Death by Revenge

By RC Welsby

A Murder Mystery book of Suspense & Bitter Revenge

The lives of people in a sleepy English market town are brought into shocked disarray at the unearthing of a decomposing body found in a nearby cave. DI Helen Cooke who is investigating the recent disappearance of three local women begins to piece together connections once the identity of the corpse is realised.
But what is that connection?
One man clearly stands out in DI Cooke’s mind as the murderer but without any evidence against him, she is unable to make an arrest. When his own wife goes missing, Cooke and the team seize the opportunity to investigate further as they strive to find her. But where is she, and is she still alive?
When her Senior Officer starts demanding results, Cooke must find the killer before they strike again. Something isn’t quite right, and with no more clues or clear motive, Cooke begins to doubt her ability to catch the murderer as the body count begins to rise.
In this second book of the DI Helen Investigates series, RC Welsby writes an enthralling murder mystery that will have the reader on the edge of their seat until the very the end. Working through petty arguments and life-changing accusations, self-doubt and intense pressure, Cooke’s sheer determination brings her face-to-face with the real murderer, where she too must fight for her own survival.
A “who dunnit?” story of murderous revenge that will keep the reader guessing throughout.

• Language: English
• Publisher: RC Welsby
• Release date: Oct 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370824489

RC Welsby

RCWelsby began writing at the grand old age of sixty-nine when she retired from a long and successful career in nursing. Her first book, a true historical romance depicting the life and times of her Fifth Great Grandmother GRACE ROSCOE was published two months after her seventieth birthday. A keen reader of crime and 'whodunnits' she decided to change genre and try her hand at writing about serial killers. Her main character, DI Helen Cooke is a mixture of people she knew from her nursing days. She made the character both feisty and flawed, with a good sense of humour, but a woman with her own demons and a past that keeps coming back to haunt her. Unholy Revenge was RCWelsby's debut Mystery Crime book, set in the small market town of Frodsham, in a stunning part of Cheshire. DI Helen Cooke and her team are called in to investigate the death of a woman found on the banks of a river and soon discover a serial killer is on the loose. Dark family secrets are revealed as the investigation progresses. Book two of DI Helen Cooke Investigates - Death by Revenge - is again set to cause havoc in the quiet country town of Frodsham. A rotting corpse is found in a nearby cave. Three women are also missing. Helen and her team, when tasked to solve the mystery, discover a tale of lies and bitter revenge.

Book preview

ONE

The cold, dank air made DI Helen Cooke shiver as she stood outside the sandstone cave. Her gaze travelled around the now sombre area. An overwhelming sadness fluttered through her chest, and she gave another involuntary shiver. A vivid memory of a field covered in snow last February entered her mind.

Shrieks and laughter had echoed across the landscape as toboggans hurtled down the steep slopes, away from the gaping mouth of the cave. Helen had gasped for breath as tears streamed down her reddened cheeks. She’d joined in the fun and mayhem with undisputed enthusiasm. Exhausted, she’d finished the exhilarating day with a hot, relaxing bath, never anticipating how easily a place of beauty and fun could turn into a place of horror.

Now, as she surveyed the scene, Helen could sense a change in the surrounding beauty. It was tarnished with death. Everything was different today, with laughter replaced by subdued, grim expressions, and muted conversations replacing the shrieks of joy. The fields, and the surrounding area, were lit with glaring arcs of light giving off harsh outlines. White, clad figures milled around in silent concentration. Aliens searching for their spaceship, Helen thought with a deep sadness gripping her heart.

Less than an hour earlier, a rap on the office door had startled her and preceded the adrenaline surge of an investigation. DS Chris Trainor, her sidekick, as Helen liked to call him, stood slightly out of breath at the doorway.

Sorry boss. We’ve just received a shout from uniform, he’d said with a solemn expression as he’d marched into the office, a sheet of paper clutched in his hand.

Helen loved him like a brother and often treated him as if she were his mother. On occasion, she took the piss out of him, but always admired his work ethic and compassion.

Bugger. I was all for sneaking off home and getting an early night, Helen had said as she’d grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair and pulled open the desk drawer to retrieve her handbag and phone. A pull of excitement, deep in her belly, had spiked her pulse as she’d rubbed her hands together. Okay. What's the shout?

***

Police officers were searching the peripheral areas on their hands and knees, while the dog handlers battled to keep pace with their excited dogs as they pulled excitedly at their restraints.

A coldness squeezed Helen's heart with the knowledge that somebody had died; she would soon have their death to investigate. Her mind spun as she anticipated what lay ahead and the gruesome scenario waiting for her. She needed to make plans, organise the team and—

The pathologist Tom Clary’s voice broke through her thoughts. Helen, my favourite DI, and DS Trainor. What a captivating pair you are.

Piss off, Tom, and reach the point. Helen rolled her eyes at DS Chris Trainor before holding out her open palm to the pathologist. What do we have?

Such flowery words, my beauty.

Tom.

Okay, okay. We've a body wrapped in what appears to be black bin liners, and bound with black tape. A hand is exposed, by what I would presume is some form of animal interference. We found evidence of nibbling or tearing of the plastic. He swallowed and continued. By the height of the corpse, and the rings still on the hand, I'll make a wild guess: it’s female. Nothing confirmed, mind you. Tom tapped the side of his nose as he glanced back to the cave.

Rings, you say. Valuable?

I guess they're real, but of course I’m not a jeweller.

So, are we dealing with theft?

Doubtful. Would a thief leave such valuable articles? Tom raised a bushy eyebrow. But one never knows. Would you like to come and see what we have here?

Helen nodded and turned to Chris. You alright?

Yes, no problem.

Helen had a sense of unease at the thought of taking Chris into the cave, with his past aversion to death and dead bodies. Over time, and with help, he had managed to conquer the revulsion. She didn't mention Tom's description of the body straight away. Awareness of the stench of a body in the advanced stages of putrefaction might prove how well Chris had overcome his demons. At the end of the day, he was a detective sergeant and she couldn’t protect him forever.

Arm yourself with an industrial mask, and grab one for me while you're at it. Helen pursed her lips as Chris's congenial expression wavered.

It smells?

Spot on, Sherlock, but that's an understatement. She nodded and took the proffered mask without making eye contact with him. Come on, let's get the ordeal over.

***

On her return to the police station, after her visit to the body dump scene with Chris, Helen faced the team as they gathered, in restless anticipation, for her news. She checked her watch and marvelled at how much had happened within a couple of hours. One moment, sat in her office report writing, wondering if she would ever finish, and the next moment she was on the move with an adrenaline rush pounding in her ears.

It was only four days since she’d returned from sick leave following her kidnap and injury by a deranged killer. She’d been offered counselling, which she’d refused, during her recuperation. Instead, Chris had offered to help, and she’d felt more comfortable telling him her fears and anxieties. She recalled their first conversation after her discharge from hospital.

Boss, you know you can tell me anything, Chris had said as he’d sat opposite her. He’d placed the small bouquet of flowers he’d brought with him on the coffee table.

I know, Chris, and I really appreciate it. But I can’t burden you with all the grimy details.

Would you do it for me?

Yes, of course I would. Helen’s eyes widen with indignation.

Well? Chris had asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Okay. Thank you. I do feel it would be weird telling a stranger how I feel.

How do you feel?

To be honest, Chris, I feel like a failure. Why didn’t I notice the signs? Who would believe an investigating officer’s lover would turn out to be the perpetrator of the crimes she was investigating? It’s like a black bloody comedy. Helen had turned away to hide the threatening tears.

Yeah, but nobody realised he was the killer. He’d changed his identity, and at the end of the day, boss, it was you who rumbled him.

I know, but I was the SIO and should have known something wasn’t right. I still wonder if I could’ve saved his grandmother’s life.

Again, boss, you were the only one who realised she was in danger. You did a good job, and was the only team injured.

Thanks, Chris, but I’ll live with these doubts all my life. My one fear now is if it’ll affect how I handle investigations in the future. Helen had paused for a moment before adding, And the flashbacks don’t help.

As you get your confidence back, you’ll be the same hardworking DI we all know and support. Are the flashbacks frequent?

No, thank God. The last one was four nights ago. I think my return to work triggered it.

Chris had nodded and leaned forwards. What are they like? The flashbacks?

They follow the same awful pattern. Harry’s face explodes, inches from mine, and I’m covered in blood. The noise is deafening; it all plays out in gory slow motion. I’m helpless, frozen to the spot, unable to help anyone.

How do you react? Chris had asked, with an empathetic expression.

I wake up screaming my bloody head off, like a wailing banshee.

She’d been grateful for Chris’s support, and now sat in her office contemplating the prospect of another investigation, when a shiver ran down her spine. Was it fear or the excitement of the chase?

TWO

The Major Crime room fizzed with anticipation as Helen entered. It was large, and airy, with two south-facing windows to the left. The blinds, now redundant, were open to let light filter through; on sunny days, they helped keep the room cool. Six desks, all occupied, were arranged in a semi-circle, allowing the opportunity to speak to each colleague without necessarily leaving your seat. The sound of muted telephones, humming computers and the low rumble of voices added to the excitement. Helen moved to the front, to a lone desk not unlike a teacher’s or lecturer’s, and delicately sat on the corner, one leg on the floor and the other left to swing. Three whiteboards stood to one side. One had the heading: Body Found in Caves. Helen opened her notebook, ready to share the details of the crime scene she and Chris had attended. Her expression was serious as she glanced at the sea of faces, and then at Chris, after his ordeal of vomiting in front of a tittering group of young constables.

I'll never live that down, they already think I'm a wimp because I'm gay, he’d muttered under his breath, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Yes, you will, Sherlock, get over yourself. It's nothing to do with your sexuality. Helen had said, finding it hard to keep a straight face.

Satisfied that Chris was now recovered from his ordeal, Helen addressed the team.

Sorry, folks, to bring half of you back on duty and make the other half late home. I'll be as quick as I can. We've a body.

Helen paused to let the statement sink in, although most of the team were aware. A low murmur broke the ten second silence following her announcement. Chairs creaked, and papers were shuffled, declaring the restlessness of the occupants, eager to hear more.

Did I mention the body is a well-decomposed corpse, and all indications are it’s female. The exposed hand wore a wedding band and an engagement ring. An expensive ring, by all accounts, which suggests the body is a woman, although that’s not established for certain. Due to the body's deteriorated condition, Tom has arranged to use the Chester Meadows Hospital's special morgue room, with, as he says, the all singing, all dancing filter systems and state of the art compression chambers. He's not able to unwrap and expose the body yet, as most of the tissue is liquefied. Helen watched with amusement as hands clamped over mouths and noses wrinkled with distaste, as active minds visualised the rotting cadaver.

Exactly. I think you’ve all got the picture. Guess who's having to attend the PM?

Silence fell across the room, and Helen noticed a distinct lack of eye contact. Inside, she sympathised, and a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as notes were scrutinised and phones examined in the hopes they’d be summoned elsewhere. It was obvious to Helen that nobody wanted to join her for the post-mortem by their nervous expressions, which was a first. Usually, she had to hypothetically bat them off with a large stick.

Any volunteers to join me? she asked, attempting to catch somebody’s eye with little success.

I will, boss, Chris said, his voice quiet and hesitant.

Thanks, Chris, I know you will, but this is an excellent opportunity for one of the team to see what goes on with a body in this condition.

I will, shouted two loud voices in unison.

An audible sigh filled the air as Dave and Tracy sat with their hands in the air. Helen sucked in a deep breath of surprise. She wasn't surprised at Dave Metcalf's reaction. A hard worker, he was always eager to learn and managed to complete his allocated tasks on time. But Tracy Wells? Her volunteering stunned Helen, as she’d never warm to the woman's sullen, gruff manner. To Helen, the fact she’d remained on the team was something of a miracle. Not long before Helen’s sick leave, Tracy had made a complaint stating Helen bullied her. On her return back to duty, Helen discovered that Tracy had withdrawn the allegation with no explanation. She was furious and hurt that one of her team could be so disloyal. She had asked for Tracy to be taken off the team, and stated to DCI Attwell, her senior officer, that the reason was a conflict of personalities. Attwell's response still filled Helen with resentment.

He had said, Helen, you’ve been through a lot, and I understand what you must be feeling, but... His voice had trailed off as he formed a steeple with his fingers, and his expression had become thoughtful.

Oh no, not the sympathetic, understanding DCI Attwell, Helen had scoffed to herself,

I do think, he had said, leaning back in his chair, that you’re sharp and professional enough to guide PC Wells through this trauma.

Trauma? What trauma? Helen had asked, unable to keep the hostile tone out of her voice.

Her perception of being traumatised by bullying.

You believe her?

Not a hundred percent, but you must've done something to make her feel bullied and defensive.

Must I, sir? Helen's voice had dripped with sarcasm as a blush had travelled up her neck. She’d squeezed her hands together.

Sir?

As I said before, Helen, her perception is that she’s a victim of bullying, and as she's a junior member of the team, I think we should support her.

Helen had had no other choice but to accept the DCI's decision. She had made sure he was aware of how unsupported she felt as Tracy's senior officer.

In the safety of the women’s’ locker room ten minutes after Helen’s ordeal, she’d recalled the shock she’d felt when Detective Chief Inspector Toby Attwell took over from Miriam Oldham, her previous DCI. Miriam had guided and nurtured Helen’s career and left a great gap in Helen’s working life when she retired. Helen found it difficult working with Toby. They shared a history from their academy days, which now resulted in a degree of animosity between them.

***

Helen's mind snapped back to the volunteers to attend the PM; she gulped with astonishment.

Brilliant. It won't be pleasant, but you'll both learn a great deal from Tom. Now that's sorted, let me continue. Helen checked the report she held in her hand before continuing. They found the body at the back of the caves, just off Manley Road. Tom estimates the body's lain there for over a week or even longer. Until they remove the corpse, he says it’s still a guessing game. Our main task now is to identify who we have in the mortuary. All we can do at this stage is contact the Missing Persons Bureau. Make the first checks. Female, missing over two or three weeks.

Boss, what length of time should I extend it to? Sally asked, flicking her bright red hair back over her shoulder.

Up to three months to start with, then widen it out if we have no progress. Don't get overwhelmed too early in the investigation, Helen said. She glanced over at Sally Peter’s open, eager face. Sally was a PC and had been with the team since Helen's promotion. She acted as their data logger, researcher and IT guru. Helen saw Sally as an integral part of the team who would go to great lengths to achieve the best results. We'll leave it there for tonight. Let's have an early start in the morning. Dave and Tracy, be ready by eight thirty and give yourself travelling time, as the PM starts at nine thirty. Good night.

Helen turned and strolled to her office, set at the front of the MCI room. She sank, with a sigh, onto the bright pink chair DCI Miriam Oldham had bequeathed to her before retirement, and before DCI Toby Attwell took her place. The chair was a comfort blanket. Welcoming with happy memories of working with Miriam, before Attwell arrived and changed everything. With a loud groan, she tipped her head back and squeezed her eyes shut. Excitement, mingled with a degree of dread, bubbled up inside of her; this was her first crime investigation since her return from sick leave. Was she up to it? Would she be able to cope with the long days and the stress? She had done it before her injury, and had witnessed dreadful things, but then she’d never seen somebody she was close to die in horrific circumstances. A sensation of dread rippled through her body and made her shiver. She was sick of being the victim, experiencing the nightmares and losing her confidence. She was tired of it all. With renewed resilience, she thumped her fist against the arm of the chair.

No more whinging. Of course, you're bloody well up to it, Cookie girl, she said out loud to the empty room, gathering up her belongings. Tomorrow is a new day, she whispered as she left the office to make her way home.

THREE

A loud, high-pitched scream woke Helen from a deep sleep. Her heart hammered against her chest as she attempted to remove the hot, sticky wetness from her body and face by slapping frantically at herself. Blood? Harry’s blood? Sweat dripped down her face and ran in rivulets between her breasts. Dazed, she sat upright in her bed as she realised it was her screams that had woken her. She checked her hands, turning them over and over. No blood. She clenched them into fists and felt the slippery moisture. Sweat? No, not again. She swung her legs over the bed, staggered to the bathroom and waited a moment to catch her breath before switching on the shower. As the cool water cascaded onto her body, she leaned against the cubicle wall, not trusting her shaking legs to keep her upright. Her pulse and breathing returned to normal as she recovered from the night terror, the second this week. She sighed and removed her now soaking nightdress, and wondered if the new investigation had triggered the flashback. Turning off the shower, she grabbed a towel and rubbed herself dry, tears of disappointment prickling at her eyelids. She’d thought their frequency was waning, and that recovery was just a couple of months away. A dark cloud of disillusionment was descending on her. Not now. I need to manage these setbacks. A glimmer of hope fluttered through her brain; she resolved that nothing would prevent her from doing her job. She glanced at the bedside clock.

Two o’clock in the morning, she grumbled to the empty room, and climbed in her bed with renewed determination.

She had fallen into a deep sleep and was surprised, the following morning, how alert she felt as she hurried to the Chester Meadows Hospital. Her body pulsed with recharged energy; she hadn’t experienced that for quite a while, and enthusiasm oozed from every pore. Bizarre. I feel so alive today, and how ironic, on my way to a mortuary. She was to meet Tom for the PM of the bagged victim they’d discovered in the caves. Her brain burst with questions: What would they find among the gruesome debris? How had the woman died? Who was it, and who did the deed? Helen drove through the gates of the hospital and spent ten minutes finding a suitable parking place before rushing to her meeting. With her head held high, and shoulders pulled back, she pushed open the mortuary’s changing room door. Meadows and Wells turned as she entered the room. They were wearing white boots and green scrubs covered with blue plastic aprons. Their expressions were solemn and anxious as they stood, subdued, with hunched shoulders. Helen felt a tug of sympathy for them both, and was amazed at Tracy’s humbled demeanour. A post-mortem wasn’t pleasant at the best of times, but todays was scheduled to be rather different from the norm. When she was ready, Helen gave them both what she hoped was a reassuring smile and led the way into the mortuary itself.

***

On her return to the station, Helen passed through the investigation room to her office. A sense of electrifying excitement pervaded the room and made her body tingle. She checked her desk and asked Chris to join her.

How was it, boss?

Gruesome, to say the least, and the pong was awful. Even with our biological suits and treble filtered room, it was still evident. I brushed my hair a thousand times and showered, but that awful, cloying aroma lingers on everything.

You don't smell.

Thank God for small mercies. Helen grimaced and automatically brushed her hair with her hand as she turned to the window looking out over the investigation room. Look at those two, lapping up their new celebrity status of being the first to see a grisly PM. She was commenting on Dave and Tracy, surrounded by colleagues’ eager to hear the horrific details; their eyes were wide as they listened to Dave in awe as he waved his arms in the air, describing an event. Tracy stood slightly back, in her usual stubborn position. She didn't say a word, but stood with her arms folded tight against her chest, and only gave an occasional nod to Dave.

Helen turned away. That Tracy's an odd one. Can't make up my mind if she couldn't care a toss or if she was shocked at the PM. I tried to talk to her in the changing rooms afterwards, but she just blanked me. Now look at her, not participating in the conversation at all.

Chris moved over to the window and glanced out. Dave was still holding court as Tracy moved away from the group to sit, stony-faced, at her computer.

Do you want me to have a quiet chat with her, boss, and see if she's okay?

Yes, but don't involve me, otherwise she'll think I'm prying.

Okay, problem. Do you want anything before you give the troops their briefing?

Nay. I think I'm up to date, Helen said, and hoped she was right.

Thirty minutes later, Helen was poised, ready to give the brief; Chris sat to one side taking notes. The whiteboards stood empty, except for the day's date, on the other side of Helen. Somebody had wiped the previous heading of Body Found in Cave.

Tracy, are you up to writing on the whiteboards again? You did a great job last time. Helen fixed a smile on her face and remembered the last murder investigation. She and Tracy had locked horns about Tracy doing the write-up on the board.

Tracy glowered at Helen. Off we go again, bitch. You're as condescending as ever. No, I don't want to write on your bloody board, she thought and sauntered, with her arms folded, towards Helen, paused, glowered at her for a second, and turned to stand by the whiteboard without uttering a word. An uncomfortable silence drifted over the room.

Helen made the decision to ignore Tracy’s attempted confrontation. I won’t give her the satisfaction. I’m aware she’s attempting to challenge me. She moistened her lips as her pulse spiked in response. Okay, folks, listen up. You’re all aware that Tracy, Dave and I attended the PM of the woman's body discovered in the caves near to the Manley Road. You were also informed the body was wrapped in black plastic and is in a state of advanced decay. This fact alone will make gathering information more difficult. We’re now dealing with a murder, as I'm sure she wouldn’t have been able to wrap herself in black plastic. Helen stopped speaking to allow the nervous guffaws to die down. "Her skull is fractured and is the possible cause of death. The size and shape of the injuries suggests more than one weapon, or possibly one weapon with two different edges.

Tom Clary indicated the victim is aged between forty and fifty-five years of age, and about five feet, seven inches tall. Well built, with dark auburn hair. Her clothes appear expensive, but until the labs can give us some details, we can't go checking the shops or manufacturers. You'll need to concentrate on the search for her missing bag or purse and mobile phone. Her jewellery is also expensive. In fact, the diamond ring she was wearing is estimated to be worth well over £4000, so the motive at this stage doesn't look like a robbery. I’m sure if robbery was a motivation, they would’ve been removed when she was packaged. In your searches, remember we don't know if the victim was local. She could have been from anywhere, so check everything. Helen closed her folder and handed a PM photograph of the body, and a picture of the skull fractures, to Tracy. Pin those on the board will you, Tracy?

The documents were snatched from her hand and noisily pinned to the board as instructed. Anything else?

No thank you, Tracy, Helen said through gritted teeth, striding to her office. She slammed the door shut and thumped the desk with her fist. I'll swing for that nasty madam one of these days. Her jaw ached with tension, and a vein pulsed on her temple; the only outward sign of her anger.

Helen switched on her computer. The search for evidence was like a jigsaw to her, a game where the prize was the information she discovered. Once a search was in progress, nothing could stop her, or interrupt her concentration. The outside world was shut away as she focused on the pursuit of useful evidence.

She opened the Missing Persons Bureau’s web site and searched by age range, height and time scale, and clicked to include the whole of the British Isles. Helen’s heart skipped a beat as ten potential files emerged within seconds, all similar but in various regions of the country. Where to start? Which search would reveal a better hit? Flexing her fingers as if she was about to perform a piano concerto, she settled on the closest localities with the intention of expanding the search outward. With the speed of lightning, her fingers danced across the keyboard as she hunted through document after document. An hour later, with a sense of satisfaction, Helen had managed to retrieve all the relevant facts to help identify the victim. She sent the information for Sally to print off. She leaned back in the chair and stretched. Wow, that was a marathon. Time for a break.

Boss, Sally said, as she walked into the office. I’ve printed the information, and the photographs you sent me of three potential local missing persons. Do you think they match the description of our body in the mortuary?

FOUR

Helen studied the photographs Sally had just given her. She spread them out across her desk, amazed at the women’s likenesses. Each one smiled into the camera lens with vulnerable confidence. Reading the short profiles suggested they were all business women, independent, and by all accounts had nothing to make them voluntarily disappear. Was one of the women looking out from the photographs the putrefied corpse lying in the mortuary's freezer? An involuntary shiver travelled down Helen’s spine as she recalled the