The Cold Case

Book 0: DI Alex Finn

by Will Shindler

Genres: Police Procedurals; Crime Fiction

Synopsis

The brand-new gripping thriller in Will Shindler's acclaimed DI Alex Finn series - available to pre-order now!

Years ago someone got away with murder... But time's up.

Coming soon!

(P) 2023 Hodder & Stoughton Limited

Release date: December 7, 2023

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 384

Sample

1

‘Can I get you anything else?’ said the waitress with a casual smile.

Detective Sergeant Mattie Paulsen glared up at her.

‘I asked for a soya latte.’ She prodded a large mug of coffee with her finger. ‘This has dairy milk in it,’ she said as if the drink itself had just murdered someone. If the waitress was bothered, she didn’t show it.

‘So sorry – I’ll sort that out for you,’ she said pleasantly, removing the offending cup. Paulsen watched her leave with a sour glare. In her early thirties, she was tall, gangly with a shiny black bob of hair and spoke with a mild Scandinavian lilt to her accent. Though raised in London, her dad was Swedish, and her mum was Jamaican. And it was her father who was the reason she was eating in this rather expensive Islington coffee shop.

Sitting beside her was a warm-faced woman, also in her early thirties, with long blonde tresses. Nancy Deen was Paulsen’s long-suffering girlfriend. With them was Paulsen’s older brother, Jonas. A teacher in east London, he shared her dark good looks and possessed the same hint of an accent. He’d been the one who’d convened this particular pre-work breakfast meeting.

The siblings’ father, Christer Paulsen, had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s some years before.

He’d surprised them all by defying the condition relatively successfully since then, but their luck – as they knew it eventually would – seemed to have run out. In recent months, his condition had begun to decline sharply. The memory loss had become more pronounced, the confusion greater, and most worrying of all there’d been spells of unexpected aggression. A collective decision had been taken with their mother to finally put him into a care home. With a week to go the reality of that was now beginning to dawn on all of them.

‘It’s the right thing to do, Mattie,’ said Jonas. ‘There’s no point getting cold feet now. We all agreed on it.’

‘I know – I’m just starting to think that perhaps we’re being a bit premature. He’ll be so lonely – he’ll hate it and the idea of that really upsets me,’ said Paulsen, unable to keep the slight catch from her voice.

‘Look . . . it’s done now. If it doesn’t work out, you can reassess things later,’ said Nancy diplomatically. ‘You decided this needed to happen as a family – you can always change your minds as a family if it comes to it.’

The pair nodded glumly.

‘I suppose,’ said Paulsen without much conviction.

‘So what else is new?’ said Jonas.

‘We’ve booked a holiday,’ said Nancy, glad to change the subject. ‘St Lucia!’

‘The Caribbean?’ said Jonas unable to contain his reaction. ‘How did you afford that?’

‘We haven’t been anywhere for ages, so we’ve been saving for a big one. It’ll be good to get some sunshine,’ said Paulsen.

Jonas sipped at his coffee as he thought about it.

‘How long have you two been together now?’ he said.

‘Longer than you’ve managed with anyone,’ retorted his sister and he smiled. Jonas was a famous commitment-phobe and well used to the jibe.

‘I’m sure a wedding would make Mum very happy,’ he said. ‘Particularly now – she could use a lift.’

Paulsen gave him a filthy look.

‘Don’t make me throw something at you – not in public.’

Nancy looked across sharply at her partner, unimpressed.

‘What?’ said Paulsen innocently.

Jonas grinned and finished off his drink.

‘I think my work here is done,’ he said then checked his watch. ‘I better get going. Let’s . . .’ he threw his hands in the air impotently ‘. . . keep talking about Dad. I’ll give Mum a call tonight and see how she’s doing.’ He stood, grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and pulled out a pair of smart leather gloves from one of the pockets. ‘Take care of yourselves, eh? And seriously I’m glad you’re getting away. You both deserve it.’

His sister rose and hugged him, and he gave Nancy a quick wave before heading for the door. As he left, the waitress returned with the replacement cup of coffee. She laid it down in front of Paulsen and gathered up Jonas’s empty plate and cup. Paulsen pointedly waited in silence for her to leave.

‘Don’t start,’ she said before Nancy could speak.

‘Don’t be daft. I wasn’t really offended, but he has a point – maybe we should start thinking about the future and where we’re going? We haven’t had a chance to talk properly for a long time.’

Paulsen looked across at her.

‘Sorry, Nance – I know I haven’t been brilliant company recently.’

Nancy nodded sympathetically.

‘It’s understandable – after everything that happened.’

Jackie Ojo’s death had hit Paulsen particularly hard. They’d been friends, but the older officer had also been something of an unofficial mentor. As two women of colour within the Met, Ojo had helped her navigate her way through an organisation that frequently fielded accusations of both racism and sexism. There was a debt there that could now never be repaid.

Paulsen had been exploring some options for a potential promotion to another station when the vacancy tragically opened at Cedar House. Her elevation to detective sergeant had been supported by Finn and felt like a natural progression. But several months on, the reality was that she hadn’t found replacing Ojo easy.

There’d been an unspoken resentment from some of the old dinosaurs that still roamed the station – a sense that she’d stepped just a bit too quickly into a dead colleague’s shoes. She hadn’t quite found the right balance between curbing her own naturally spiky personality and the necessary people skills either. She was aware there was still a lot of work to do to convince the doubters that she was fit to replace their much-missed friend. Most of all she hadn’t quite convinced herself yet.

Nancy knew all of this, of course, and was doing everything she could to support her. But as ever with Mattie Paulsen – others could only help as much as she let them. The holiday had been Nancy’s suggestion and she’d been cheered by the level of enthusiasm with which the idea had been taken. But right now, St Lucia felt a long way off. The snow was falling again outside and there was a long line of non-moving traffic stuck on Upper Street.

‘I don’t want to go to work today,’ said Paulsen quietly, almost surprising herself with the words. Nancy reached out a hand and wrapped it around hers. As if on cue, Paulsen’s phone vibrated on the table. She looked down at the incoming message and her face fell even further.

‘What is it?’ asked Nancy.

Paulsen shrugged.

‘The usual. Someone, somewhere’s had a really bad morning.’

 

Just after nine, Paulsen arrived at Cedar House. She made her way up to the incident room and ten minutes later found herself summoned to a meeting. DCI John Skegman was a thin, wiry man in his early fifties who looked more like a fussy post office clerk than a senior police detective. Like most bosses, he wasn’t particularly popular. His demeanour, quiet and aloof from the rank and file, didn’t help. But Paulsen had found a new respect for him in the months since Ojo’s death.

It wasn’t just her murder at the hands of an organised crime gang that he’d had to contend with. Simultaneously, another officer in his team had confessed to working for the OCG who’d killed her. The two things combined had given Cedar House an unenviable reputation inside and outside of the police service. But far from being destroyed by those events, Skegman seemed to have been revitalised by them. In his own way, Paulsen felt he’d shown real leadership. He’d protected them all as best he could and, as a station, they’d battened down the hatches and got on with it. In the past, she hadn’t always felt he’d fully trusted her, but he’d backed her promotion without hesitation, and she’d appreciated that too.

As she entered his office, she unexpectedly found him chatting to an attractive young Black woman wearing a bright purple top. The visitor beamed a large smile in her direction that Paulsen didn’t return.

‘Mattie – thanks for popping up,’ said Skegman and she tried – and failed – to recall the last time she’d heard him use the phrase ‘popping up’. ‘This is DC Vanessa Nash – she’s the new full-time replacement for . . .’ he smiled awkwardly ‘. . . you.’

That made sense. Her position had been covered by a series of attachments over the last few months and a full-time appointment was overdue. She nodded and shook hands with the newcomer, still not feeling a great desire to return the enthusiastic smile that continued to blaze across Nash’s face.

‘It’s honestly brilliant to be here,’ gushed the young woman. ‘Sorry about the top – it’s probably a bit much for day one, isn’t it? I was in uniform before so it’s my first day in plain clothes and I haven’t had time to sort my wardrobe out.’

The words came tumbling out at about ninety miles an hour with a strong London accent. While others might have found that engaging, Paulsen felt like she was talking to a schoolchild. She could also feel herself getting irritated, aware simultaneously that she was being completely unfair. Breakfast with Jonas, nice as it had been, had also been a reminder of what was happening at home with her father.

‘Doesn’t matter what you wear – it’s what you do that’s important,’ she replied briskly.

Nash found yet another big smile by way of response.

‘Couldn’t agree more, sarge.’

Paulsen forced herself from correcting her to ‘Detective Sergeant’.

‘I know you’ll make Vanessa feel very welcome,’ said Skegman with a pointed smile of his own. Her coolish demeanour clearly hadn’t been lost on him.

‘So what’s this job that’s come in, boss?’ said Paulsen, changing the subject.

He turned soberly to Nash.

‘Why don’t you grab a coffee and make your way down to the incident room? DS Paulsen will join you shortly and introduce you to the rest of the team.’

Nash smiled again.

‘Thank you so much, sir – both of you. I can’t wait to get cracking,’ she said, then nodded pleasantly at them both and left.

Skegman waited for the door to shut behind her.

‘Jesus, Mattie – can’t you make some effort? You were new here once, remember? With far less of a smile on your face as I recall.’

Paulsen shrugged.

‘Don’t know what you mean – but she seems very nice. Where’s she come from?’

‘Carberry Road. She was a PC there and I’ve only heard good things about her. A little bit green maybe, but nothing some hands-on experience won’t cure.’

Paulsen nodded, mild guilt beginning to set in – remembering how good Ojo had been with her during her first few weeks at Cedar House.

‘So where’s the DI?’ she asked.

Skegman walked back behind his desk and sat down looking troubled.

‘He’s . . .’ He paused. ‘I was about to say with the “next of kin” but that’s not quite accurate. He’s with someone closely connected to the body we found in Tooting earlier.’

Paulsen took a seat opposite Skegman.

‘What’s the story?’

Skegman picked up some papers off his desk and glanced over them.

‘The victim’s name is Jemma Vickers. Fifteen years ago, she was kidnapped with her boyfriend at the time, Lee Ellis, in South Croydon. They were both eighteen and it came just a few days after the abduction of another teenager, Oliver Littlewood, from the same area. It was way before my time, but Alex was here as a DS and worked the investigation. They managed to find and rescue Lee and Jemma, but they were too late to save Oliver.’

‘Who took them?’ asked Paulsen.

‘The perpetrator escaped arrest at the time.’ Skegman sifted through the papers again and found another document. ‘But seven years later, a man called Dennis Trant – who was serving a sentence at Belmarsh for possession of child pornography – confessed to it.’

Paulsen digested the information for a moment.

‘So do we think what happened to Vickers this morning was connected with her abduction fifteen years ago?’

Skegman shrugged.

‘At this stage, your guess is as good as mine. But Alex once told me about these kids. It affected him deeply – it was a troubled investigation, I think. I know he stayed in touch with Vickers and Ellis over the years – and that’s where he is now – with Lee Ellis.’

‘Well, you know the DI, boss. He doesn’t take much encouragement to blame himself for stuff,’ said Paulsen. There was an awkward silence as she realised what she’d said. No one at Cedar House blamed Finn for Ojo’s death but they all knew he felt a personal responsibility for it. ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ she corrected quickly and Skegman nodded.

‘I know. And you’re right – he does.’

‘So what do you want me to do?’

‘Just be aware that this is going to be a difficult one for him – he’s got a personal stake in it. You’ve got a new officer on the team as well and that’s going to make things even trickier. Look out for her and keep an eye on your DI.’

Paulsen nodded understandingly, appreciating the trust he was putting in her. It was the sort of thing he would have asked Ojo to do once and a sign of how far their relationship had progressed.

‘Of course.’

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. A uniformed PC didn’t wait to be invited in.

‘Sorry to interrupt, sir, but we’ve got a hostage situation unfolding in South Norwood. Someone’s been shot in a cafe. The guy who called it in said a police officer who matches DI Finn’s description was inside when it happened.’

Skegman and Paulsen immediately exchanged a look as the words sank in.

‘So much for looking out for the DI . . .’ said Paulsen.

10

Today

It wasn’t hard to tell that William Owusu used to be in the army. Paulsen’s first observation was that he was built like the proverbial brick shithouse. Owusu worked as a postman and was wearing a pair of shorts when she and Nash met him at his delivery office.

‘You get sweaty doing this job, whatever the weather,’ he explained with a shrug as he took them through to a small icy yard at the back of the building where they could talk alone. ‘Sorry it’s a bit fresh out here but there isn’t really anywhere private inside.’

Nash produced what was fast becoming her trademark big smile in response. Paulsen looked around. The area was littered with cigarette stubs, and it wasn’t hard to guess what its primary purpose was.

‘I can’t say I’m surprised about what’s going on in that cafe,’ said Owusu, getting straight to the point. ‘In some ways, I think this has been coming for a long time.’

‘What makes you say that?’ said Paulsen.

‘Whatever happened to Lee when he was kidnapped clearly screwed him up big time. That was obvious, even back then.’

‘Obvious in what way?’ said Nash.

‘He was a crackerjack,’ replied Owusu immediately, then when he saw their confused faces: ‘Volatile, unpredictable . . . you never quite knew what you were going to get. And in the army, especially out in the field, you don’t want that, trust me.’

‘Did he ever talk about what happened to him?’ said Paulsen.

‘A little – but he never went into any detail. The general concern was that it seemed to make him feel invincible – like there was nothing that could hurt him worse than what had already happened.’

‘Do you know why he was discharged from the military?’ asked Nash.

Owusu nodded slowly and looked across the yard.

‘I’ve got a fair idea. There was an interpreter who worked with us. His name was Hafeez and he was popular with the lads. He had a nice way about him – helped smooth out a few tricky situations with the locals for us. He got kidnapped, ambushed when he was out on his own one day.’ Owusu stopped, a combination of sadness in his eyes and anger in his voice. ‘We never saw him again.’

‘He was murdered by the Taliban?’ said Nash.

Owusu nodded.

‘Not just that – they tortured him first. Took him to a nearby village, chained him up in a cellar and gave him the full treatment.’

Paulsen and Nash looked at one another.

‘I guess it’s not hard to see why that might have triggered Lee,’ said Paulsen. ‘How did he take it?’

Owusu exhaled as he remembered.

‘He got it into his head that one of the local drivers who worked for us had given Hafeez up. He had no evidence for it – but wouldn’t let it go. A few days later the guy was found dead. Someone had beaten his brains in.’

‘Lee?’ said Nash.

Owusu shrugged.

‘It was impossible to prove, and they fudged the investigation – it was easy enough to blame the Taliban. But none of the lads trusted Lee after that – most people thought he was a liability, and he was discharged a few months later.’

‘How dangerous do you think he is?’ said Paulsen.

There was a long pause while Owusu considered it.

‘It’s been a long time since I last saw Lee Ellis. But you always feared for how it was going to end for him.’ He seemed caught in a memory and then shook his head. ‘That’s probably the best answer I can give you.’

‘This doesn’t really change much, does it?’ said Nash as they drove back to Cedar House. The earlier sunshine had gone, and the skies were arctic grey again. ‘We already knew Lee was pretty unstable.’

‘Of course it changes things,’ snapped Paulsen. ‘He’s holding two people at gunpoint and now we know he might well have form for murder.’

Nash looked at Paulsen coolly.

‘Does he though? How do we know that the Taliban didn’t murder that driver? That Lee was just traumatised by seeing someone he liked being taken hostage, tortured and then killed. You, yourself said it was easy to see why that would have upset him. There’s a lot of assumptions in what we’ve just been told.’

Paulsen could feel herself getting irritated by Nash again and tried not to show it. The new DC was definitely grating on her nerves, and she couldn’t really pinpoint why.

‘It tells me Lee’s got a temper that may potentially have turned lethal in the past. And that makes me wonder if he met Jemma in Tooting this morning and whether they might have had a row. One so bad he lost control,’ she said.

‘Her injuries suggested she might have been beaten,’ said Nash slowly as she realised what Paulsen was saying. ‘Same as that driver in Afghanistan.’

‘Exactly,’ said Paulsen as outside it began to snow again.

 

Inside his flat, Billy Rickson looked out at the wintry street below and hugged himself. His late shift at the supermarket was getting ever closer. Getting to work through the snow wouldn’t be an issue – he lived close enough to make the journey on foot, but he was sorely tempted to call in sick. Given what was going on, he really wasn’t sure he could get through a full eight hours of the usual crap. Jemma was dead – and he’d loved her for as long as he could remember. It felt like he’d lost a piece of himself that he’d never, ever get back.

Ella was the mother of his daughter, and he’d loved her too, but the intensity of the feelings were nowhere near the same as they’d ever been for Jemma. He’d always held out the irrational hope that someday, some way, fate might yet bring them together. Now that was impossible, and he’d finally have to let go of this crush that he’d carried for so long and it made him feel empty. Briefly, he remembered that summer’s day when she and Lee had been taken. He’d often wondered if things would have been different if it had been him instead of Lee who’d been snatched that afternoon. The bond between those two had lasted for life and a small part of him had always been jealous of the connection it had forged between them.

He watched a young woman with a pram battling through the wintry conditions outside and the silhouette made him think of Ella and Kaitlyn. He missed them, particularly his daughter – no one else had quite the same effect of calming him. He remembered Sarah’s words earlier to him – ‘I’m here for you . . . someone who understands’ and felt his blood boil. She had some nerve, he thought. He reached for his phone and made a call.

‘Hello, Ella – can we meet? I need to talk to you.’

 

Inside the diner Lee had handcuffed Finn to Marco, leaving them each with a free hand to eat the bacon sandwiches he’d made. Marco had responded by throwing his across the room. Finn’s was untouched while Lee was sitting at a table, noisily devouring his own.

‘You forgot us, didn’t you?’ he said suddenly.

It took Finn a second to understand what he meant.

‘That’s not true – you know I stayed in touch with both of you over the years.’

Lee put his sandwich down and ran his tongue over his teeth.

‘When did we last meet? September 2021, wasn’t it? Admit it, you finally dropped us. How long had you been waiting to do that?’

The tone remained casual, but his body language was tense again, his hand curling around the handle of the gun. Finn wondered how much more coke he had left in his pocket.

‘Am I missing something here?’ said Marco. ‘Why should he stay in touch with you? It’s not like he’s your mum, is it?’

Finn glared at him – he was hardly following his earlier advice to stay polite and cooperative.

‘He knows what he did . . .’ said Lee.

‘What does that mean?’ said Marco, but Finn ignored him, keeping his attention purely on Lee.

‘My wife died a few years ago,’ he said. ‘That’s not an excuse, but my head wasn’t right for a while. I might have let things slip, but I never forgot – I promise you that.’ Finn could see the hurt in Lee’s eyes as he spoke – exactly the same look he’d seen in that eighteen-year-old version of him once. ‘Jemma and I did continue to exchange emails – she kept me up to date. The impression I got was that you were both doing okay?’

‘Yeah – she liked to tell people that,’ said Lee.

‘Are you saying it wasn’t true?’

‘I’m saying it’s never that straightforward, is it? Sometimes things are alright, but a lot of the time they aren’t. I reckon Jem was just better than me at hiding it.’

‘You both dealt with what happened in very different ways though, didn’t you?’ said Finn carefully. He hadn’t forgotten Marco’s earlier comments about Lee’s time in the army and was trying to find a way to steer the conversation there.

‘We’re different people,’ said Lee. ‘Or at least we were.’

‘Jemma did a lot of work on herself afterwards – and you joined the armed forces, didn’t you?’ said Finn.

‘What about it?’ said Lee, looking at him suspiciously.

‘Is that where you got the gun?’

Lee looked down at the weapon.

‘Yeah, through a contact. I’ve had this for a while, though. I always have it on me – as far as I can, anyway. When I was in the army carrying one of these made me feel safe. It was a hard habit to give up when I came home.’

Finn was almost relieved by the explanation, which at least had some logic to it given everything he’d been through. He’d initially feared that Lee had fallen in with one of the local gangs and that’s why he was carrying the weapon.

‘I get why you signed up,’ said Marco unexpectedly, his tone more conciliatory than it had been before. He seemed to have cottoned on to what Finn was trying to do. ‘I’ve got mates who’ve served – I know how much they took from it.’

Lee nodded.

‘It helped for a time. But I couldn’t run away from what happened. You know what I’m talking about,’ he said, directing the words at Finn. ‘You were there – in the Red Room.’

And for a second, Finn was back there – a jagged flash of a memory, a cellar soaked in blood.

‘Oliver,’ he murmured.

 

Terry Ellis was whisked away on a gurney into the bowels of Croydon University Hospital leaving Sarah Littlewood standing in a corridor like a spare part. She’d patiently explained to one of the doctors that Terry’s only next of kin was currently about a mile away holding a gun on two people in a greasy spoon and she was the next best thing to family. The medic said Terry’s condition was critical but stable and though she was welcome to wait, she could be there for a while. The morning suddenly caught up with her and for want of anywhere else to go, she decided to head home.

So much had happened – first and foremost was Jemma Vickers’s death, which she still hadn’t given herself time to properly think about. There’d been that uneasy conversation with Billy Rickson in his flat and then the sight of Terry falling to the floor clutching his chest. Her own heart felt heavy – Lee Ellis and Alex Finn had played big parts in the story of her life, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to think about how that situation might end.

She put her key into the lock of the front door but before she could turn it felt her phone vibrate in her pocket with an incoming message. Stopping she pulled the handset out and froze as she saw the message on the display. There was just a single word:

LIAR

For a moment she didn’t move, trying to make sense of it. She could see who’d sent it – and that alone had some very alarming implications. The question now was how to react to it – what to do?

‘Mum? Is that you?’ Ella called from inside the house. She must have heard the key in the lock. Sarah took a deep breath and went inside. Ella was with her baby in the hallway. Her smile of welcome turning into something more concerned as she saw the expression on her mother’s face.

‘What is it?

‘Nothing,’ said Sarah covering quickly, putting the phone back into her pocket.

‘Are you sure?’

‘A lot’s happened this morning,’ she said and explained about Terry Ellis and her trip with him first to the RVP and then to the hospital. And as she listened to Ella’s shocked reaction she was thinking about the message on her phone and why it had come today – of all days.

11

After she returned to Cedar House, Paulsen sat at her desk for around half an hour but found her concentration wandering. Her eyes kept flicking to the mounted TV screen in the corner of the room, which had been switched to the BBC News Channel. Reporters were now outside the cordon surrounding the cafe in South Norwood but just seemed to be repeating what scant information was already available. In the end, she lost patience and went to see if Skegman had an update.

‘There’s nothing new to say, Mattie,’ he said before she could open her mouth. ‘I’m in constant contact with Sami at the RVP. As far as we know it’s all quiet inside that cafe.’

Paulsen looked at his wall clock – the time had just passed half past twelve.

‘How do you think he’s doing in there?’ she said.

Skegman arched an eyebrow.

‘How would you like to be locked up with Alex Finn? Thoughts and prayers with Lee Ellis at this point.’

Paulsen couldn’t help but grin and it felt strangely relaxing – she hadn’t had much to smile about since getting out of bed.

There was a knock at the door and Vanessa Nash entered. She looked slightly nervous and was clutching her pocketbook.

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ she gabbled, but Skegman was already waving her apology away.

‘What is it, Vanessa – have you got something?’

She nodded.

‘Digital Forensics just called. They’ve been going through Jemma Vickers’s laptop, and it looks like she’d been doing some investigating of her own.’

‘Investigating what?’ said Paulsen. ‘Her abduction in 2009?’

‘Sort of . . .’ started Nash. She flipped open her pocketbook. ‘Have you ever heard the name Red Tide?’ Skegman and Paulsen looked at her blankly and shook their heads. ‘It’s an avatar for an individual who sells niche material on the Dark Web.’

Skegman looked at her warily.

‘Neither Jemma nor Lee was sexually abused by their abductor. That much we do know – they were examined by a doctor after they were rescued.’

‘And Oliver Littlewood wasn’t abused either – the post-mortem report was in the file I read earlier,’ said Paulsen. ‘Though that isn’t to say that wasn’t the eventual plan for them, I suppose.’

‘Don’t shoot the messenger – I’m just relaying what they told me they’d found on Jemma’s laptop,’ said Nash.

‘What kind of niche material does he sell exactly? Porn of some kind presumably,’ said Skegman.

‘That’s the thing, we’re not actually sure. Digital Forensics put in a call earlier to the Online Child Sexual Abuse and Exploitation Unit at Scotland Yard,’ said Nash. ‘They’d heard of Red Tide, but he’s pretty obscure; there’s lots of avatars on the Dark Web with similar names. They’re trying to find out more but what they do. . .