Sleep Tight

by Caroline Mitchell

Genres: Police Procedurals; Crime Fiction; Psychological Thrillers

Synopsis

A killer stalks the streets of East London. All over the area, murdered young women are discovered, their bodies posed into disturbing recreations of fairy tale princesses. Detective Ruby Preston is determined to hunt down the murderer who is using the women to realise his dark fantasies. But when body parts are found at the home of her lover, Nathan Crosby, Ruby is torn between her job and her heart. Convinced that he is being framed, Ruby must catch the killer before Nathan becomes the number one suspect. But as more victims are found, it becomes harder to prove his innocence. As Ruby starts to close in on the twisted individual, can she stop him before he strikes again? And how well does she really know the man she loves? A terrifying, addictive serial killer thriller that will keep you on the edge of your seat, for fans of Angela Marsons, Peter James and Rachel Abbott.

Release date: April 20, 2017

Publisher: Audible Studios

Print pages: 350

Sample

The doctor gave a satisfied nod as he lifted the stethoscope from the woman’s bare chest. ‘Ah, the heart of a lion. We’ll soon have you cleaned up. But now. . . a little music to ease the passage.’ He did not expect a response because he was talking to himself. It had been that way ever since people could no longer bear to be in his presence. He turned, raising the needle of the old-fashioned record player as he set the music in place. Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata breathed life into the crumbling room. The haunting tune aided his movements, making them smooth and effortless. Classical music was something he’d fallen back on during the darkest of times when the pain of his disfigurement became too much. But now, in the privacy of his surgery, the turmoil of the last year floated away. The bones in his neck cracked as he craned his head towards the paint-flaked ceiling. He gazed in admiration as a union of colour and sound floated above. His ability to see colours in music was both a torment and a gift. But then he always saw the world differently to others.

Pushing a lever, he eased back the surgeon’s chair. Earrings, necklace, bracelet… each piece of jewellery chimed as it hit the stainless steel bowl. Once used for harbouring freshly harvested organs, it made a suitable container for his exterior work. Jewellery removed, his eyes roamed over the woman’s naked body. To him, it was a canvas, and there was so much work to be done. But then bringing beauty to a dark and unforgiving world was never going to be an effortless task. Unfolding the razor, he laid it on the side, admiring the glint of the freshly sharpened blade. It was called a cut throat for a reason. There was an art to using this implement, unlike the disposable razors used today. Too much pressure would initiate the onset of tiny beads of blood. Not enough, and you were merely scraping skin. It was why he had placed her in a comatose state, as still as the death which was yet to claim her.

The music played on, enveloping his senses in green, blue and purple as he prepared the soapy lather. The process was a meditative exercise, which acquainted him with every curve of the young woman’s flesh. Goose pimples rose as an icy breeze snuck through the thin chipboard that boarded the window. He paused; he would have to purchase a heater. Such an appliance would make little demands on the generator, which purred in the corner of the room. Dipping the brush into the dish, he applied the frothy soap to the top of her thighs, working his way down in a slow, circular motion.

By the time she was lathered and shaved, her skin was mottled from the cold. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, stepping back to admire his handiwork. A warm throb of satisfaction pulsed inside him, and the left side of his mouth jerked upwards as he exposed his teeth in a ghoulish half-smile.

Up until now, he had kept his silence, but the time had come to make a statement to the world. Each work of art would be delivered publicly for all to admire and take pause. ‘That’s better,’ he said, voicing his thoughts out loud. ‘There’s no better feeling than swiping your thumb over the grime of urban living to reveal something quite exquisite underneath.’ Placing a blanket up to the girl’s chest, he checked the leather straps were firmly in place. Her origins were no longer significant. Soon she would look like a fairy tale princess – but one without censor, fitting for the modern world. Art was reflected in life, and beauty could be found in dirty little things.

Her arms lay outstretched as if welcoming the cover of the night sky. Eyes open, mouth parted, her last breath was nothing but a ghost on her lips. Even without the trappings of jewellery and clothing, DS Ruby Preston could tell that this young woman was once loved. Somewhere there was a mother, a sister or a lover waiting for her to come home. Her platinum blonde hair lay splayed on the grass as if she were not human at all but an angel who had fallen from grace. Ruby fought the urge to cover her naked body. She was more than a girl whose life was abruptly snuffed out, she was a vessel carrying clues that could potentially lead them to the person responsible for the violence that had brought her life to an end. And there had been violence. The bruises dappling her ivory skin were a testament to that. But the vision of such a horrific act was not enough to dampen the stars shining brightly overhead.

The heat of summer was all but a memory now as the late November chill grew teeth and bit hard. Ruby buttoned up her coat, distancing herself from her all too human emotions of sorrow and anger – there would be time for that later. As she stood in Shoreditch Park, she knew that every second since the discovery of the body was precious. She lifted her airwaves radio to update control.

By the time DI Jack Downes arrived, the scene had been cordoned, a tent was being erected, and the streets were aglow with fluorescent jackets as uniformed officers assisted detectives knocking on doors.

‘You look as if you’ve just got out of bed,’ Ruby said, feeling as if the frost had permeated her bones.

Downes’s finger combed his grey-flecked hair, looking over her shoulder to the crime scene. ‘I have, as it happens. How did yous get here so quickly?’

‘I was in the area dealing with a witness about an unrelated incident. Control called me up—’

‘And you hotfooted it over here,’ Downes said, finishing her sentence. ‘Jesus, woman, don’t you ever go home?’

‘Married to the job, that’s me,’ Ruby said, stamping her boots on the frosted grass as she attempted to return some feeling to her toes. ‘She’s not been there very long.’ Ruby did not need to be a coroner to work out that much. The girl’s body was soft and limp, free of the rigor mortis that was yet to claim her. It was also a given that in such a public place she would not have lain undiscovered for long.

‘Age?’

‘I’d say early twenties, no puncture marks or tattoos; she doesn’t fit the description of anyone in the missing persons database. I’m thinking a possible sexually motivated murder. Could be a boyfriend, but the bruising on her throat and thighs suggests a sudden, frenzied attack.’

Downes nodded. ‘She’ll have to stay here overnight. They won’t want to be moving her until morning.’ He sighed a frosted breath, pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his full-length tweed coat. ‘I don’t know, it’s not that long since the door-knocker murders. Have you met the forensic pathologist yet?’

‘Vera? Yeah, she’s nice. Knows her stuff too.’ Ruby stared at the ground for a few seconds, contemplating Christopher Douglas, the former pathologist. His loss had affected them all. The whump, whump of a police helicopter broke into her thoughts as it searched the park from the skies above her. She squinted as the powerful spotlight beamed from overhead, still seeing spots of light in her vision as it abruptly switched to heat-seeking mode. The park was filling up with onlookers. Unless the suspect was running around naked, it was unlikely they would pick him up now. Having taken what he wanted, he had most likely gone to ground.

‘Away with ye to the station,’ Downes said, drawing back her attention. ‘I’ll follow on. And grab us a bit of grub on your way. It’s going to be a long night.’ He clapped her heartily on the back before heading to the uniformed officer manning the crime scene.

But her time at Shoreditch police station was short-lived. Just hours later, Ruby was standing with Downes on the doorstep of Audrey Caldwell. She had reported her daughter missing and the description of the young woman matched the details of the body in the park. Lisa Caldwell, just twenty-one years old, had last been seen walking through it from Pitfield Street, after leaving the Britannia Leisure Centre prior to closing at 10 p.m. But that was over three hours ago. Ruby could have easily requested uniformed officers to speak to Lisa’s mother but she had claimed ownership of the case the very moment she came upon the young woman’s body, and would not shy away from her duties now. Taking strength in DI Downes’s presence, she braced herself as a hall light flickered on. Her finger had barely pressed the door buzzer before urgent footsteps tip-tapped down the stairs.

The door swished open, and a pallid-looking Audrey Caldwell tightened the belt of her dressing gown, glancing from Ruby to Downes. She looked shockingly like her daughter, and a heavy sense of dread bloomed inside Ruby’s chest. If there were any doubt that the woman lying in the park was not Lisa, it evaporated the moment she saw her mother’s face.

‘Mrs Caldwell?’ Ruby said, opening her warrant card to introduce herself and her colleague. But Audrey was looking over their shoulders and into the darkened streets beyond.

‘Is she with you? Have you brought her home?’ she said, her voice strained.

‘Can we come inside?’ DI Downes said, his Northern Irish accent sounding as soft as butter in comparison.

Mrs Caldwell moved aside, and Downes ducked, stepping beneath the threshold. Ruby brushed against him as she followed Mrs Caldwell through to the living room on the left. His coat still carried the frost from the night air where they had found the young girl staring, dead-eyed, at the stars.

Ruby’s eyes danced over the framed family photo on the dresser, which featured Mrs Caldwell with a young girl on each side. She felt her throat tighten as the face of the girl from the park stared back at her with a pink bloom to her cheeks and a carefree expression on her face. On the other side was a young woman in an army uniform, wearing a beret over her slicked-back blonde hair, and a wide grin on her face.

As Mrs Caldwell sat, Ruby delivered the news: ‘The body of a young woman has been found in the park tonight.’

Mrs Caldwell drew in a sudden breath then clasped a hand to her mouth.

Grim-faced, Ruby pushed on. In her experience, it was best not to draw things out. Like ripping off a plaster, bad news should be delivered quickly and professionally. ‘She’s yet to be formally identified, but there’s a strong possibility that it’s your daughter.’

‘Mum?’ A young woman’s voice spoke from the doorway. It was the other girl from the picture, her hair now hanging limply around her face. She took in the scene before taking her mother’s side.

‘Lisa’s with a friend, that’s all,’ Mrs Caldwell said, taking small, quick breaths. ‘She. . . she’ll be home soon.’

‘Have you seen her with your own eyes?’ the girl asked, turning her gaze onto Ruby. ‘This woman in the park?’ She grabbed the framed photo from the dresser and waved it under Ruby’s face. ‘Is she the girl you saw?’

Ruby nodded. ‘In all probability, yes, but she’ll have to be formally identified in the morning. We’ll assign a family liaison officer, who’ll arrange to pick you up.’

Mrs Caldwell sprang from the sofa, wobbling slightly as her legs threatened to buckle. ‘Now, I want you to take me now. This’ll be a mistake. The sooner we get it sorted, the sooner you can look for my daughter.’ Her voice was as brittle as shards of glass.

‘I’m afraid we can’t,’ Downes said. ‘We’ve got to leave the body in situ tonight. The most important thing we can do is preserve the scene and find out who’s responsible. We’ve got a tent in place, and police will be standing guard until such time as we can take her to a mortuary. She won’t be alone. I’m so sorry.’

‘You needn’t be sorry for me,’ Mrs Caldwell said, ‘because it’s not my Lisa. She’ll come in, any minute now, she’ll. . .’ Her words were overtaken by sudden violent sobs. Ruby watched as she fell into the arms of her daughter, wishing the woman could be spared the pain that lay ahead.

Nathan Crosby had eyes and ears all over London, and his network of homeless people provided him with intelligence that Ruby was keen to access. Her acquaintance with him held many advantages, but fraternising with a member of the criminal underworld would not meet with the approval of her superiors, particularly given the number of times she had ended up in his bed.

Ruby scanned the half empty café, the smell of cooked bacon and sausages making her stomach growl. She gave a nod of recognition to the unshaven man in the tattered coat. He sat hunched over his tea, his gloved hands drawing heat from the stained ceramic mug before he was forced to return to the chill of the streets. As always, he sat with his back against the wall. Ruby recognised the little mannerisms that went unnoticed to the untrained eye. He had served life in prison and old habits died hard. William Burke knew who Ruby was, and as always, she handed him a crisp ten-pound note before uttering a word.

A plump, middle-aged woman wearing a grease-stained apron brought Ruby a mug of tea. Two full English breakfasts were laid before them minutes later.

Hunched over his food, William wolfed it down, his elbows and arms wrapped around his plate in a stance to ward off imaginary inmates. Ruby tried to ignore the egg yolk dribbling down his chin. She had not eaten since yesterday, and it would take a lot more than bad table manners to turn her off breakfast.

‘How’s things?’ she said, loading her fork with chunks of sausage and bacon.

‘Rough,’ William said. ‘Me mate, Sam, died under the bridge last week. They say it’s gonna be a brutal winter. This frost will kill off a few more before it’s finished.’

Ruby nodded, knowing it was more than the frost that killed off his friend. Sam was a hopeless alcoholic, and it was more likely that his liver had packed up after years of abuse.

‘You ’aven’t brought me here to ask how I’m feeling, ’ave you?’ William said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘No, I haven’t.’ Ruby waited until she had finished her meal before speaking again. ‘We found a body in the park last night. Do you know anything about that?’

William shrugged. ‘Lots of people walk through that park, I don’t know ’em all.’

‘So you’ve not heard anyone talking about it?’

William shook his head, mopping up his egg with a slice of fried bread.

Ruby delivered a hard stare, willing him to look her in the eye. The topic of conversation held more importance than his stomach and demanded their full attention. ‘William,’ she said as she leant forward, ‘she was just a girl, barely twenty-one years old. Isn’t there anything you can give me? Any new people on the radar? Anyone acting odd?’

‘Acting odd?’ William chuckled. ‘I’m not being funny here, love, but I don’t exactly mix with ’igh society. There’re lots of weird fuckers out there, the best you can do is keep out of their way.’

‘Her jewellery was stolen. They even took the earrings from her ears. I’m thinking maybe a smack head or someone new on the scene because behaviour like this doesn’t just spring up out of nowhere. Do you know anyone down on their luck that’s come back with a big score?’

‘You know I don’t touch that shit.’

‘But you know someone who does?’ Ruby said, detecting reluctance in his eyes. ‘C’mon, mate, give me a dig out. I’ll leave you out of it, I promise.’

‘You’re expecting an awful lot for a breakfast and a ten-pound note.’ William downed the last of his second mug of tea. Any minute now he would rise to use the toilets and leave Ruby with nothing to show for their meeting, except a dent in her wallet.

She grasped his arm as he pushed back his chair. ‘Please. I don’t want to find another girl dead on the streets. Surely some things are about more than money?’

William snorted. ‘That’s the sort of thing rich folks say.’

The smile left his lips as Ruby slipped a photo across the table.

‘This is her, pictured with her mother and sister. They’re in bits. It might bring a little comfort if we could find—’

‘Alright, alright,’ William raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘If I’d lifted some jewellery, and it was that hot, the first place I’d head to is Buster Turner on Bethnal Green Road.’

‘Cheers,’ Ruby said, grabbing her handbag from the seat beside her.

The café began to fill as an army of dust-clad builders piled in. Chairs and tables screeched as they took up the seats; the air filled with banter as they took the mickey out of the youngest member of the group.

Ruby handed William a battered card, along with some change for the telephone box. ‘If you hear anything else, give me a ring.’

‘Only for you,’ William breathed a weary sigh.

Ruby paused, feeling a pang of guilt as she turned to leave. She dug a newly purchased pack of cigarettes and lighter from her pocket and placed them on the table. ‘Here, it’s about time I gave these up.’

There was no point in telling him to go down to the shelter for a night. After a lifetime of incarceration, she knew he preferred to sleep under the stars. Had he not been arrested for a breach of the peace the night before, he may well have been a person of interest himself.

After paying for their food, she slid her phone from her pocket and called up DC Owen Ludgrove’s number. ‘You busy?’ It was a daft question. Every member of Shoreditch serious crime team was buried in work. But she knew the young detective constable would drop everything for her. ‘Meet me outside Buster Turner’s Jewellery Emporium on Bethnal Green Road. . . as soon as you can. Yeah, OK, see you in ten.’

She recognised the address, as it was one of the properties on Nathan Crosby’s books. Not only was her ex-lover head of a criminal organisation, he fronted it with legitimate businesses, such as real estate, pubs and clubs. William Burke had never let her down with information before. The fact that Buster was fencing jewellery had dictated her route – she would not be going in through the front door.

‘Wouldn’t we be better off applying for a warrant?’ Luddy said, following Ruby through the litter-strewn alleyway, which led to the rear of the pawnbroker’s shop. ‘And why are we going around the back?’

‘Because the back is where all the fun happens,’ Ruby said with a grin. ‘I bet you were one of those kids who sat at the front of the bus on school trips, weren’t you?’ She knew she shouldn’t enjoy being such a bad influence, but she could not help herself. Ruby had always been trouble. Being in the police could not change that.

She pushed open the wooden gate, lifting it slightly from the hinges to make her entrance. Luddy followed her through, his face taut. A burst of sound emitted from his police radio, and he swiftly turned the knob to silence the voice of the controller.

Ruby rapped hard on the blistered back door. A gust of wind howled around them, sending a tin can bumping along the alleyway. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked, but it was all lost on Ruby, who was focused on the task ahead.

‘Best you leave the talking to me,’ she said to Luddy as the sound of footsteps grew from the other side of the door.

Masked in a halo of cigarette smoke, Buster Turner peered through the door. ‘The shop entrance is around the front.’

He was a greasy little man, his shoulder-length dark hair slicked back from his face. Two loose strands hung over his forehead, reminding Ruby of antennae. With his beady eyes and long pointed nose, everything about him was insectile.

Ruby raised her warrant card, her voice firm. ‘We’ve come to speak to you.’ She laid her hand on the door and pushed it open. ‘Now, if you don’t mind. We’ll only be five minutes.’

With a grunt of annoyance Buster turned, allowing Ruby and Luddy to follow him inside as he treaded lightly on the linoleum. The smell of sour milk and cigarette smoke hung thick in the air. To the left was a poky kitchen. A variety of dead plants dotted the window ledge, and a pile of used teabags took up residence on the sink draining board. Ruby turned her attention to the door at the end of the hall, reading the words SHOP scrawled in black marker pen over the blue paint. Buster entered the door on the right, following the sound of the tinny pop music playing from within. She should have asked DC Ash Baker along instead, she mused. He was old school and knew that sometimes you had to take a different approach. She felt a pang of guilt as the thought entered her mind. Luddy was studying for his sergeant’s exams, and she would not drag him into a situation that could damage his chances of promotion. She was a copper first, and would play this by the book. She glanced around the poky room, a veritable Aladdin’s cave: wall-to-wall with cabinets, their drawers stuffed with jewellery of every shape and size. One such drawer was laid on a wooden desk next to an eyepiece on its side, waiting for its owner to return.

On the radio, Kylie Minogue was singing about a locomotive, and Buster dragged his chair from behind his desk as he took a seat, leaving Ruby and Luddy to stand.

‘What do you want?’

Luddy opened his mouth to speak, but Ruby beat him to it. This was her world, and she knew exactly how to deal with people like Buster Turner. ‘We were making some local enquiries and saw your gate was open. You should be careful, there are some very dodgy people about.’

Buster narrowed his eyes in a mistrusting glare. ‘Your concern is noted. Do you need me to see you out?’ He leant forward to rise from his chair.

Ruby shook her head, satisfied she had come up with a suitable excuse for coming through the back entrance, in case he made anything of it later. ‘Now that I’m here, I’d like to speak to you about some stolen jewellery. A silver designer bracelet was taken from a young woman who was found murdered in the park last night.’ She produced her phone and drew up the picture of the missing piece. ‘There’s a pair of matching earrings too. They’re quite distinctive, little silver keys with the numbers “21” on them. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about those, would you?’

‘I run a respectable establishment,’ Buster said, impertinently. ‘I do not take in stolen goods.’

‘And the Pope doesn’t pray,’ Ruby said, poking some of the jewellery on the desk with her index finger.

Tiny beads of sweat glistened on Buster’s forehead, and Ruby knew it was not from the two-bar heater weakly warming the room. ‘My clients go through a strict signing in process, providing photographs and ID,’ he added, his eyes darting from the jewellery and back to Ruby.

‘What about the camera-shy customers who give you an extra cut?’ Ruby said, arching an eyebrow.

Buster remained tight-lipped, and Ruby’s frustration grew. Playing nicely was getting her nowhere. She exhaled sharply; she didn’t have time for this.

‘I think it’s time you went,’ Buster said, his hand drawn to the lip under his desk. He was probably trying to alert the gorilla working behind the front counter, and that was an encounter Ruby could do without.

She planted her hands firmly on his desk, her words like bullets. ‘Do you want me to turn this place over?’ She pointed at the jewellery to drive her message home. ‘I don’t care about your stolen gear, I’m only interested in the bracelet and earrings. I know you’ve got them.’ Ruby was bluffing; well aware she was placing all her trust in a man who could be bought for a cooked breakfast and a ten-pound note. But it was too late to back out now. ‘I can nick you for obstruction and close the place down for a search, or you can provide me with a statement, help us with our enquiries. What’s it to be?’ She glanced at Luddy, who was standing with his arms folded.

‘This is police oppression,’ Buster sneered. ‘I’m going to report you for this.’

‘Fine, if you want to play it that way,’ Ruby said, knowing his arrest would give her the automatic right to conduct a premises search. But given her intelligence source, her justification was thin. ‘You can make your complaint in custody while we’re arranging for a solicitor to deal with your arrest.’ Despite her cool veneer, Ruby’s heart was hammering. Everything was riding on a bluff. It was the only way to deal with a snake like Buster, and William had never let her down before.

‘I’ll take my chances. In fact, I’ll contact your superiors now rather than waste any more time,’ Buster said, picking up the phone on his desk and dialling the first of three nines.

Ruby pressed the receiver to hang up the call. ‘Go ahead, but first let me call your landlord, Nathan Crosby. He’d be very interested to hear one of his tenants is involved in a murder enquiry.’ The irony was. . .