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Those We Know (DI Olivia Austin Book 4) Page 11
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PC Hershel’s eyes locked with Liv’s for a moment, surprise forming on her face.
“I—no,” she replied. “Though, I always had the sense that Joel was... I don’t know, bi? I just got the impression that he hated himself too much to ever act on it.”
Olivia eyed Dean.
“We think his boyfriend or lover, if you will, may have been named Matt or Martin, an M name of some sort. Does that sound familiar to you at all?” Olivia did her best to keep excitement out of her voice, though she wanted nothing more than to squeeze Diana into a tight hug. The officer’s eyes darted back and forth, searching for a purchase on some memory.
“Marty Wiggins?” she declared, eyebrows raised. “He’s a... well, he was a year ahead of us on the PCDA, but they booted him under very hush-hush circumstances. Joel and Marty were always hanging out after classes and shifts, comparing notes and shooting the shit and whatnot.”
Diana’s head shook in disbelief that that he could be involved somehow. Her eyes had widened as she spoke, and Olivia did her best to ignore the tears that clearly welled up in her eyes as she connected the dots.
“What else can you tell us about this Marty?” she pressed, resting a comforting hand gently on her leg.
“He was definitely weird,” she recounted after wiping at her cheeks. “Older than most starting the course. And he acted really sweet and nonthreatening, but it seemed like a cover for something else. Like underneath it all, he secretly hated everyone.”
Clara, who had been quietly listening from the side, lit up.
“Martin Scott Wiggins. Age 47. Resident of Crantock, Cornwall.” She listed off his information lightning quick. “Caucasian, brown hair, brown eyes. Discharged from the Police Constable Degree Apprentice programme for stealing personal information from victims of assaults.”
“Arsehole,” Dean seethed under his breath.
“That’s Marty, all right,” Diana agreed. “Though stealing victims’ information is seriously troubling. I had no idea it was that bad. I thought he’d just fallen foul of the bosses. He always did have a lot to say...” The officer seemed to almost sink in on herself, as if the weight of the puzzle pieces connecting were physically pulling her down.
“Does his file say anything else about the information he stole?” Olivia asked, bending over to peek at Clara’s laptop screen. A photo of a man in his forties, entirely unremarkable, stared at her. His lips curved up into a smile, but the rest of his face seemed completely uninterested in completing the motion.
His picture alone sent shivers down Olivia’s spine.
“I’m pulling up the information now,” Clare said quickly. “It looks like he contacted three separate victims outside of work—a woman who’d been sexually assaulted, a younger female who appears to have reported severe bullying and physical harassment, and a teen who’d been beaten badly by his sister.” The tech analyst studied the notes on file. “Wait a minute…”
“What is it?” Dean demanded, moving to join the women by Clara’s laptop. Diana squirmed a bit in her bed but ultimately stayed put, much to Olivia’s gratitude. She was clearly lucid, but that didn’t mean she should be running about.
“The teen. His sister was called Katie Herman. Di, I think it might be…” Clara’s voice dropped as she looked over to her girlfriend.
Even Olivia felt her stomach sink a little as she looked between the two women. The room fell utterly silent.
“If you show me a picture, I might be able to identify her,” PC Hershel offered. “I didn’t get a great view of her while we were there because it was dark, but just before she was dragged from the room, I... Her face is kind of hard to forget.”
Clara gave her a sympathetic look.
“I only have the crime scene ones available,” she began. “And Di, if it’s too much, we don’t have to—”
“I wouldn’t have offered unless I meant it,” Diana shot back before her shoulders dropped. “I can handle it. I promise.”
She spoke with such insistence that even Olivia felt okay with having her see the picture. After a moment and a deep breath, Clara turned her laptop around to show the officer.
Diana took in a quick breath, almost a gasp, before letting her head nod shakily.
“That’s... God, yes, that’s her,” she admitted, her voice breaking as she turned away from the screen.
The back of the poor woman’s head had been bashed in and one slightly open eye rolled back in her head. The sight was sickening for even the hardest of stomachs.
“I get the feeling that the rest of the murder victims are linked to these other assaults,” Dean sighed, rising from his chair. “Clara, is there a known address or place of work for this Martin? I think the sooner we find him, the better.”
The tech analyst clicked away at the trackpad whilst the detectives watched her.
“He’s currently unemployed, according to government records,” she answered, glancing up at them. “But I do have what appears to be a home address. I’ll send it to your phone.”
She ended her promise with a nod.
“Right, I think we best be off, then,” DI Lawrence declared, giving Olivia a knowing look.
She rose to her full height, briefly stepping over to Diana’s bed once more.
“Listen,” she said gently. “I know what it’s like to lose someone in the field. If you ever need to talk, I’m here.” As she spoke, she felt a flood of warmth in her chest at the thought of the man who, despite everything, was never far from her mind. The sound of his singing, the way he’d sit and watch her, make love to her, call her just to hear her voice... even the determined look on his face moments before she lost sight of him forever... the warmth dissolved at that last thought, and it crushed her heart to think back to all the times before the terror attacks; all the times where she’d been blissfully unaware of the pain that the world could hold.
“Thank you, Inspector,” Diana managed to mutter out.
“Please, call me Olivia,” she assured with a gentle squeeze to her hand.
And then, after saying their goodbyes, they were off, rushing out of the hospital room and down the stairs.
The dread that had been following Olivia all morning sunk in once again. If Marty Wiggins was indeed the true killer—and based solely on Clara’s initial search, that possibility seemed incredibly likely—it meant facing the man who had almost killed her less than a week ago. The thought made her knees weak and her stomach sink.
But maybe it was time to face her demons, after all.
25
Olivia sat in the car poring over the information Clara had texted to her phone.
“So, what, he kills these people for having alleged assault charges against them?” Lawrence asked. “Does he think he’s some kind of vigilante?”
Just as expected, their second victim was linked to the sexual assault, while Rosie Whitford had been involved with the case of bullying and harassment.
“The thing that strikes me as odd is that none of the cases ever even went to court,” Olivia observed. “It seems like all of the issues were resolved civilly. Why enact vigilante justice when it appears everyone has moved on?”
DI Lawrence kept his eyes on the road ahead, trailing behind a horsebox.
“Maybe he couldn’t move on from a victimiser in his own life, so he projected that person onto his own victims?” he pondered aloud. “Someone who he wanted to confront in the moment, but wasn’t able to?”
It was a fair suggestion, though Olivia was unsure how to contextualise the idea.
“How does the erasing of his victim’s identities come into it, though?” she asked. “And what about the sexual component?” Each possibility only opened more questions for Olivia. “I like the idea that he sees his victims as someone who wronged him in his own life. That seems to track with his personality from what we’ve seen. I just can’t understand the erasure.”
Dean nodded.
“I wonder if it’s his way of saying he’s over
come them? Beat them so badly that they won’t have anything to be remembered by,” he mused. “Plus, there’s the whole macho concept of sleeping with people as conquests, trophies to win.”
“And who can say if it was all consensual,” Olivia added with a grimace. “The consuming and destroying of his victims’ personalities seems to be key, though. He’s used to being forgotten, so he wants his victims to be treated the same way.”
Her elaboration made her partner sigh as they pulled up in front of Marty Wiggins’ supposed house.
“That’s some fucked up logic.” DI Lawrence turned off the engine and looked out of his window.
The house was quaint in an unremarkable sort of way. Not too big, not too small, with muted colours that made it blend into the countryside.
“No car in the driveway,” Dean observed.
Olivia leaned over him to see out through his side of the window.
“He probably isn’t home,” she agreed. “Doesn’t hurt to check, though.”
He gave her a curt nod.
“Right,” Olivia remarked. “Shall we do this?” She hoped Lawrence didn’t hear the apprehension in her voice as she looked to him.
They left the car, pushing straight toward the house. It occurred to Olivia as they ran up the steps that a situation like this one probably required backup, and she’d probably get a bollocking from Collins later if she called it in too late, but with Joel dead, their window of opportunity for getting his partner was closing by the second.
Lawrence knocked hard on the front door whilst she hovered back and peered over the porch to see if there was any movement behind the house.
Nothing.
A net curtain in the house next door twitched.
They knocked again, this time a touch harder.
Olivia knew they were stretching the rules with this visit—just like they had been for the entirety of the investigation—and she silently promised to be very above board going forward. It wasn’t everyday they dealt with serial killers, after all.
On a whim, Lawrence tried the door. He shook his head. Locked.
The duo circled the house, doing their best to peek into windows and try other points of access. They were treading in dangerous territory—and they both knew it.
“Nothing,” Dean sighed one they were back at the front aspect of the house. “Not a light on or anything. What do we do now?”
Olivia gave Martin’s home another once over.
“For now,” she sighed, “let’s park down the street. See if he comes home.” It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was something.
“We should probably contact Collins, too,” Dean admitted. “If he finds all of this out from someone else, it’ll be our necks... both of them.
Olivia nodded with a sigh.
“You’re right.” She made her way around to her side of the car. “Let’s hope he comes home so we have something to save our jobs with.”
But Olivia couldn’t shake the feeling that their killer wouldn’t be returning here.
Not that day, anyway. If ever.
26
Olivia hated the waiting. She loathed it. Especially when she knew she was on the cusp of something. Marty Wiggins must have been the missing part to their puzzle, and all she wanted to do was apprehend him and take him off the streets. Sitting in the car and staring at his house seemed like precious minutes were dwindling away before her eyes. It also didn’t help that her head was starting to kill. Each breath felt like a stab to her forehead.
The sun had set hours ago with no sign of Mr Wiggins. The one positive thing was that it meant Olivia and Dean had time to bring their boss up to speed.
At first, he hadn’t been impressed, but by the end of their conversation, he understood the importance of bringing this man in.
He also agreed that all the information they had wasn’t enough to get a warrant to enter Marty’s apartment. He was, however, working on a warrant for his arrest.
“Where else could he be?” Dean asked, hands drumming the steering wheel.
Olivia pulled out her ponytail and retied it.
“He really could be anywhere,” she resigned. “If he still has connections to the police, he could have been tipped off about Joel’s death and legged it.”
Her partner nodded.
“Or worse, he could have topped himself inside the house,” he added with both eyebrows raised. “It’s entirely possible. And we wouldn’t have a clue because we’re sat here waiting for him to get home.”
The thought settled on Olivia. It wasn’t such an outlandish idea. Marty could have heard about Joel’s arrest and committed suicide before he too was found out. It wouldn’t have been the first time such a thing happened.
She scrolled through her phone again.
“Okay, we talked to Clara, and those three victims were the only people he spoke to before being dismissed from the PCDA,” Olivia recounted. “Joel’s gone. Instead of suicide, he could theoretically disappear. Start off in a new city or just never kill again and hope we never have enough to build a case.”
Dean rested his head back against the head rest.
“We’ve got to find something,” he groaned. “A hair, a nail. Something that Joel wrote. If he’s alive, there’s no way we’re letting Martin... Marty... whatever you want to call him, go clean.” Frustration built in his voice, and Olivia did her best not to take it personally.
“What if he still has some unfinished business around the area?” she wondered.
“Why wait around North Cornwall when you can start over somewhere else, though?” DI Lawrence questioned.
As if on cue, his phone started to ring. He answered it nonchalantly, automatically putting it on speaker.
“Hi, Detective Inspector Lawrence,” he spoke, his voice void of any level of interest with the conversation.
“Inspector... Sir... Someone’s here,” whispered a voice from the phone.
Olivia’s eyes widened, her heart plummeting.
“Um, who is this?” Dean asked, sitting up straighter in the driver’s seat.
“Grant Turner. Joel’s father,” he growled in response, voice still barely audible. “I’ve got 999 on the other phone. They’re sending a car over, but I...”
“Mr. Turner, stay where you are,” DI Lawrence urged, already turning the key in the ignition. “Try to stay hidden, if at all possible, and on the line.” They pulled out of the quiet cul-de-sac where her partner immediately put his foot down. “I’m going to mute myself so that there isn’t any noise coming from the phone, but I’m still here with you, Grant. We’re on our way too.”
Dean pressed the mute button, taking the opportunity to look over at Olivia.
“We should have arranged police protection when we realised Marty wasn’t here. Fuck!” he swore, hitting the edge of the steering wheel with his hands—hard.
Mr. Turner panted on the other end of the line, clearly trying his best to stay calm and failing miserably. He was going to give himself a panic attack if he wasn’t careful from the way he was breathing. They could hear him talking quietly to the emergency dispatcher on his other phone.
“I know.” Instant regret smothered her. “We should have known. Of course, Marty would want to target Mr. Turner.” Joel’s father’s stony expression at the suggestion that his son could be gay replayed in Olivia’s head. “Yet another oppressor for our man in question to vanquish.” She was already texting her boss, worried about what would happen if she took the time to talk. Emergency at Joel Turner Sr. house. Officers enroute. Dean and I will also attend.
“I’ve updated Collins,” she declared, mostly to fill the space. Her partner nodded; his lips pursed. She wanted to reach over and assure him that she had fucked up, too. He wasn’t alone.
But then Mr. Turner’s breathing escalated over the phone again, followed by the tiniest of whimpers.
And then he screamed.
27
The phone line went dead almost immediately after Grant T
urner’s scream for help. The sound of it echoed in Dean’s and Olivia’s ears, ringing in time with their pulses. They sat mostly in silence, focused on getting to his house as quickly as possible.
Joel Turner’s his last hurrah, Olivia realised, her mind racing as the pieces continued to fall together. Marty must have heard Joel talk about the cruelty of his father all the time. It let them bond, let him find an entry point to begin recruiting Joel. All of the pain, all of the violence stemmed from someone taking advantage of someone else. At least, that’s how Marty was probably able to justify it to Joel.
And what dramatic irony to finish it all with the demise of his father.
Olivia had lost track of how long it took them to make it to the Turner house, but she recognised the street as soon as Lawrence turned onto it.
“He won’t want to be taken alive,” she observed, breaking the silence. It was the first sentence either of them had said since the scream.
“Depends if his ego is in it,” Dean responded, eyes fixed to the commotion they could see up ahead. “He wants to be remembered, recognised. If we appeal to that sense of glory, we might get him to surrender.” DI Lawrence’s logic was sound, but Olivia wasn’t sure what would be best, all things considered. The thought of letting the killer live seemed almost too difficult to bear. He had hovered over her, promised that he’d find her one day, after all. She wouldn’t mind if she didn’t have to worry about him after tonight.
They screeched to a halt next to three other police cars. Two of them had just arrived, and officers began to pile out of their vehicles, securing the perimeter, and Olivia noticed grimly that the firearms unit had just arrived too.
“Clearly, they don’t think this will end peacefully,” she muttered as she and Lawrence exited their vehicle together.