The Evidence Room

By Matt Brown

From out of nowhere there comes a sweeping onslaught of murder. A game of cat and mouse begins as DCI Henry Faulkner and DS Billy Cray are assigned to the case, leading the investigation into capturing this horrific serial killer. The murders begin, so grotesque in nature, mutilations that leave all involved stunned and riddled with fear.

Tension mounts, as with each murder, no concrete evidence can be recovered. The pressure begins to cause ripples within the team. Faulkners boisterous and arrogant persona clashing with the demons of Crays troubled past leave the core of this investigation, at times, in tatters!

Who is this serial killer? How can they elude and stay invisible for so long; like a ghost? Does this case have more of a story to tell than meets the eye? Is there a hidden secret, a detail that has gone unnoticed?

Victim, upon victim.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491882825

Matt Brown

Matt Brown is an evangelist, author, and founder of Think Eternity, a ministry dedicated to amplifying the gospel every day to millions through devotionals, videos, live events, and more. Matt and his wife Michelle and their two sons live in Minnesota. You can follow Matt on social media at @evangelistmatt and at thinke.org.

Book preview

Contents

Chapter One

King’s Pawn To King’s Pawn Two

Chapter Two

Queen’s Pawn To Queen’s Pawn Two

Chapter Three

Queen’s Knight To Queen’s Bishop Two

Chapter Four

King’s Knight To King’s Bishop Two

Chapter Five

Queen’s Bishop To King’s Two

Chapter Six

King’s Bishop To King’s One

Chapter Seven

King Castles

Chapter Eight

Queen’s Bishop Takes Black Bishop

Chapter Nine

Queen’s Knight Pawn Moves Forward One

Chapter Ten

Queen’s Rook Pawn Moves Forward Two

Chapter Eleven

Queen’s Knight Takes Black Knight

Chapter Twelve

Queen’s Knight To Queen’s Bishop Four

Chapter Thirteen

King’s Knight To King’s Four

Chapter Fourteen

King’s Knight To King’s Bishop Seven Checkmate

My family is my rock. I thank you for your patience and your belief in me. Without this I would be but a hopeless dreamer.

CHAPTER ONE

King’s Pawn to King’s Pawn Two

Shards of wood and glass lay stuck and torn into her poor splintered and shredded feet. She had tried to run. The thin layer of cloth she had been wearing, her only protection against her skin, had now wilted away and was shrivelled up on the floor beside her half naked body. Trickling drops of rain fell gracefully upon the cowering figure of a man at the back of the disused warehouse. Screams were merely whispers in these surroundings. There was no one there to help her, not even God. She could make out the shadow of something nearing her. She strained in vain to distinguish what it was, but it was too dark to see. The figure that approached carried an object which looked as equally as menacing as the figure itself. In the bleakness that surrounded her, she was only able to determine that the object was sharp at one end. She could feel most of her front teeth wobbling around in her mouth, two of which were swimming in the blood from her busted gums. Her right eye was swollen and puffed making her vision restricted. A piece of glass was stuck above her left eye, which had only missed her eye directly by a sheer stroke of luck. Her long black hair was ringing wet and dirty, matted with mud from the grounds outside. She had been dragged in there, falling in and out of consciousness, the pain had been severe and lengthy; she now felt only numb.

Why? she asked, struggling to speak, as the figure came close.

There was no response. The figure stopped, stood absolutely still, stooped over her and just a matter of steps away. She felt her heart beat its last, as the figure, in one sudden thrust, embedded the sharp object into her head.

It was 2.30am exactly. It was a cold late October Saturday morning and was near silent, only distant infrequent sounds of car engines broke through the quiet eeriness of the night. The warehouse had not been in use for some time. However, there was little doubt that the body would soon be discovered, as the grounds were constantly visited by various characters, mainly dog walkers and teenagers fooling around.

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The morning at the office was as chaotic as ever, too many voices and not enough capacity in which those voices could work suitably together, meaning any chance of distinguishing anything coherent was virtually impossible. This Monday morning madness was sure to be brought to its end, as it always was, whenever he walked in.

Quieten down people. I have got a headache as it is, and that only began when I walked in through the main entrance downstairs and heard you all from there! spouted DCI Henry Faulkner.

His colleagues brought their volume levels down instantly, individually shying away and acting as if it was not they who were the loudest. It was more like a classroom of scared orphans rather than an office of mature professionals. He didn’t care, he wanted silence. The next sound was his office door closing and the aftermath of murmuring vibrations that came through the attached office glass. Faulkner had barely removed his blazer before his mobile rang.

Faulkner! he said bluntly.

Sir, it’s Billy. A woman has been murdered, Sir. I got the call early this morning. They tried calling you but couldn’t get an answer.

Where? interrupted Henry, as the only word that mattered to him at that point was murder, and it had his full attention. The other information that Billy provided would be seen as nothing more than time consuming gibberish in Henry’s eyes.

The disused warehouse over by the river in… . offered Billy, before once again being interrupted.

I know it! said Henry, hanging up and leaving the office, walking back past his classroom of colleagues!

As he left the main entrance of the building and headed to the car park, he couldn’t help but notice the feeling of absolute adrenaline that rushed through his body. It was as if someone had flicked a switch and turned him on and into action. He lived for this, a murder, a case, something for him to get his teeth into, and more importantly a case which would hopefully get him the accolades he required for promotion. That was imperative for him.

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The scene was as expected for Henry. He had always approached every crime fearing the worst as he felt it kept him from being overcome by surprise, thus blurring his judgement, preventing him from being able to assess the case unclouded from the start. Billy noticed the look of composure on his face, and although used to it, believed that surely not even Henry could remain that calm and composed in this particular instance. For both of them this was something new, an atrocity of the most foul and grotesque manner, an avalanche of malicious and repetitive harm, a murder as gruesome as if it had been carried out by a beast, an onslaught of rage by the Devil himself.

Blood seemed to be etched on every object, muscle tissue and the odd finger or toe were too duly scattered, leaving the eyes of all present nowhere to turn for relief. Not even shutting them would hide the horrific image that was now in no doubt embedded in their minds. If the killer’s aim was for attention, he had succeeded ten-fold!

If we had bears in this country that would be my place to start! said Billy, breaking the silence, trying to refocus everyone’s attention to the investigation at hand.

Brutality in the extreme, a violation of every bit of decency, madness. replied Henry, slowly walking towards what was left of the victim’s head and also acknowledging Billy’s intention.

One officer could not stay any longer and turned and rushed outside for some fresh air. The rancid odour was brewing stronger with every passing second and the reality of what they faced was becoming more and more evident. However, the initial shock started to subside, allowing both Henry and Billy to commence investigation proceedings.

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The black wrought iron steps led up to a small see though black gate. A quaint waist high brown brick wall sprung out from either side, jagged in its direction and showing character in its age.

Where does this lead? asked an eager Henry, who was now in his full stride of investigation, using his usual personal techniques and senses to direct him around the crime scene.

None of us have reached that far yet, Sir! answered Billy.

Waiting for me to go exploring with you Cray isn’t going to get you any bonuses, brownie points, smiles or cupcakes from me. It just allows any remaining evidence a higher risk of either becoming lost or contaminated. Oh and also, if the murderer did still happen to be on the scene, however unlikely, well he probably isn’t now!

Henry shouted the last word as he burst through the gate and beyond before Billy and the other officers had any chance to reply. They were used to his patronising and humiliating outbursts of abuse, his uncouth and unnecessary ways of working. As Henry turned left, walking behind the warehouse he first took in the building’s description, keeping it locked in his mind for later when he would write his full report. The disused warehouse had fading light green panelling, high and long narrow rectangular windows towards the top, almost about a metre from the roof. The windows were white framed and most of the glass was still intact. Vandals most likely couldn’t through stones high enough to be able to reach, let alone penetrate, the long sheets of glass. As Henry stepped back from the warehouse he could see the striking red chimneys springing out of the structure. Beyond was nothing except dark grey clouds, gloomy clouds that usually signalled that a storm was coming, a lightning storm. Two further footsteps for Henry and something unveiled itself to him, sticking out from the long grass to his right hand side.

Look Billy! he said slowly pointing out the object.

They approached what at first glance looked like a broom handle. Upon closer inspection the object gave on a whole different presence, it was a garden tool, a rake, and was covered in blood.

Well, well, well Sir, looks like you’ve just discovered the murder weapon! said Billy.

Yes, it seems that I have. replied Henry, slowly getting closer to his find and his eyes becoming even more widened with interest.

Looks like the murderer dumped it here upon leaving the scene, Sir, said Billy, sounding slightly bemused and following up with Why on earth would they make it this easy for us to find, Panic?

Perhaps, responded Henry, Or maybe the killer does not feel that us finding the murder weapon so soon is of a threat to them!

Brave assumption! said Billy, coughing at the same time, to express his surprise and disbelief at the murderer’s nerve and naivety.

We shall see! replied Henry, in a low unconvinced tone, before sending another officer off to organise forensics.

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Dustings for finger prints, detailed analysis of the blood found on the rake, plus further investigations and sweeping of the crime scene came back with nothing. It was as Henry and Billy feared. The days that followed, although just a few, were compacted with activity.

The victim’s name was Zoe Hartman, a maths teacher, from St Christopher’s Secondary School in Barbican. She was twenty-eight years of age and single. Her private life was quite non-eventful, choosing to spend most of her spare time alone at home, concentrating her efforts on the two loves of her life, reading and baking. Her circle of friends were mainly work based, colleagues with whom she rarely spent time outside of school. Exchanging pleasantries in the staff room was her most predominant method of communication. Zoe Hartman kept her lifestyle very simple and sheltered, as she saw anything on the contrary as too risky and complicated. Any change in her life which involved a more social aspect, or a love affair, would send alarm bells ringing and alert her to the possibility of losing her independency and possible eventual heartbreak. Her dress code was very simple; long sleeves and long skirts that do not attract unwanted attention.

She had worked at the school for three years during which time had built up a strong reputation with her pupils as being an easy target, as she did not possess a strictness that many others at the school did. For Ms Hartman, this did carry its own consequences. She would often witness pupils laughing at her in class, or writing offensive things on pieces of paper and leaving them on her desk. Two boys in particular were mostly to blame, both fourteen years old, named Shaun Baker and Craig Atkinson. These two would do anything from drawing rude pictures and leaving them randomly around the classroom to blowing their noses into tissues and leaving them for Ms Hartman to pick up at the end of class, her then discovering that the tissue had been placed in such a way that the mucus was on the outside. Sadly, she could never quite catch the two in the act though, leaving her even more frustrated and them even more confident and mischievous.

On the night in question Ms Hartman had left school as normal, finishing her afternoon class, before briefly looking over one pupil’s recent work and collecting her personal effects from her locker in the staff room. As she walked out of the main entrance she was startled by two loud eleven year olds, who darted across in front of her, causing her to gasp and pause mid-stride.

Sorry Miss! replied one, whilst the other could not refrain from giggling at having just seen a teacher jump on the spot in fright.

She drew a deep breath to compose herself and as she looked up she noticed that a car was parked just outside of the main gate and only about forty metres from where she stood. At first she assumed that he was a father or a step-father waiting for their child to finish school. But most children would have now left and headed on home for the day, with the exception that is of the odd naughty child who found their final class of the day was in detention. One child who found himself there was loudmouth school bully Gerry Silk. His reason for being there was due to answering back to a teacher during break time. Gerry Silk, glum as usual, glanced out from the window of the fourth floor classroom, eagerly awaiting his time to go and finally cause more mischief on the world outside. He was like a rat in a cage, forever trying to nibble his way out, or a raging pit bull terrier who was about to be released into a dog fight. Silk’s eyes wandered the grotty street below, watching the passers-by, the usual passing tramp and the odd dealer hanging around further up the street, just waiting to pounce on the young and vulnerable. His gaze was then drawn upon a red car parked down by the front gate. He did not recognise the vehicle and had not seen it parked there before at that time of day. He did find himself in detention most days of the week, so had become somewhat familiar with the activity outside. He knew that there was unlikely to be any other children left in school to be picked up by their parents, and as he was the only pupil in detention that particular afternoon, meant that the waiting driver was perhaps there for one of the teachers. Seconds later he saw Ms Hartman approaching the gate. A hand appeared from the driver side window, catching her attention and waving her forward towards the car. Silk, could not however, make out the face of the person inside. He kept watching closely as he was intrigued to see if this mystery person was in fact there to pick up Ms Hartman. Maybe a friend, or a boyfriend perhaps. he thought. He could not believe his luck. Already he couldn’t wait to tell all the other trouble makers in school the following Monday. How cool for him if he were to see the other side to the reserved private life of Ms Hartman. He started to imagine what her partner would look like. He straightened up in his seat, sitting forward, determined not to miss any details.

Ms Hartman walked through the main gate, leaving her only metres from the mystery vehicle. This was her first clear glimpse of the person inside. She slowed in her pace as she noticed the person was waving to her, calling her towards him. Intrigued and also determined to carry out her responsibility as a teacher who was suspicious and concerned for child safety, she approached the car tentatively.

Yes can I help you? Ms Hartman said, crouching slightly towards the driver. George Silk watched, wondering who this person in the car was. He assumed now that she did not know the driver, as if she had, why had she not just got in? After all it was obvious that he was there waiting for someone, and not just pulling in momentarily seeking out directions or asking for the time. About thirty seconds passed before he saw Ms Hartman turn and slowly walk away, looking somewhat slower in pace and deep in thought. At this precise moment the car made a full U-turn and disappeared in the opposite direction.

Silk! shouted Mr Colbert, distracting him from the window. Go on, off you go, detention over!

Paying no further attention to what he had witnessed outside, George stood and walked out of the classroom, quickening his stride with his mind refocused on freedom.

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London’s city streets were once again prey to another murdered victim, and although the murder took place in a disused warehouse just outside of the London area, it did nothing whatsoever to disguise the fact that the target was still a London resident. Such like crime had plagued the city streets for many years, centuries, and the police were only too used to dealing in such matters, such horrendous displays of brutality and destruction that seemingly were becoming more and more recurrent.

The murder seems to be so randomly committed, but with impeccable precision, as though covering all bases, using extra planning not to get caught. said Billy Cray, whilst pinning up a blown up portrait photo of Ms Hartman to the office evidence wall.

All bases? questioned Faulkner, who was sat directly opposite, eyes fixed on the grooves in the wooden desk before him, as if they represented the cracks in society, and indeed the many holes and crevasses of the case he now had to face.

Well yes Henry, responded Billy, turning to face him, The victim was basically a recluse, a no-one outside of the workplace. I’d doubt that even her family could identify her body, even if it wasn’t in the mutilated state it is now. She lived as a ghost outside of the school. So, why would anybody take issue with her and want to hurt her? Obviously, someone who wanted to remain completely assured. He knew that she would be on her own thus making her more accessible. Also, no-one would immediately be looking for her, well not until the Monday morning at school that is. It was just by chance that she happened to have been discovered sooner. So the murderer has given himself a whole weekend to commit a carefully planned and well thought out act of violence on a person who was basically non-existent.

Interesting! responded Henry, eyes still transfixed to the desk, However, everyone makes an error of judgement at some time or another. There will be something, a minor detail that has been overlooked. We are entrusted to find that minor detail, and that is what we will do.

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Faulkner and Cray pulled up outside the house of Victoria and Jeremy Marsh, mother and step-father to Zoe Hartman. Their house was very impressive, lavish and clearly the higher end of the property market.

I wouldn’t expect anything less from Hampstead, would you? Billy commented, momentarily remaining in awe of the swanky residence.

Mrs Marsh has been very selective in the man in her life. Well that would be my first assumption! Come on. responded Henry, candid in tone.

The front door opened as they approached and were greeted by a frail looking man, a man who looked older than his years. Clearly a long career had taken its toll. It was Jeremy Marsh.

Mr Marsh. Let me first say how sorry I am for the loss of your step-daughter, said Henry, offering his hand, before noticing a slight wince of discomfort from Mr Marsh as he shook it, This is DS William Cray and I am DCI Henry Faulkner. We have been assigned to this case and will be leading the investigation forthwith.

Mr Faulkner, Mr Cray. said Jeremy whilst welcoming them inside.

The hallway was as swish as the front of the house. Dark stained wooden flooring with oak furnishings throughout the ground floor, crisp Waterford crystal decorating the table and dresser tops.

I’m afraid, as expected, my wife is very upset. She has not completely accepted that Zoe has gone. She cannot see why anyone would do such a terrible thing to her Zoe. said Mr Marsh, refraining from entering the main living room area until he had finished his whispered sentence. Obviously he was guarding his words from the ears of Mrs Marsh, who sat quietly in the next room.

As they entered the main living area, their gaze immediately fell on a huge chandelier, sparkling with dangling crystal droplets, gently hanging. More wealth, were the first two words that came to Billy’s mind, whereas Henry was more interested in seeing the victim’s mother. Sat over by the far window, in a quaint Victorian styled chair was Victoria Marsh. She was sitting upright, looked in control, and was stern faced.

I hope you have some news! said Mrs Marsh, venting her words angrily at Henry having already deducted that he was the one in charge.

Not yet I’m afraid, Mrs Marsh. Please let me apologise for not being the first to tell you about your daughter, and secondly how sorry I am for your loss.

Yes, yes, yes but that won’t bring her back will it?

Henry looked down without answering, as the question was rhetorical and although she branded a brave exterior, she was clearly suffering and shattered inside.

My name is Henry Faulkner and this is William Cray, and we’ll be leading in this investigation. offered Henry, softly, sensitively trying to get attention back to the case, and more to the point, questions that he needed answering.

May I ask when you last saw your daughter, Mrs Marsh? Henry asked.

Probably a month, we didn’t see her that often. She was a bit weird like that, well independent, for the want of a better word. One day she would come here and have lunch with us, and then we wouldn’t see her for weeks, sometimes months! Mrs Marsh replied, trying to keep her true feelings sheltered from the officers and remain as composed as possible.

Out of the corner of Henry’s eye he noticed Jeremy Marsh rubbing his hand, again as if in discomfort. But his attention was quickly snapped back to Mrs Marsh as she stepped forwards towards him.

Henry Faulkner, know this. You are in charge of bringing this sickening criminal to justice. Don’t disappoint me!

Faulkner nodded his head slowly, as if bowing down to the Queen herself upon receiving a hugely important assignment. He held his eyes on hers, expressing his sincerity and commitment through them, when suddenly his attention was drawn once again to the fidgety and somewhat now suspicious Mr Marsh who was again rubbing his hands.

You look to be in some discomfort, Sir? said Henry, turning himself towards Jeremy.

Sorry it is my finger that hurts. It is whitlow and it is quite painful. replied Mr Marsh.

Honestly Jeremy, you are about as useless as a rat in a picnic basket! shouted Mrs Marsh, expressing her frustration and utter embarrassment at her fidgeting, irritating and cowardly husband.

I have a tip for that, offered Billy, Push your nail in against the area and the puss will seep straight out.

Christ! interrupted Mrs Marsh.

Sorry. replied Billy, realising the timing of his advice was somewhat inappropriate. Henry looked at him in disappointment, before turning his attention back to Victoria Marsh.

Now Mrs Marsh, I have to ask you some more questions if you feel ready.

Yes, yes of course. Jeremy go and make the officers a cup of tea. she commanded, whilst pointing Jeremy in the direction of the kitchen.

Yes dear. he said, making haste for the door, as if being pardoned from any further scrutinising outbursts.

Now Mr Faulkner, questions? she said, her tone sharper than before.

Did she have her own room while visiting here? Or did she just use a guest room? asked Henry, while slowly strolling over to the window and admiring the grand fireplace to his left.

She had her own room. Some of her belongings are still up there.

Would you mind if Mr Cray here goes up and takes a look around. There may be some information there that could be helpful to us.

As long as he leaves everything as he found it yes! Top of the stairs, turn right down the hallway and it is the second door on the left.

Go on William. I’ll be up shortly. said Henry, eagerly nodding, not wanting to waste another second, in a sense that she may change her mind.

Billy left Henry asking Mrs Marsh some further questions as he made his way out into the hallway. He passed the kitchen, briefly glancing in through its open doorway to notice Jeremy Marsh, suspiciously checking over his shoulder and keeping an eye on things. Billy continued walking, reaching the stairs. The staircase seemed surprisingly narrow for such a grand house. As Billy placed his left hand on the banister and started to ascend the stairs, he again noticed Jeremy acting strangely, peering around the kitchen doorway and down the hall towards him.

Everything OK Mr Marsh? said Billy, not prepared to let the moment pass and Jeremy’s strange behaviour go unnoticed.

Yes. I didn’t know if you were leaving. I have made you a tea. stuttered Jeremy, as if trying to hide his true reasoning behind his antics, which was nothing more than pure nosiness.

I am going to have a look in Zoe’s room. Thanks for the tea. I’ll have it when I come down. I won’t be long. said Billy, pausing there just long enough for Jeremy to get the message and turn away.

Billy then continued and went upstairs, quite hurriedly, as he had already wasted seconds unnecessarily having to deal with Jeremy’s prying. Upon reaching the landing a sudden chill gripped his neck, a cold snap stopping him dead in his tracks. He got the sense that someone else was there, someone else was on that upper level. Maybe a pet? he thought momentarily. Moving on he entered Zoe Hartman’s bedroom. It was as if it had just been tended to. Nothing was out of place. Everything seemed so