Will Stop At Nothing: Will Peters

By Linda Coles

You can choose your friends, but you can't choose your family.
In a cemetery, the dead are meant to be underground, not hiding in the bushes.

When Will Peters stumbles across the long-dead body of an unknown man, he could never know how the heart-breaking discovery would fit into his own family history.

As he comes to terms with the news, another body is discovered. This time it's even more personal.

As the mystery unfolds, he realises his ties to the victims are connections he'd rather not have.

What's more, a vulnerable friend desperately needs his help. Just how much more can Will cope with? But yet another tragic event leaves him reeling.

And then there's his mother. Will hasn't seen her since he ran away from home over twenty years ago, but there's only one person who can help him fit all of the pieces together.

Join Will, Birdie and Stanley in this final installment of the popular British Will Peters crime trilogy.

In a case that's far too close for comfort and a story of a past he never knew, read Will Stop at Nothing to find out how he reconciles the events that made him the man he is today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linda Coles
• Release date: Jul 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223239291

Book preview

One

The allotments were a place where things were meant to grow, not die. Being right next door to the cemetery, though, was in keeping with events to come. Kind of handy, in fact, if his body were to go straight into the ground. But his journey was not to be that quick, not for his physical being anyway. Perhaps for his soul it would be different: instantaneous, simple.

He’d scraped by, living on the edges of what society would call a normal life, barely existing on the streets he’d begun to call home. He’d seen for himself what being conventional could get you and had retreated back into the relative safety of his own world, far away from the harm he’d witnessed, the disgust he’d felt. Sometimes, though, fate had intervened and firm choices found themselves fighting an attack of unplanned interference, which persisted like wasps circling their disturbed nest.

He sat down to contemplate his next move, exhausted. Cold seeped into his bones through a jacket more suitable for a summer’s evening than a freezing December one. Soaked feet in pre-loved trainers would normally disappoint him, yet today he hardly noticed the discomfort in his icy toes. He had other things on his mind. With fumbling fingers, he chose refuge in a chemical blur, somewhere another world away, and infinitely more pleasant than the one he existed in right now.

As haze filled his head and lungs simultaneously, he rested back, eyes closed. Tiredness was a feeling he’d begun to enjoy, always with him. Like a friend sitting on his shoulder, a tiny monkey with a warm body snuggling in. He let it take him, refusing to fight the darkness as his cells began to shut down one by one from the inside.

Time to fly.

He felt rather than heard the presence of another. Or was he dreaming it? Graciously, he accepted the offered plastic bag and inhaled again, lightly at first, taking just a little more euphoria deep inside of him. He was no longer in control. Someone else was taking over and he took comfort in them being there, his loneliness gone for the moment. He heard the words of gentle encouragement and breathed a little deeper. He didn’t fight the feeling, let it envelop him, caress his insides, let it guide him away to another place. At least he wasn’t alone, not now.

Life ebbed and flowed from his body as he drifted away forever. Rainwater made its way past him in a skinny stream, avoiding him for now though the earth underneath him was already wet. If his heart had still been beating, he’d be stiff when he awoke, his jeans soaked from the journey getting to his final spot. It wouldn’t matter now. Moisture rolled off red berries and evergreen leaves, droplets landing all around him, adding themselves to the water trail one by one. They were like his life itself, moving on.

The helper moved away, safe in the knowledge the man was now silent. Their presence had hardly been needed: he’d done it almost by himself, which had been fortunate – not that death bothered them particularly. A kind word of encouragement was all it took, to breathe deeply, to get lost in the experience. Some would find that sad, they did not.

Done, they picked their way through nearby streets back towards town, head down, just as soaked as their victim had been. Idly, they wondered when his body would be discovered. The thick bushes weren’t a place that received much foot traffic, not right there. Perhaps a dog would alert its owner – perhaps it wouldn’t. They couldn’t have cared less either way, the elements would destroy any traces of anything left behind, though they’d been careful, they weren’t stupid. Back on the main road, they waited at a nearby bus shelter and called for a cab.

It would be some weeks before anyone found the badly decomposed body of a man with a head of once soft brown curls.

Two

It was a ritual some might say, picking wildflowers and foliage to line the bottom of a freshly dug grave. Even pretty weeds were infinitely better than the sight of sticky, treacle-brown earth in a hole prepared, even expertly so, to receive someone’s loved one. In a perfect world Will Peters would rather a piece of soft carpet, cut to fit the base exactly, but who would pay? It was universally accepted that the casket was laid on soil, and he couldn’t imagine any undertaker firm suggesting made-to-measure floor covering to the family of the deceased as an option. It might raise a smile, though. Still, he could do his own bit, and that was just what he intended to do as he entered the bushes in search of fresh leaves. With the allotments just over the way, there were often interesting plants tossed over, vegetables that had perhaps gone to seed and flowered. He’d once seen a broccoli that had grown almost to the size and shape of a small bouquet as it had spread beyond what shoppers purchased for dinner, its delicate yellow flowers a pleasure to discover. It was fascinating what mother nature could do, if man left her alone to do her thing uninterrupted. People disliked weeds in general, yet a weed was simply a plant in the wrong place. Often, he’d pick flowers and the like with his young daughter, Poppy, but in winter, she was less keen to help, and would rather stay indoors with the rest of the family. Today, Will completed the task alone.

As a part time grave digger, it was all part of his job and the time he spent outdoors was the perfect contrast to his other role of minicab driver. Will loved them both. At least it wasn’t raining, the weak sun low in the sky as it struggled to provide any warmth. From the feeling in his fingers, he guessed the temperature was still in single digits.

He used his pocket secateurs to snip at random twigs with evergreen leaves attached, taking care not to take too many from any one spot. Adding them to his bag, he moved forward a few steps, deeper into the undergrowth, holly catching his eye. As he did so, his almost-numb fingers dropped the snippers and they instantly disappeared into nature’s rubble, which covered the earth underfoot. As he bent to retrieve them, he noticed a grubby trainer covered by debris that had fallen from other bushes. It wasn’t unusual, items of clothing and footwear found themselves abandoned in all sorts of places and the cemetery wasn’t exempt from such discoveries. He was about to reach out when he stopped short. Something made him look closer and he registered what it was in an instant. A partially covered denim-clad leg stared back at him. Even though Will had seen a dead body before, several in fact, he was not prepared for what lay in front of him right then. It had him gagging.

Oh my Lord! he exclaimed and staggered back at the same time. Chancing a second look, heart beating a good deal faster than a moment ago, he knew he should double-check if it was a body and not a pile of discarded clothing made to look like one. Was that really a human leg attached to the shoe? He ran his fingers through his curls then clamped his head with both hands as if that would help in some way, make the body go away, or tell him what to do next. He waited. When his heart returned to a near-normal speed, he retraced his couple of steps forward and peered in closer for another look. His eyes ran along to his left where a head would be situated, though he didn’t disturb so much as a fallen leaf. From his position squatted down, he could just see a darkened mass and what could be hair. It was the confirmation he needed. Whoever was laid there had been dead for some time. There was little point checking for a pulse.

Three

It had to be you who found the body, Will, didn’t it? There was no malice in DI Rochelle Mason’s voice as she approached him. In fact, if anything, there was a tinge of humour.

He found a weak smile in reply then added, "Tell me about it. Not through choice I should add, this one I was most certainly not looking for."

Anyone else and I might not believe you, so you’re lucky we have a history together. If only of corpses. Either that or…

No ‘or’ about it, he said, holding a hand up in surrender, though he knew she was only kidding around. Without Will’s help in the past, they might never have solved what they’d dubbed the ‘tunnel killer’. Three young homeless men had died at the hands of a woman on a mission to blackmail the mayor. Since then, Will and Rochelle Mason had crossed paths on another case and now it seemed, there was one more to add to their growing list.

How far is the body from here?

Only a few feet over there, Will said, pointing. Part of me hopes I’ve got it all wrong, but I’m pretty sure I’ve seen decomposed flesh and a head of hair. I didn’t want to touch it and find out for sure. He paused a moment before adding, Well actually, I just saw hair, and black, no head as such. He said grimaced a little. Rochelle nodded her understanding. A body found out in the open could be in a terrible condition, depending on the length of time under the elements and the local animal and insect activity. It certainly wouldn’t be a pretty sight. She signalled to another man Will recognised as DC Flint and the two of them headed to where Will had indicated. He waited patiently, though it didn’t take long for confirmation to come. Someone was most certainly deceased. As the two detectives headed back, Rochelle shouted over to a uniformed officer to set up the inner and outer cordon with crime scene tape and then approached Will.

Unfortunately, yes, you’re right. Been dead some time I’d say. I couldn’t even safely say if the body is male or female from what I’ve just seen. She coughed a little and Will wondered if she needed to clear her throat, or was trying to cover up the churn in her stomach after what she’d witnessed. Will could hear DC Flint nearby, already on the phone organising the crime scene investigators.

I wonder why it’s never been found before now. I nip in there for foliage all the time and I’ve never seen it, Will said.

Can’t help you with that one, but I guess the cold has kept the odour of decomposition at bay a little. High summer? It would have been a different story. DI Mason glanced at the allotments over the other side of the shrubbery. With little activity over the colder months, nobody would have picked up a smell worth reporting as suspicious. We’ll get the body back to the mortuary and see what clues it gives us. Let’s hope the person has ID in their pocket to make it nice and easy for a change. We live in hope.

Her own sarcasm at the idea didn’t need a response. Solving a dead body mystery was never quite so easy. A body found in such a spot, away from the main thoroughfares, was most likely suspicious. Folks rarely sit down to read a book in the undergrowth, then keel over and die. Will thought about the trainer, and the men and women he volunteered for at the Refresh Centre in town, and he found himself wondering if it could be someone he’d crossed paths with in recent months. He knew from experience the shoes were not high fashion, more functional: he’d had the same style himself. They’d since gone to the charity shop with a bunch of other clothes his family no longer needed.

Well I hope you get a speedy conclusion to his or her identity. Someone will be missing them, he added, more to himself than the detective.

We’ll be checking missing persons as soon as we get something to work with. Gender would be a good start, though that looked like a big foot in that trainer. They’ve been in situ a while, maybe since before Christmas even, but I’m only guessing. Like I say, we’ll know more after the exam. Speaking of which…

Will turned as a van rolled to a standstill next to the other parked vehicles. A man and a woman jumped out and headed across the short stretch of grass to where Will and Rochelle were standing. He didn’t recognise either of them but he’d no reason to. He did however note the woman had a friendly face and she wore an expression that said she was ready for action. He half expected her to say ‘point the way, let’s get this done,’ but she didn’t. Rochelle obviously knew the two and directed them without being asked. A few feet into the shrub, unidentified decomp. Will here found it, she added, gesturing to her right with a finger. The woman glanced at Will, and he nodded.

Just saw the foot and then the hair. Called Rochelle. Realising the familiarity, he quickly added, I mean DI Mason, sorry.

The woman smiled at how he’d addressed the detective as Will coloured up a little. To his relief DI Mason was visibly amused.

This is Will Peters, a local amateur sleuth, a general pain in the arse, but a good sort. Trust him to find our body, but he did.

Perhaps it was better than a dog walker making a mess then, the woman said, looking Will up and down like a giant specimen squashed into a petri dish. So I’m hoping you didn’t touch anything then, Mr Sleuth? Eyes penetrated Will’s and he found himself mute. He shook his head, no.

That’s one good thing then. I’ll grab my kit and get onto it. He watched as she headed back towards the waiting vehicle to get what she needed. Will found himself letting out the breath wedged in his lungs and as the air exhaled, he wondered if she had that effect on everyone. She reminded him of the schoolteacher you never messed with. But there was a caring quality that filtered its way into Will’s head. Whoever it was still laid on the cold wet earth, he knew they would be treated with respect. He only hoped the fridge they were about to be relocated to was a little more comfortable than where they lay right now.

Four

He was now running behind. Will hadn’t exactly planned to make such a macabre discovery and was now preoccupied, his head running at speed with all the possibilities of what could have happened. He’d said himself that he frequented the shrubs regularly, yet had never noticed the corpse, or an odour. He involuntarily shuddered at the thought as he approached the freshly dug grave with his bag of foliage. Carefully, he emptied it evenly, so the base was entirely covered, not a wet patch of dark earth visible. It was a cold day for an interment, but it was better than rain. Even a light scattering of snow was acceptable, but rain? It made the whole event ten times more depressing than anything else the skies could turn on. He hoped it held until they were in the ground and mourners had gone.

Happy with his efforts, the grave ready to receive its new tenant later that morning, he crawled the small excavator back towards the shed and washed his hands. The freezing water felt warming to his nearly numb fingers and he let it flow over them for a moment as they defrosted. It was on crisp mornings such as this one he enjoyed the outdoors, and the flask of hot coffee and fresh work clothes that were waiting for him in the back of his minicab had just as much appeal. A toasty warm car for much of the day was a blessing before he returned later to fill the grave in after the service. He really must remember his gloves.

Thirty minutes later, he was parked outside the home of Stanley Kipper, a regular customer and somewhat friend depending on the old man’s mood. In his late seventies, Stanley’s volatile disposition could be a great source of amusement. Will was fairly certain Stanley played up to his audience of one on purpose, his sense of humour wicked at times. He glanced up towards the house. The grass on each side of the path needed mowing again but Stanley’s old mower didn’t respond well to winter conditions. It would have to wait for a few more days, or if Stanley had his way, it would never be mowed ever again. The neighbours appreciated Will’s efforts to try to keep the lawn in as good order as their own were. Stanley had said a firm no to plants, and he’d left the discussion there. As Will approached the front door now, it creaked slowly open, a slither of a figure just visible inside, and he waited to see if it was a good day or a bad one on the Stanley-o-meter. Once the old man turned and faced him, he’d know for sure, if the man’s vocals didn’t give the game away first. Will waited in anticipation for a sign. Their eyes met. Milky grey stared back at him, but Will noticed a crease in the skin around them as Stanley applied a slight smile to the mix.

What are you staring at? Got egg on my chin or something? Or worse?

Will didn’t want to think what worse could be and went with a smile in response.

Morning Stanley. No, no egg. Nothing, actually. Just testing the waters.

What waters?

Will refrained from rolling his eyes. Your ‘mood’ waters if you must know. If it’s to be a sunny day or a wet day in your world, but I can see already it’s going to be mixed with a good chance of rain if I’m not mistaken.

Bugger off, Will, Stanley said as he pulled the front door shut behind him. Just remember the weather can change in either direction, can get bloody thundery rather quickly.

Well I guess you’re dressed for it then, Will added, pointing to the man’s feet. Stanley’s choice of footwear wasn’t always appropriate to the conditions but if he was expecting a turn in the weather, Wellington boots would serve their purpose admirably. The black donkey jacket he had on was something new to Will. By the looks of it, it had seen better days.

Eh?

You’ve got your wellies on, not your trainers. The elderly man glanced down to check his feet and mumbled something Will recognised as ‘bollocks’. Want to swap them?

Nah. They’ll have to do now. It’s not a fashion show where we’re going, folks with their arses on show when they go to the lav. Come on, else we’ll be late. A waft of his hand in the general direction of Will’s car confirmed they were leaving right then.

Will stayed silent as they ambled along at a glacial pace. As they reached the vehicle, Will waited patiently with the rear door open for Stanley to shuffle himself across the seat. He noticed something was missing.

No books today, Stanley? The man read to the longer-term patients in the spinal ward mainly. Will wasn’t sure who benefited from his charity, if anyone.

No. Thought I’d share some of my own stories for a change. Can’t beat real life ones. Will nodded and started the engine. He pulled away from the kerb heading out towards the General Hospital. He drove Stanley there twice a week, the older man giving up his time in order to either educate or entertain. A huge Labour supporter, Stanley had preached to his captive audience on the finer points of both his and Michael Foot’s political and world beliefs before finally changing tack. Some of his choices in reading material weren’t always appreciated and he’d been asked by the nurses to refrain from reading Lady Chatterley’s Lover out loud. Will wondered what stories the man would recite today.

I’m intrigued, Will said, checking his rear-view mirror and catching Stanley’s eye. Any one in particular?

Thought I’d tell them about how I met my first wife, Janice’s mum. It’s a great story. We met in France, you know. At a demonstration. Will hadn’t realised his passenger had been married more than once, had no reason to know. Being at a demonstration, though, wasn’t at all a surprise. The man had spent many months on the Wapping picket line and had the scars to prove it.

Good story then?

I’ll share it with you one day, perhaps. I’ll give it a trial run today to see how it goes. Will suspected there would be a fair amount of embellishment. Stanley could be relied on to shock and add unnecessary details, he enjoyed the reaction. Plus, I’ll bet it’s a damn sight more interesting than anything that’s happened in your world of recent weeks. They were nearly at their destination.

I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Stanley. Not after the morning I’ve had.

Oh?

I’ll tell you later on the return trip.

Will pulled up outside the entrance to the hospital and opened the rear door for Stanley. He waited. The man liked to struggle unaided rather than allow Will to give him a hand getting out. When two rubber-covered feet finally touched the tarmac, Will hesitated to see if he would be needed to escort him or not. Today apparently, there was no need.

Wordlessly, Stanley Kipper slowly headed off, leaving Will shaking his head at the man’s apparel. With tracksuit bottoms tucked into his wellington boots and a black donkey jacket on, he looked more like an elderly drainlayer than a hospital visitor. Will climbed back into the warmth of his car, found a parking space then settled down to wait for his passenger’s return.

What he’d discovered that morning filled his head instantly, so he grabbed his phone, pulled up a web page and made himself useful.

Five

Hazel ran the kitchen at Refresh and was more like a surrogate mum to Will than anything else. The two had been close friends since Will’s arrival at Northampton as a young man almost twenty years ago and she’d taken him under her protective wing. He repaid her generosity with volunteering two nights a week and the two had become close buddies. She also knew more about those that frequented the centre than anyone else involved in the place – nothing escaped Hazel. As she answered Will’s telephone call, she was elbow-deep in chopped onions. Tears filled her eyes and she wiped her face with her upper arm and sniffed loudly as she greeted him.

Are you all right, Hazel? he asked.

"Onions. No matter what tactic I try, they get to me every time and I refuse to wear goggles in the kitchen. They remind of that scene from Notting Hill when Hugh Grant takes Julia Roberts to the cinema and he wears his swimming goggles because he can’t find his normal glasses. I refuse to be that person…" Sniff. …Anyway, enough about that, what can I do for you, hun?

A bit of a long shot but thought I’d make myself useful while I wait for Stanley at the hospital.

He’s in hospital, is he?

No, not exactly. Not as a patient anyway. He heard her let out a relieved breath. I’m waiting for him, so I thought I’d just ask you if you know of any centre visitors that perhaps frequented around Christmas maybe, then haven’t been seen since.

That’s quite a lot, Will. A description perhaps?

Big feet.

Is that it? The laughter in her voice made him realise quite how stupid a question it was. And who noticed people by their feet anyway? Unless they were unusually large, like a clown’s false foam red ones.

Brownish hair. That’s all I’ve got, sorry.

Well I like to think I’m the fountain of all knowledge around here, but even Poirot would need something more to go on. Male? Female?

No clue. A sigh from hazel followed by one from Will.

What’s it about anyway? What have you got yourself involved in this time?

Will filled her in about his grim discovery and his assumption it might be a homeless person. So you think because the victim had shoes on like your old ones, they sleep on the streets? It’s a bit of a reach, isn’t it? All sorts of folks buy from charity shops, I do myself on occasion.

You’re right, it sounds ridiculous to my own ears now I’m chatting to you. Call it a hunch. Perhaps there’s nothing in it at all, just a dead body in the bushes. Could be from anywhere, eastern Europe even.

Exactly. I know you, Will. Always wanting to do the right thing. It sounds like this is for the police to sort out, unless there is something we can help them with of course.

We?

The royal ‘we’. Not me. Now I’ve a stew to get on the stove so unless you need me for anything else?

No. Thanks anyway, see you later.

Will hung up, feeling a mixture of stupidity and despondence. He knew she was right, there was nothing to link the body to the centre.

Stanley suddenly appeared in the hospital doorway and Will immediately pulled the car forward before the elderly man took off in the wrong direction – it had happened before. Will smiled at the memory, at the tongue lashing he’d then received. You didn’t mess with Stanley Kipper.

Six

DI Rochelle Mason and DC Flint stared down at the remains of a human being and even though they’d both seen countless decomposed bodies, both fought their own gag reflex at the sight. While neither were too proud to show it, each thought they had a stronger stomach than their colleague. Who would win out? When the debris littering the body was finally removed and the full scale of what the forensic team were now dealing with became apparent, Rochelle, based on gut feeling, suspected it was a male who lay in front of them. The fabric of the victim’s clothing appeared to be all that was keeping the body together and she doubted there would be much actual flesh still in place once it was relocated to the mortuary. It was a grim task, one she wasn’t planning on waiting around for. She’d witnessed removals before, and she’d also witnessed what happened in situations when things went wrong. Decomposing flesh became loose and slippery and handled incorrectly, appendages could detach themselves in an instant. An arm, or what had been left of one, had gained flight, the image burned into her head. An involuntary shudder made DC Flint turn in her direction and she caught his eye.

Never gets any easier does it? he said. Flint had the good grace to be first to admit it and let his boss appear the stronger of the two. He’d make a good politician.

Nope. Can’t say it does.

It’s obvious he either died here or was placed here some time ago. Nobody could move a decomp like this.

I agree.

Anyway, I took a good look at the plants and grasses around the immediate site, about a metre out from the body and I couldn’t see any breakages or vegetation laid down from human activity. The only spot was where your mate Will walked in and found it. The whole area hasn’t been disturbed for some time, but that’s only my opinion. I only did a couple of days vegetation workshop though. Should we get the plant pathologist woman in to advise do you think?

Rochelle had scanned the area herself and had noted the same, and as Flint had just said, they were not the experts. It’s probably too late now the scene investigators have walked all over it. Maybe between the inner and outer cordon can tell us something. Plus, we’ve no clue as to whether they were killed here or brought here after the fact, or if they were even murdered in the first place.

"It’s not a spot for dog walkers, not an area that gets foot traffic at all really. With the allotments so close by over the hedge, that’s the place for any activity, not here, he said, making a show of the area with open arms. It’s not a spot I’d choose to sit and rest, or lay down and die either, if I was that way inclined."

Unless you didn’t want to be found easily, perhaps.

What, you mean suicide?

Rochelle nodded. I’m thinking it’s not an easy spot to get a dead body to, and why not cover it, bury it? Most murderers make some effort to conceal their crime, there’s nothing attempted here. Plus, look at the way the body is sagged, and right next to a tree.

You think they were resting against it?

"Possibly. I’ll bet you a pint forensics will say he’s collapsed and concertinaed as he’s decomposed. Otherwise, he’d be laid out