Dead speakers, p.1
Dead Speakers, page 1
Dead Speakers
DS Leah West - Book Sixteen
Nic Roberts
Ari Thorne
Copyright © 2023 by
Nic Roberts & Ari Thorne
* * *
‘Dead Speakers’
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All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Some may be used for parody purposes.
Any resemblance to events, locales, business establishments, or actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Contents
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Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Book Seventeen
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Prologue
She couldn’t bring herself to look at the photo.
It had been lying face down on the mantelpiece for a long time. Everyone who’d come by the house had commented on it, wondering why she would want to block out such happy memories. They couldn’t understand that the moment she started reflecting on the positive moments, she’d open the floodgates for the nightmares to unsettle her once again. It was better to just deny his existence altogether.
She walked around the apartment, moving in a trance-like state. It had been years since she’d done what amounted to ‘living’, simply settling for existing.
The kitchen was piled high with plates from last night’s dinner and the night before. She didn’t have it in her to cook for herself anymore, and the rubbish bin was piled high with takeaway boxes.
She looked at her phone. Several missed calls, all from the same number. They hadn’t spoken for some time. Everything they’d had to say had already crossed her mind. There was nothing more to be said.
The phone began ringing again, and she prepared to cancel the call…
…but it wasn’t the usual number. It said NUMBER WITHHELD. Her first thought was that it might be a cold caller trying to sell her something. But it was coming up to ten in the evening. No one was going to offer anything at that time. It couldn’t be any of her friends. They’d long since stopped talking to her, impatient for her to ‘get over it.’
She held the phone to her ear and answered, “Hello?”
There was no sound on the other end of the line for a moment, and she assumed it was just a prank call. She was about to hang up when the voice came through.
“Hello, Mum?”
She froze, briefly wondering if she was trapped in a daydream of days gone by. But then the voice came through again. “It’s me, Mum. I’ve missed you so much. I wish I could come home.”
It didn’t just sound like her son. It was him. She’d know that voice anywhere, the way it was still in the process of maturing, emphasising certain syllables.
But it couldn’t be her son’s voice.
Because her son died years ago.
1
Detective Jeff Rowan poured himself a glass of expensive scotch. Normally, he would have steered clear of the stuff, thinking that it would only dull his senses. But in the last few weeks, he’d started drinking copious amounts. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it. He certainly had the money. And the reason.
He thought back to his childhood fantasy of being a copper, remembering for his fourth birthday his dad bought him an oversized old-fashioned policeman’s hat. He was pretty sure his dad was drunk when he brought it. Most of the memories of his father were negative ones. But that was the one positive that stood out. Even when the hat slid over his eyes and nose, he waited until the moment he grew into it, wanting to be a detective.
He wished there was a moment he could go back in time and speak to his younger self, tell him that being a copper was not all it was cracked up to be, that he was going to learn that ushering in change was not possible, that the job was a machine. Decent people went in, they either got chewed up and spat out,or they became part of the machine.
Jeff knew what he should do, and for the longest time, he was positive he’d made the right decision. But every now and then, there were days when he wondered whether he should have made a different choice.
He remembered an operation taking place a couple of years back. He and a group of criminals were breaking into a warehouse full of hot items. The plan had been to steal the loot, knowing that the owners of the merchandise would collect 100% on the insurance and then the thieves would sell it back to them at a 50% discount, thus allowing them to make an extra 50% in profit. It would have been a scenario where everybody won.
But the owners didn’t want the word on the street being that they were an easy target to be stolen from with impunity. So they’d alerted the police to the theft beforehand.
They’d stormed the warehouse, looking to take out all of the armed thugs. Jeff had considered unmasking himself, though the armed officers clearly wouldn’t have seen him as one of their own and fired with extreme prejudice.
The only way out had been to return fire, and Jeff had managed to get a lucky shot, killing one of the advancing coppers.
But before he could make an exit, Jeff had caught note of the fallen copper’s face.
They’d gone through police training together and served at a station together before his friend was transferred to an armed squadron.
The shock of what he’d done left him unable to move until one of his fellow thugs ushered him away without looking back.
When it was announced that the copper had been killed in the line of duty, no one had known who fired the fatal shot, which meant that Jeff had felt sick to his stomach when people were going around talking about what a nice guy he was, and what they’d do to the person who killed him if they ever saw him again.
Jeff had approached the copper’s widow and braved himself in the face of her heartbreak, knowing he was the direct cause of it. He almost blurted out what he’d done but instead chose to keep quiet.
In a lot of ways, the act had freed Jeff. It felt like he’d crossed the point of no return. And nothing he ever said or did would ever make up for it.
It made his later actions so much easier to pull off.
He remembered when his old mentor, DCI Neil Wilkins, had been engaged in corrupt activities and tried to frame Jeff for said activities. Jeff found it funny that for all the crimes Wilkins had fitted him up for, it wasn’t any of the ones he was actually guilty of.
It’d been just as well that Leah West had arrested Wilkins. There were so many best-laid plans that would have gone up in smoke if he’d been arrested.
He wouldn’t have been approached by his contact. He wouldn’t have been offered this assignment—to bring down Leah West.
Jeff had been surprised when he’d received the job, and he’d asked why it needed to be her. The explanation was an obvious one, “Leah West is one of the best coppers I’ve come across in my time. I know another detective who gave me similar grief. I lost everything to this woman—my son, my life, everything that tied me to Newquay. West is cut from a very similar cloth. She will consider every angle and pursue every lead. If she gets so much of a whiff of my involvement, it won’t be long before she chases me out of town.”
“And you’re not going for the whole ‘put a hit on her’ conundrum?” he asked, knowing that it wouldn’t be the first time the contact had committed such an action. Even his own family hadn’t been exempted from his wrath.
“I’ve thought about it several times, believe me,” he had explained, pouring himself a generous helping from the scotch bottle. “But the problem is, she’s built up a loyal following. I kill her, and I’ve as good as created a martyr. But if I break down the legend that is Leah West beforehand, show everyone that she’s little more than a fraud, then by the time I’m done with her, death will be the kindest thing to happen to her.”
“And you need me to do this why?” Jeff asked, wishing that there was some other officer that was willing to sell his soul. He wasn’t Leah’s biggest fan, but he hadn’t actually wished her harm, especially since she’d saved him from a prison sentence. In some way, he owed her.
“Because I need someone to be my eyes and ears,” the contact explained, having already considered the scenario and seeming almost clairvoyant in how it would play out. “The dominoes have all been lined up. I just need somebody to knock them all down when the time is right.”
2
She imagined this must be what criminals felt when they were on the verge of being sentenced.
Detective Inspector Leah West was sat outside, waiting for the en quiry’s verdict to come through. It’d been a difficult few days.
As Superintendent Wade had told her, people would want to look into her handling of the covert operation down at the stag, an operation that was supposed to go off without a hitch but instead had ended with a civilian being taken hostage, one suspect dead, another injured, five on the run, and an abducted police officer.
Leah watched as Detective Constable Farah Hussein made her way down the corridor about to give interest. She wanted to go over and see how she was holding up after her ordeal, but she didn’t want to be seen as trying to influence a witness to the case. Even though much of the outcome would no doubt hinge on Farah’s testimony.
To her credit, nobody making a passing glance at Farah would even guess that she’d been held prisoner weeks ago. She’d originally planned to take a leave of absence and work out what she wanted. But here she was, back for duty as though nothing had happened. The explanation going around was that she wanted to keep herself busy, but Leah suspected the real reason was that she didn’t want to be left alone with her recollections of the abduction, left at the mercy of a misogynistic sadist who was on the verge of maiming her, if not killing her.
Leah wondered if she secretly blamed her for the ordeal.
The door opened and Jonesy emerged, dressed in an ill-fitting suit. “I know I’m always complaining about serial killers, but I’ll gladly take a legion of Jacob Sutcliffes over that room full of suits.”
Leah had sat in on some of the proceedings, where they had previously questioned her conduct—not just on this case, but on previous case—and her gung-ho attitude. Sadly, that was something she couldn’t easily deny.
She felt that in some way, she should be relieved that all they were throwing at her was operation mismanagement. If they knew all of her darkest secrets, such as that she’d made little effort to apprehend Suzie Dano the second time around, an assassin who was now walking around the world, she wouldn’t just be looking at the red notice, but she’d also be looking at criminal charges.
“I take it you couldn’t possibly gauge what they were thinking?” she asked hopefully, despite knowing that Jonesy would have been sworn to secrecy beforehand.
“I don’t know,” he offered with a disappointing shrug. “I feel like my bullshit detector’s gone bust around that lot.”
“Do you think I have a chance of coming out of this intact, or should I start drafting a resignation letter?” Leah asked, feeling that she should hope for the best but plan for the worst.
“I honestly couldn’t say,” he reiterated, feeling guilty that he couldn’t offer more to his partner. “I’d like to say that you’re far too valuable, that given your string of successes, they can’t afford to get rid of you without causing a public outcry.” This gave him an idea. “Why don’t you take your case to Clarissa?” he suggested, imagining the controversy that would result. “Tell her that you’re being targeted for unfair dismissal, and if the court proceedings don’t rule in your favour, public opinion definitely will.”
“Absolutely not,” Leah replied, not even wanting to consider the idea. “If we aired our grievances to the press every time the higher-ups decided to up the pressure, then every copper would be out of a job.”
But deep down, the fact that Jonesy was suggesting such drastic measures troubled the detective.
Trying for a little joke to lighten the mood, Jonesy suggested, “Well, I suppose if the worst comes to pass, you could always try for work as a private detective; become the next Simon Kemp.”
She couldn’t help but chuckle at the suggestion. If this had all started kicking off a few months earlier, we could have been partners in crime.
Superintendent Nora Wade was never one for mincing words, so the fact that she was trying to find a delicate approach startled DI West no end. “The enquiry is still ongoing,” she began, before realising that her words did little to reassure her colleague. “Just so you know, I have batted hard for you. I have told them that you’re my best detective, and that most of the cases in Bedford wouldn’t get solved without you…”
Leah wanted to feel empowered by the comments, but she couldn’t help sensing a ‘but’ on the horizon.
“But this hasn’t stopped them from looking into your past cases,” she continued, right on cue with the negative. “They’ve been looking over everything, from your handling of the Self-Killer case to one small-minded idiot even suggesting that your inaction led to the death of Kim Betts.”
Leah’s nostrils flared at the mention of her superior officer, killed as part of Jacob Sutcliffe’s renewed killing spree. “I had nothing to do with Betts’ death! She was my friend!”
“You don’t need to tell me this,” Nora fired back, holding up her hands as though in surrender. “I think the gentleman who raised that issue is some overzealous arse who’s placing a high emphasis on accountability. He also raised the suggestion that you were burning through commanding officers, and he raised the issue of Detective Chief Inspector Neil Wilkins.”
“I don’t see how they can lay the blame for that on my door!” Leah exclaimed, unable to comprehend what she was hearing. “Wilkins was a bent bastard! And I put him away myself. God knows what would have happened if I hadn’t acted. DS Rowan would be imprisoned under false corruption charges, for starters.”
“Therein lies their concern,” Nora replied, trying to keep her colleague calm while layout out the scrutiny she’d be facing. “There’s a small minority that thinks that the two of you were in cahoots and that you had him arrested to reap the glory for yourself.”
Leah’s mouth hung open as she struggled to articulate words. “I’m sorry, have IQs dropped sharply over the last few months? I almost died chasing down Suzie Dano!” Her words trailed off when she got to the name, still mindful that nobody else knew about how their relationship had gone from hated enemies to two people working towards a single goal; allies if not friends.
“Yes, people have commented on that,” the superintendent explained as Leah felt her gut tighten up. “They seem to think that you had some kind of partnership and that you allowed her to get away after she woke up from her coma. Of course, I told them that it was all bullshit. That if they were going to come at my officers with wild theories, they were going to need to provide the facts to accompany them.”
Leah imagined she must have built up a pretty strong poker face, because inside she was volcanoing. For once, they have no idea how on point they are.
“And then,” Nora continued, continuing with the conveyor belt of bad news, “there’s the journalist who was hanging around Bedford for a few months—Owen Mullen.”
Leah drew a blank face, remembering how the journalist had been tailing her, determined to ruin her reputation and her life, all in the pursuit of a good story. He’d disappeared shortly after Kemp had died in action, and she hadn’t known what happened to him since. “They’re not going to try pinning that on me, are they?” she asked sarcastically, surprised at how the enquiry could think up the most outlandish theories.
“Actually…” Nora began, her face darkening as she spoke. “Mullen’s body was discovered a few weeks ago. Apparently, the body was quite heavily mutilated.” She looked like she was about to be sick. “There were multiple lacerations to the chest, abdomen, and genitals. The post-mortem indicates that his killers were trying to keep him alive for as long as possible while inflicting as much pain as they could in that time. Apparently, he lasted fifty-two hours. It was a hard time identifying the man as well.”
