The Note (Unsolved Mysteries Book 1) Kim Knight (an ebook reader TXT) 📖

After all that, and he still wouldn’t give me the money that I needed, that I deserved.

He needed to get his debts down and get things straight, before his wife found out.

No one was aware of this which was the beauty of it. Month’s before, he had promised his dad he’d check in on the tenants, and organise the ones whose leases had ended, all while his dad focused on the restaurant. At this point, no one was aware he was ill with cancer.

Sandip also had no idea months down the line that the old man would refuse his demands for help, or that he would be diagnosed with cancer.

Pissed off about Chelsea and armed with access to his dad’s properties—including the one Chelsea was living in, along with a murder weapon and the secret recordings of Chelsea and Lance, he’d roll out his plan.

Suddenly Sandip chuckled to himself as he remembered the plan, he laughed so hard his shoulders bounced. He looked around to check no one was watching him in the car. Surely, they’d think he was a mad man sitting there laughing to himself. Hmm, little do they know, he mused. Bat-shit crazy I am. Well, when I want something anyway.

“Good ol’ Detective Dunne,” he said to himself. “Yeap he’d soon receive a heads up, and a nod in the direction of Chelsea and Lance’s motives.”

33

Just Dessert

Sandip, Present Day

Sandip glanced around the parking lot outside the solicitor’s office, there was no sign of his mum. His mind moved back to more recent events. Chelsea had been an easy problem to solve. His mind moved to the night his mum had gone to bed early.

Technically, the alibi she gave the police the night of Chelsea’s murder was true. They were together—he and his Mum, but after she went to bed, he snuck out and let himself into Chelsea’s flat with the extra set of keys.

Little bitch wasn’t there, he mused, made me wait. Not knowing how long she’d be gone, but that she’d return, he waited, patiently. He thought back the most recent kill of his.

When she arrived that night, he placed his hands around Chelsea’s throat, and chocked her—watch the life leave from her eyes.

Chelsea put up a good fight as he admired her pretty, but surprised face, and her screams that turned silent. Her warm flesh under his fingers—turning pink, then red. Aroused, he hardened, straining against his pants.

“That was almost too easy,” he said to himself and drummed the car wheel. He felt himself harden again, his manhood strained again his jeans, as he thought about the pleasure he had felt outing Chelsea.

Pulling up a live feed on his phone—of the secret camera he had placed in her home months before, he hoped to catch more footage of her and his dad’s affair. He sat back in the car seat and flipped through footage of his little ‘Russian doll’ on the screen.

As he flicked from clip to clip, he saw her and his dad engaging in sexual acts. Hell, he’d even pleasured himself a few times at night, watching Chelsea undressed, take showers, or walk around with little to no clothing on, unaware of the recorder.

Even after his father’s murder, the cameras remained. It was all part of his plan to keep tabs on Chelsea’s movements. He stopped at a clip of Chelsea on her own, she was about to get into the shower. Sandip looked over his shoulder to check for his mum, she was nowhere to be seen. He fast forwarded the clip to the juicy part, where Chelsea peeled off her bra and panties, then and fiddled with the pipes. He assumed she was trying to set the correct temperature for the water before she jumped in. He smiled, his eyes moved over his phone screen and paused the clip when Chelsea bent over.

Her ass was in the air. “Ahh, damn,” Sandip said.

He couldn’t help himself he stroked his cock over his jeans, then zoomed in on his camara. He imagined what it would have been like to bend her over the sink and enter her from behind. He pressed play and paused the clip again when she turned around and her breasts were clearly on show.

“Shit,” he said as he pleasured himself over his jeans. He looked down and noticed the damp pre-come patch show up on the denim.

“Shit,” he cursed. Then wondered how much of a creep he was for masturbating in his car, over a dead girl. For distraction he moved his mind back to the night of her murder.

He didn’t remove the cameras until the night he had killed her, keeping Dunne and his annoying sidekick in the dark over who had murdered her. He was careful not to leave any prints, DNA, or clues that he had been in her flat that night, as well.

Dumb forensic team, he mused, then he celebrated his win. There’s nothing to link me to the crime scene—neither one.

Laughter erupted from his lips once more.

A rap on the window made him jump, and Sandip’s mind came back to the present.

The car door swung open, and his mum wore a sombre expression, brightened by freshly applied lipstick and red-rimmed eyes.

Sandip adjusted himself, hiding his erection from his mother.

“You took ya time.” Sandip turned to meet her gaze, then helped her snap the seatbelt in place.

“Yeah, just needed a bit of time that’s all, Son. We’ve had some good news, but I’m still missing your father.” Manisha took out a tissue to wipe her tears.

Sandip studied her, taking in every line, wrinkle, and bag. Was it a figure of his imagination or his greed taking over? He was still in debt up to his eyeballs. His cocaine habit hadn’t curbed itself—if anything, his body demanded more of the powdery snow. Not to mention, he and his family were on the verge of losing their mortgaged home if he didn’t get his shit together.

As he