The Camden Killer: Harrison Lake Investigations, #1

By Ben Oakley

THE CANALS RUN RED WITH THE BLOOD OF HIS VICTIMS

 

Private investigator Harrison Lake is having a run of bad luck when he gets a phone call from a mysterious girl begging for help. She claims to have been abducted, with only one number on the phone left for her – Harrison's.

When Harrison becomes a suspect in the abduction, he is forced into a race against time to solve his own case, but finds himself drawn into a deadly game, orchestrated by an unidentified serial killer.

With only thirty-six hours before the killer strikes again, and with the lives of others hanging in the balance, it falls to Harrison to uncover the true identity of the Camden Killer, before it's too late. . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Twelvetrees Camden
• Release date: Jun 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223299950

Book preview

One

The playgrounds of my childhood had become graveyards of industry. I used to think there was such beauty in abandonment, but I'm unsure if the derelict buildings were simply relics of a long-forgotten age or from a time of mass-consumerism and false hope. Regardless, I found myself yet again resting on the bar of a misappropriated drinking hole in North London. I'm told it used to be a church a century ago, but it certainly didn't look like it. I guessed the wood of the original structure had been reused in some vague manner at the turn of the Twentieth Century. However, the atmosphere was to my liking and Jess Ashby owned the bar, which was one of my many reasons for going there.

The Ribnik had saved me more times than not, and the bar served me well, the quietness of the establishment was in union with the Edwardian décor. When Jess purchased the old bar five years back, she changed the name from The Old Bell to the Ribnik because it reminded her of a family holiday when she was young. I later learned that Ribnik was a small village in Bosnia and Herzegovina, can't say it’s a place I've ever been but I'm open to it. It was certain to be a far cry from the madness of the Camden Markets, a couple of roads away.

There was nothing untoward about a reasonably good-looking guy in black trousers, turquoise t-shirt, and a dark blue thin fleece jacket, resting in a bar near Camden, it's what I wore most of the time. My dirty brown hair hung below the ears, and I was happy with it, reminded me of my youth. I hated being restricted by tight suits and generalisations and had long since failed at propping up bedazzled asslickers content to throw their own under the bus. I would fit in anywhere, from Bosnia to Camden, and talk to anyone, from top-level government cronies to the poor sod on the street looking to his last pound wondering whether he should feed himself or the dog who never left his side.

The whisky cocktail was sliding down my throat all too easily. It was never well deserved but it certainly helped me relax and focus on what was important in life – whatever that was. I say cocktail but it was basically an inch of whisky in a tall glass topped up with another inch of blackcurrant cordial. I’m told it’s called a Whisky Black which flummoxed me as it was clearly purple.

Jess and I went back about seven years when she had come to me for help after escaping an abusive relationship. Some thought it strange she'd come to me, but it was not without precedent. A few months before I found her, I had investigated and reported on abuse in cults and how the police needed more powers to bring the abusers within them to justice. Any cult story I was lumbered with invariably left a bad taste in my mouth, as they simply took the wind out of me. Luckily, Jess hadn't been involved in a cult, as far as I knew, but she had read the story about the case nonetheless and thus our soul lines crossed.

I guess back then I was a soft spot, but it felt real good helping her at that moment in her life, and I’d consistently found more enjoyment in giving than receiving. I put her up for a month while she got herself back on her feet, with nothing but respect between the two of us. She was twenty-one when I'd found her outside the Oculus offices in Ealing, crumpled in a heap in the entranceway. She had no identification on her and no connection to a past except her name.

The surprising thing about young fools is how many grow up to be old fools, she mocked.

Since when has forty-one been old? I barely raised my head to look at her.

Anyone older than me is old, it’s a numbers game.

She had found me through my investigation into the Blackwater Group, a wannabe cult who placed hatred of others above any real desire for a manifesto, and I suppose in that way were less of a cult and more of a group of people who had come together to cause harm to others. I was investigating the group as the job had been passed to me from my boss at the Oculus Investigation firm, an ecumenical pairing of many private investigation companies with the aim at having one port of call for customers. I didn’t mind the Oculus so much, as I did the type of investigations I was handed down. It used to be cheating couples and tax evaders but quickly became ghost stories and murderers, when my penchant for never giving up on a case shone through above many others. But I favoured the set-up, it made my life so much easier, I didn’t have to market myself as an investigator because the Oculus did the leg work for me, and instead of having my own company I freelanced under the Oculus banner.

Jobs that came in were passed over to the relevant investigator and the whole process made sense to me, it allowed me to have a small annual wage with case-specific commissions and removed the stigma of being a go-alone PI, though I wanted to go solo at some point. It wasn't going to change the world but it mostly kept me sane. So, for ten years, from the age of thirty-one, I've been a freelance private investigator with the Oculus.

Which is why I needed a drink.

I shook my head and felt a little dizzy because of it. I was only on my second Whisky Black, but it was getting to me quicker than usual. Sometimes it didn’t affect me and other days it knocked me for six and today was one of those days.

Those roadworks near Camden affect ya? she asked, shaking her long blonde dreadlocks out of her face.

I haven't driven in years, you know that. Public transport is good enough, to a point.

When I first met her, she had short brown hair and conservative views but had grown into a completely different person in every possible way. She was a nurtured product of Camden Town itself and had been moulded through alternative music and freedom of expression. She was the epitome of a free-spirited soul, and it made me feel good inside to know she was living her life in such a way. I would remember her as she was right then, standing in front of me at the bar, proud and strong, rather than the broken creature who had pulled herself to safety from the clutches of domestic violence.

Yeah, but it might affect the Tube lines, she muttered.

Why would roadworks affect the underground?

Just saying, it might have done, that's all. Been something kooky about that roadworks all week.

Kooky?

She nodded her head, I read they discovered a body in the sewer lines when they started last week. It's why there are construction tents all over that side of the canal. Word on the street is they pulled another two bodies from the sewers. It's not roadworks, Harrison, it's a cover-up to hide the number of victims they're finding.

I was never one to question Jess's word on the street, but it did seem a little far-fetched. Then again, I didn't really know what they were doing on the canal, it wasn't bothering me as much as it did the road users.

Though I entertained her thought processes, victims?

I think it's related to the Blood Streams.

The Blood Streams are a myth.

Surprised you of all people think that. This is one case that's clearly passed you by.

There's no story there, I said, staring into my glass with one eye closed.

You alright? You seem a little off today?

I sighed and pushed the glass away, I'm alright, how's things with you?

Relationship's going well and the plan's coming together.

I'd like to meet him one day, I said.

She'd been with her mysterious guy for about a year, and I'd never even seen him. I was starting to wonder if the whole thing was a facade to make me feel better, to know she had someone there for her.

I hope that day comes soon but if it doesn't, then you'll find me on the shoreline of a new ocean with a new life, a better life.

Jeez, I wish I had your optimism.

Talk to me, she said.

About what?

Whatever you wanna talk to me about?

I dunno, it's just when you think everything's going alright, something pops up to keep you on your feet, you know?

Hit me with it, she pleaded.

Council tax has gone up on the house to over three grand a year.

She puffed her cheeks out, and I thought my business rates were high.

I feel like I’m being punished for having a house that big all to myself. It's not my fault it's been passed down to me through the years.

You could do with a lodger.

Wouldn't know what to do with one.

I can't let you lose the house, Harrison, I'll do whatever I can to help.

I know you would.

You’re gonna have to open up one of these days and let in the help you keep pushing away. Soulmates for life, remember?

I grabbed the glass and held it above my head, amen to that.

I'm still here if you need me.

Another drink it is then, I grinned and slid the empty glass across the perfectly clean bar.

My phone started ringing with a soft classical piece as its ringtone. It made me jump every time, as it was rarely good news. Most people who have my number knew I preferred messages as a first port of call. Apart from Melissa 'Mel' Harvey, my boss, I rarely got calls but then I seldom gave out my number.

I reached into my jacket and rummaged around for the phone, the ringtone increasing in volume the longer it played. There was no caller identification and no sign of any number; it was simply a blocked call.

Jess scooted over and put a fresh Whisky Black in front of me, topped up with a precise amount of blackcurrant.

You gonna answer it?

Unknown number. Probably unpaid bills or some scam out to get my details, either’s not great.

Don't you wanna know?

The ringtone was getting louder with every moment I didn't answer, and I was aware it would be annoying others around me. Then I looked around and saw only three other people in the bar. There was a young female with long dreadlocks, like Jess's, sitting opposite a mid-thirties male wearing a cap. They were having what looked like a professional conversation. An older, slightly more rotund gentleman was reading a large broadsheet at the end of the bar. They were all who made up the lunch-time clientele at the Ribnik.

What is it with dreadlocks?

It's a dreadlock renaissance, didn't you hear? she said, flicking her dreads back over her head. This is Camden, a new age Mecca.

The new age isn't so new anymore.

The girl over there with the dreads, she's starting work here tonight, helping me to cover at the weekends. Poor thing’s been homeless for a month after fleeing Australia and ending up in the gutter, so to speak. She responded to a flyer I’d put in the window and thing’s just fell into place. I felt like I needed to help her, you know?

It brought a knowing smile to my face. I'm proud of you, I nodded.

She looked at my phone which had reached annoyance levels, aren't you curious to know who it is?

I looked at the phone, I really didn't want to answer it, I couldn't be bothered with listening to inane spam or cold callers. I wanted to relax in peace for once, it was a rare day off after all.

Not really, no, I said, content with my decision.

You can't run from everything, Harrison, she sighed.

I pressed the bulging red cancel button and put the phone face down on the bar. Apparently, one can.

She rolled her eyes at me, why do you come here and bug me with your incessant pessimism?

I like to check in every now and again, see what's new in Jess's world.

The phone started buzzing and the classical music faded in again, much to mine and probably the entire bar's annoyance. I looked at Jess who was nodding at the phone, silently pleading me to pick it up and answer.

Okay, okay, I groaned, grabbing the phone, and looking at the caller ID. It was the same as it was a few seconds earlier; blocked caller and unknown number. To placate Jess's woeful sense of curiosity, I answered.

This is Harrison Lake.

Silence, nothing but still air on the other end.

I tried again, hello, this is Harrison Lake, can I help?

"Who is this?"

It sounded like a teenage girl, but it was a little quiet on the other end and I couldn't make it out.

I just told you my name, but you called me, can I help you?

She spoke with a shiver in her voice.

"Please help me."

Two

I raised my eyebrows at Jess and shook my head, before covering the phone with my hand. I stood and leaned over the bar.

It's a prank call, I'm gonna take it outside and see where this goes.

You're gonna hang up now, right?

My curiosity’s been spiked, I said, before walking out.

Jess called after me, you come back for your tab!

The Ribnik was in the back streets of Kentish Town, so in effect it was my local as I lived on the south side of Hampstead Heath. The areas around the Camden markets felt permanently busy, but the Ribnik’s street was generally quiet. You wouldn't find many tourists inside the bar, but it would have been nice to see some new faces. On a Friday and Saturday night, the place was heaving but at any other time, not so much.

Still, the rare sunshine on a warm autumn day was more than refreshing. We were in the last weeks of natural vitamin D before winter took its grip on the land. I moved to one of the outside benches which had been precariously placed on the edge of the road, mostly for smokers since the ban had come in. I leaned on the bench, not bothering to sit.

I put the phone back to my ear, go on then, how can I help you?

I looked up and down the street, which was partially residential, partly commercial. Kentish Town was a pretty suburb of Camden, far removed from the free-spirited atmosphere of the markets, and it was a pricey area. I was lucky enough to have my townhouse in the heath despite its rising costs.

"Hello?" the voice came.

Yes, hello, I'm listening, I said, becoming a little frustrated.

"Oh god, I'm trapped down here. Someone is holding me here and I don't know where I am."

Look, lady, I've had a rough week to be fair and I'm not in the mood for this. How did you get this number?

"Please don't go, it's dark in here."

How did you get my number? This number isn't even registered.

"This phone has your number in it. I can't call anyone else, only this number. Who are you?"

What phone are you talking about?

"This phone, the phone I'm calling from."

Your phone has only one number and it happens to be mine? That's an awfully big memory card, I jested.

The girl started weeping and it sounded a little too real. She was a good actress in whatever this performance was about. I was eagerly holding out for the moment when she asked for money or to meet for an escort scam that had been running around the news recently.

"I’ve been kidnapped. He's hurt me and I think he’s going to kill me."

The weeping turned to full-on crying. Listening to it was hard to stomach but I was still going with her being an actress. I looked around the street again to see if anyone was looking at me but there was nothing obvious beyond the usual curiosity from fellow humans. Much to my annoyance, I found myself being drawn into the call.

Did Mel put you up to this? Is she messing around to get me to focus again? No answer. Are you someone I've worked with before or investigated? Come on, help me here.

"Please! I don't know them, and I don't know you. This is the only contact I can make."

I was decidedly relaxed, enjoying a drink before you rang and I wanna get back to it. So, good luck and go play with someone else.

I turned the phone off and stood on the street, forcing air into my lungs. A lovely full breath of Asian takeaways, stale beer, and car fumes. Ah, Camden. The phone call was still in my head, it was a good game and I supposed it might have been real. But the whole one number thing brought it crashing out of reality. What phone only has one number in it? The Ribnik was too big a draw to leave entirely, and I found myself traipsing back over the pavement towards it. Besides, I'd left my drink in there and I wasn't quite finished with Jess yet. I felt as if she was my responsibility, as absurd as it sounded.

The phone started to ring again, and a rising panic flowed through my veins. Was it the damn persistence of this girl or something else hiding beneath it?

Blocked again, I muttered to myself.

One last time and then I was going to turn the bloody thing off for the day. I answered the call, look, I really can't help you.

The girl shouted at me, "please don't hang up!"

It's not gonna work, darling, I'm turning my phone off.

She screamed at me in desperation with words I couldn't make out before she took a deep breath and stilled her shaking voice.

"Please don't go! I've been attacked and I'm hurt. Her voice had become more panicky and less shouty, as if she had conceded to her fate. He is coming back to kill me."

I sharply pulled the phone away from my ear and took another deep breath. I had investigated so many people for the Oculus over the years that I mostly knew the difference between truth and lies. This girl was insistent, and I didn't like to admit it, but she did sound genuinely scared.

I'm sorry, I can't help you. Why don't you call the police?

"I can't do that?"

They can help you far more than I can.

"I can't call the police."

Why not?

"I don't know, the phone only lets me dial this number. I've gone through the memory, contacts, everything, it’s only your number. When I try and dial anything else, it doesn't let me. I can't even open an emergency connection," she sniffed back the tears.

That would be difficult to pull off, I said.

"I know, I don't understand it."

She had me hooked and I was being reeled into whatever game this was. Do you know where you are?

She fell silent for a moment then I heard her crying harder on the other end. The more she cried and broke down in my ear, the more I believed she was telling the truth. After a few moments more, she managed to compose herself.

"I don't know but it hurts."

What hurts?

"The cuts all over my body."

Where did the cuts come from?

"He did it to me. He was wearing a mask and when I was chained to the wall, he sliced me all over with a sharp knife."

Where did you get the phone to call me?

"It was on the ground in front of me when I woke up."

I thought you were chained to the wall?

"No. Yes, I was. But I passed out and then woke up on the floor in a locked room. It's like a cellar or something."

Where do you come from?

"Forest Hill."

Forest Hill, Oxford?

"Yes, it's where I live."

I didn't know how to proceed from there. Either way it was going to be hard for her, but I had to say it.

Listen, I'm in Camden Borough, in London. I've lived in and around the area for most of my life. We're quite a distance apart so I’m not sure how much I can help you here?

Then I heard her burst into tears more heavily than before. It sounded like the end of the road. Had I delivered a hammer blow to someone who really needed help? They were tears of immense grief and suffering the likes of which I hadn't heard in a long time. More importantly, there was no faking it. I took a deep breath to calm my own rising heartbeat.

This is real, isn't it?

Three

Questions were racing through my mind so fast I couldn't focus on what I had to say next. I needed more information from her to try and solve this thing. But she interrupted my train of thought and focused my mind for me.

"Please, I'm not making this up."

Okay, I believe you. What was next? Do you know the number of the phone you're calling from?

"No, I told you, everything else is blocked. I can't do anything except call your number, nothing at all."

What's your name?

"Stansey King," she said shyly.

Stansey, I'm Harrison.

"I heard your name before when you answered."

Stansey, I'm going to hang up the phone so I can call the police.

She began to panic, and I heard her whimpering, "please don't go."

I must call the police. You're going to call me back in five minutes. If I'm still on the phone then keep trying, I will answer. Okay?

"You promise, please promise."

I will answer, but Stansey, you have to listen to me.

I walked back into the Ribnik. The new girl with the dreadlocks was still sitting opposite the guy with the cap. A few more pages of the broadsheet had been turned from the older man at the end of the bar.

"I'm listening."

Tell me your address, phone numbers, what you look like, tattoos, etcetera. Any important information about you and I'll pass it over to the police immediately.

"Okay."

Right, hold on one moment.

I knocked on the rustic wooden bar to get Jess's attention. She slowly walked out the side door and looked at me with her eyebrows raised in a kind of contempt. She never took someone knocking on the bar lightly. Then she saw the look on my face and walked faster.

What is it? she said, unaware of the urgency at hand.

Get me a pen and something to write on.

A little please wouldn't go amiss.

Jess, look at me, I leaned in closer. Right now.

She grabbed a pen beside the cash register and gave me the back of an invoice to write on. I put the phone back to my ear to hear the girl crying.

Stansey, give me the details as quick as you can.

She relayed the information needed and I wrote it down as fast as I was hearing it.

Stansey King. 19-years-old.

Long black hair usually tied back. Slim build, size 8.

Lives at 5532 Summertown Estate, Oxford.

Mum's name is Rachel King, father is deceased.

Works at the Origin Nightclub in central Oxford.

She can't remember her phone number.

Is genuinely frightened.

I stared at Jess, and she touched my shoulder out of compassion or curiosity, I wasn't sure.

Harrison?

One moment. I turned my attention back to the phone, five minutes Stansey, five minutes you call me back. You got that?

"Yes, yes, thank you."

I hung up and opened the camera on the phone. I snapped a photo of what I had written in case I needed it later.

What's going on? Jess