there then. You never know, some fresh country air may do your spotty face a bit of good!’ Roberts teased.

‘I might have a bit of acne now mate, but that will go in no time. Then all the chicks will be mine for the taking and I will be shagging for England, just you wait and see. But you my ginger freckle faced friend, will always be ugly and not even a twenty-pound whore on the street will ever look at you twice, you pint-sized sack of shit!’ Danny said, and feeling delighted with his verbal assault, he strode out the station whistling as he climbed into his BMW police car and sped off. He drove out to the farm, which was six miles out of town, on the way passing through wide-open fields and occasional colourful patches of woodland. Everyone in the USA talks about New England in the fall. But, early May in Good Old England is a beautiful time, Danny thought. Flowering cherry trees had been in full blossom for the last few weeks and many were releasing a fragrant cascade of pale pink petals, carried away by the prevailing south-

westerly

wind

.

Bright yellow gorse bushes had lined the roads for many weeks now and all the grass verges were alive with bright lemon-yellow dandelions. The hedgerows were full of hawthorn bushes adorned with lovely white blossom. It was the first day without rain for ages and the entire world looked good to him today. A lot of the surrounding area, having been planted with yellow rapeseed, gave off a pungent odour on the wind. Danny could see a lot of healthy looking pigs in surrounding fields. Little custom built houses were made for them out of corrugated plastic. These dwellings were each about six feet long, four feet wide and three feet high with curved roofs.  They reminded Danny of miniatures of the old Anderson air raid shelters from World War Two. On arriving at the remote farm, Danny met the farmer and landowner Fred Wilkes. 

Fred was a giant of a man standing six feet eight inches tall and weighing over two-hundred and fifty pounds. Despite his bulk, the farmer could move fast, striding up to Danny’s car with a broad smile on his face. Danny climbed from the car feeling like a dwarf next to the ruddy-faced giant.

‘Good afternoon Mr Wilkes. I am Police Constable Daniel Quill. I understand that you have found an abandoned vehicle on your property, is that correct?’ Danny asked trying ever so hard to sound like a real police officer.

‘Yes, that’s about right son. I hope you have brought some proper boots with you, though!’ The giant of a man laughed as he looked at the nervous young police officer, noticing Danny’s well-polished black Doctor Marten’s shoes.

‘It’s done nothing but bloody rain for the best part of three months, all the land around here is like a swamp right now. Even my little beauties have been taking up swimming lessons,’ Wilkes joked, his eyes crinkling with another smile.

‘Who are your little beauties?’ Danny said with a bemused expression on

his

face

.

‘Why, that's what I like to call my lovely little pigs.’ Those lovelies have never been so wet. I was even going to ask the missus to make them all bathing caps you know!’ Wilkes said as Danny watched the huge man burst into laughter again at his joke and smiled to humour him, not daring to cause any offence.

‘Come up to the house lad; I’ll get you some wellies,’ Wilkes offered. Danny followed the farmer back to the large old country farmhouse. He could hear the orchestra of the countryside playing in the background. Somewhere two dogs were barking at each other. Chickens squabbled away at the end of the large farmyard and a noisy tractor approached from a distant rutted lane, but all around Danny was the pervasive smell of pig manure. It stunk of shit. Danny was given some green Wellington boots, albeit two sizes too big for him and the odd duo set off out into the fields. They could hear the distant rumble of heavy trucks on the M180 motorway that had cleaved Wilkes property in half decades before.

Wilkes farmed two separate sections of land. It was a result of a compulsory purchase order from the highways department. Wilkes used one part to grow rapeseed for its oil and the other part, closest to the farmhouse, was used to raise some of Lincolnshire's best pigs. Many of which were going to end up as Lincolnshire's finest sausages. Danny, surprised at the vitality of the big man, ran to keep pace with him. His rubber boots squelched with every step as the wet earth, churned by pigs foraging for titbits, threatened to suck them off his feet. A group of seven large pigs spotted the two men approach. The large animals trotted towards them with a group of tiny piglets following behind. Fred Wilkes must have noticed the young constable’s apprehension at the approaching pigs so he said, ‘You needn’t be afraid of my beauties young Daniel; they just want a stroke, and a bit of love like anybody else does. Just treat them as if they were little puppies and you’ll be all right.’ Despite Fred’s assurances, Danny could not equate these grunting, muddy beasts with any puppies he’d seen. He could remember a film called Hannibal where pigs were starved and trained to eat people alive. Danny was still full of trepidation when the first pig to reach him nuzzled up against his hand and it began to lick his fingers. He patted the animal with his hand on its head, the large sow grunting with her appreciation. Encouraged by this, Danny stroked her under her hairy chin in the same way as you would a dog.  She snorted again with pleasure. The large sow looked up at Danny, and he noticed the female pig’s tiny little eyes gleaming at him with delight and seeing the friendly creatures eyes this close-up, Danny knew he would never eat a bacon sandwich again.

‘How do you reckon that big fancy Mercedes got into my field then?’ Wilkes asked Danny, breaking his momentary bond with the happy pig. Danny looked up and followed Wilkes gaze to an area just beyond two silver birch trees. There he saw the sleek silver Mercedes saloon immersed in mud up to the sills. The cars polished alloy wheels had sunk deep into the mire up to the distinctive Mercedes badge in the hub of each of the wheels. The driver’s side window

was

open

.

‘I think joy riders abandoned it, Mr Wilkes; it happens a lot these days. I dealt with another just like this yesterday morning,’ Danny offered, trying to sound knowledgeable about such events. Wilkes raised his eyebrows. ‘Take a good look, young Daniel; there is not a tyre mark in sight anywhere. With the ground this soft, the tracks would be at least a foot deep. It couldn’t have got this far without getting stuck sooner.’ Danny knew the big fellow was correct. His boots had sunk into the swampy ground to past the middle of his shins, and there were no tyre marks.

‘I reckon it must have fallen out of the sky, as silly as it sounds. There appears to be no other explanation; it wasn’t here yesterday when I last came down,’ Wilkes said, ‘but wherever it came from, it needs to be out of my field. I’ll get my lad to bring up the tractor, while you check it over. We were going to tow it out before I phoned the police. I wanted you to see this with your own eyes, or else you wouldn’t have

believed

me

.’

Wilkes walked off trying to get a signal on his mobile phone, cursing the phone companies for the lousy service that they provide in rural areas. Danny opened the driver’s door and looked inside the vehicle. The keys were still in it. When he turned the ignition, the engine immediately sprang into life. The fuel tank was full, the same as the red Vauxhall Corsa found the previous morning. The glove box contained five old compact discs in a unique disc holder. On the passenger seat were two full cans of Pepsi and an uneaten cheese and onion sandwich still in its wrapper.

Checking inside the boot, which was also unlocked. Danny found an expensive-looking laptop computer in a carry case. With these were some medical company brochures for the latest dialysis machines. Danny was surprised that the thief hadn’t taken the equipment. The owner wouldn’t have left the car unlocked with these valuables still in it. It was a mystery that he couldn’t fathom. Wilkes approached him whilst he was still deep in thought.

‘Another thing I have noticed young Daniel is that there are no other footprints here apart from our own and my little beauties. So, whoever was driving this car, they did not walk away

from

it

.’

‘You should have been a detective instead of a farmer Mr Wilkes. I don’t think Sherlock Holmes could even have made such deductions,’ Danny replied with a hint of genuine admiration in his voice, ‘because I have no idea what happened; it beats the shit out

of

me

!’

Fred’s son Mick brought a tractor around to the front of the Mercedes and clambered out of the cab clutching a coiled length of thick nylon rope. He dropped to the ground passing a loop under the front tow ring of the car as his father watched him. Fred Wilkes loved his tractor almost as much as his pigs. The tractor dragged the Mercedes out of the field onto the farm approach road. Danny then called for a recovery vehicle to collect it. Until it arrived, he spent a pleasant thirty minutes drinking a cup of tea with jolly Fred and his wife, Beryl. Mick finished his too, and went back to the fields. Danny couldn’t help thinking how much more relaxed this country style of life was and he compared it to his own stressful, low 

paid

job

.

‘A coppers life is a tough one these days. Perhaps I should get out right now,’ he thought.

4

The police station soon established that the recovered Mercedes belonged to David Kempston. The local kidney specialist who was still missing after filling up with petrol two nights earlier. Chief Inspector Jack Ford instinctively knew that the two disappearances were connected, but he couldn’t find anything to link the missing individuals with each other .

The only possible connection was that Nurse Kerry Harrison had kept a petrol receipt in her handbag, proving that she’d filled up with petrol at the same Shell filling station as Kempston. The time on the receipt showed seven forty-five on Thursday evening, just five minutes after Kerry had left her shared flat. Nothing very conclusive about this as Kerry passed this filling station on the way to Julie’s house every day. Something had happened to her after filling the car up, and before she reached her destination.

Ford sent DS Wilson to interview Kempston’s wife Sarah that Saturday evening. He was hoping that he might be able to find out if anything unusual had occurred before her husband’s sudden disappearance. In Ford’s experience, quite a few men went missing for a couple of days just after a domestic row, to teach the wife a lesson.

Ford himself had done it to his wife Mary many times. Usually to meet up with one of his lady friends that charged other patrons for their services. Working girls often gave Ford favours so he would allow them to ply their street trade unmolested. If they were one of Hard Jack’s girls, their pimps never beat them up too much either. They knew from bitter experience that they would get a visit from Wilson if they did. Thriving on these regular violent confrontations, Wilson could handle himself well and he had broken scores of noses plus a few

jawbones

too

.

Ford obtained the filling stations video recordings. These recorded everyone who visited the petrol station on that Thursday night and it revealed that Kempston had filled up with fuel at seven forty. Ten minutes after his wife said he left the house. Kempston bought a sandwich plus two cans of Pepsi. He’d left at the same time as Kerry Harrison had filled up herself. His gut told him that this was too much of a coincidence.

Ford told his team that he considered it possible that Kempston had parked up near the garage, observing the customers come and go, and waiting to abduct a woman to give her one. Both cars had been found six miles apart, but no forensic evidence existed linking one with the other, so it made his theory seem unlikely. Ford also knew he would not get much sleep until he could begin to establish just what was happening. Why was all this sudden craziness occurring on his patch? Just when he least needed it. Most people were law-abiding but Jack was just unfortunate to be rubbing up against the bad side of it. Even Ford’s usual half bottle of Scotch before bedtime could not work its required magic now. He often used it for easing the tension, but now he had started taking sleeping pills with

it

too

.

---

Ian Larsen, a retired truck driver, walked with his two King Charles spaniels in a local park. Due to the atrocious weather it was the first Sunday for two weeks that he could do this. Ian's usual Sunday routine was to visit the crematorium to take some fresh cut flowers to place at his late wife’s memorial headstone. He said a quiet prayer and a few loving words to her and then took the two dogs for a run on the nearby common .

The younger of the two spaniels chased a white-tailed rabbit into an area of tall green ferns and dry bracken. Yapping as she enjoyed the hunt, the tone of her barking changed and then she yelped. Ian feared that his dog might be trapped in a rabbit snare, set by the bloody poachers. Rabbits thrived in this sandy area and easily burrowed into the soft ground. Pushing his way through the waist high green vegetation, Ian made his way towards