Time To Play KA Richardson (best thriller books to read .txt) 📖

Once the bodies were removed, he could leave the scene with the night-shift cops on the cordon for preservation. Glancing at his watch, he sighed. It wasn’t even 6 p.m. Night shift were still four hours from starting, but he knew it would take that long before the other bodies were recovered, photographed and removed from the scene.

How is this even possible? It made him sad. All those wasted lives.

Walking over to Cass, Kevin, and Jason, he said, ‘Any chance these girls will be in the system you think?’

‘Doubt it, guv. They all look foreign to me, possibly Polynesian or something. This one’s gunna stay with me a while like, they’re all babbies for God’s sake. Not one of them looks over about sixteen.’ Kevin shook his head as he spoke.

‘They look very similar to Elvie,’ said Marlo. Ali hadn’t even noticed her approach. She then blushed as she realised what she’d said. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean...’

‘It’s OK. You’re actually right. I wonder if she knows these girls.’

‘Who’s Elvie?’ asked Cass, raising her eyebrows.

‘A kid I know,’ replied Ali evasively. Jesus, I’m gunna be in so much shit over this. I should’ve just brought her in the first day, let immigration deal with her.

But a voice niggled in his head that she might actually know the girls now being fished out of the reservoir. She had said there were others on the container. It stood to reason that if Elvie had been trafficked in, then there could have been other containers. The thought made him sick to his stomach. It had always seemed so far removed from Sunderland. He knew it happened a lot down south, that the likes of London and even Manchester had seedy underworlds rife with trafficking and sex. But this was way too close to home.

It’s probably a good thing I hadn’t handed Elvie off – she might end up being useful on this case.

He knew he would bring her to the station the next day and question her in an official capacity. He needed to know as much as possible about these girls.

Glancing up, he saw the RIB coming closer to the shore with body number four.

Ryhope, Sunderland – 16 November

James Maynard made his way down to the shed at the bottom of the garden. It had always been his refuge, up until now. He’d had it installed when the kids had moved out, a few months before Sheila had been diagnosed with the Alzheimer’s. He liked the quiet solitude it gave, and no one ever bothered him there.

His head hung low as he turned the key in the lock. The kids would have had a heart attack if they’d known what was inside, what he did inside. He’d had about eighteen months’ worth of girls in there now. Girls he’d thought he could help, but it turned out all he’d done was hurt them, causing them the pain he’d been so desperate to escape himself.

He hadn’t slept since taking Nita to the reservoir. He had dark circles under his eyes and every time he closed them he saw her battered face, bleeding and crying. Pleading with him not to hurt her. He felt her feeble attempt to survive every time one of his hands touched his own skin.

Tears streamed down his face.

He was a monster.

The realisation had been slow in arriving, but when it did, it had hit him like a tonne of bricks. He’d hurt people, hell, he’d hurt and killed children.

There was no sugar-coating, no attempt at denial. He’d been to see Fred who’d been only too happy to oblige, and then he’d tortured them and then murdered each one of them. Without intending to, he’d turned into the brother he so despised.

He closed the door behind him and sank to the ground in the darkness, his head dropping to his knees as he began to sob.

He’d never felt like such a failure. It was like everything that had happened since Sheila’s diagnosis had been leading him to this point. He’d promised to love her in sickness and in health, and he’d been driven to the point where he had struck her. His own wife. He’d gone and done the very thing he’d always sworn he’d never do. And then Connor had got in the way and he’d hit him, too.

James knew there was no way he was coming back from it all. He had travelled through the range of emotions before finally arriving at acceptance.

Acceptance that he wasn’t worthy to grace this earth any longer. He didn’t deserve to live. Everyone in his life would be better off without him. He needed to get everything organised first, then, well, then he’d see – there was no way he could go on as he had been. It was time to sort himself out.

Crankle Reservoir, South of Sunderland – 16 November

After a whole day of diving and pulling bodies out of the water, the dive team was finally calling it a night. Connor navigated the RIB back to the shoreline, each member silent and lost in their own thoughts.

Who did this? Who beat up and killed girls like that?

Connor had no idea, but he hoped to God they’d find enough evidence to catch the guy. There was enough crap going on in the world without that kind of monstrosity. For the first time in his career, his stomach had turned somersaults at the sight of the victims. Not from their varying stages of decay, that was a given with bodies that had been under water; it was more to do with the age and how innocent they’d looked. Each one of them beaten to a bloody pulp, but their faces peaceful, as if they were happy with their lot.

He wished he was at peace.

Connor didn’t even know how to describe what he was