DI SEAN CORRIGAN CRIME SERIES:
6-BOOK COLLECTION
Cold Killing, Redemption of the Dead, The Keeper, The Network, The Toy Taker and The Jackdaw
Luke Delaney
Copyright
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2015
Copyright © Luke Delaney 2015
Luke Delaney asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. Any references to real people, living or dead, real events, businesses, organizations and localities are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. All names, characters and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © October 2015 ISBN:9780008162108
Version: 2017-07-14
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Cold Killing
The Keeper
The Toy Taker
The Jackdaw
Redemption of the Dead
The Network
Coming soon
About the Author
By Luke Delaney
About the Publisher
COLD KILLING
Luke Delaney
Copyright
Harper
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
HarperCollins Publishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2013
Copyright © Luke Delaney 2013
Luke Delaney asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
Cover photography © www.henrysteadman.com
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2013
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authors imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007486083
Ebook Edition © AUGUST 2013 ISBN: 9780007486076
Version: 2015-09-16
DEDICATION
There are so many people I could dedicate this book to, without whom my writing career would have been over before it even began, but I feel a shared dedication can some how lose much of its power and I didnt want that as this particular dedication is so personal to me and indeed others who were close to the man.
So I dedicate this first novel to my dad, Mike. For reasons of maintaining the anonymity of my family, friends and myself, I cannot say too much and nor would he want me to. I could talk about his brilliance in his own field and the worldwide respect and admiration he is held in amongst his peers. I could talk about his meteoric rise from very humble beginnings to the very top of his difficult trade, but thats not really what I remember about him most.
What I remember about him most was his gentleness, kindness, incredible generosity and painful honesty. He was the best moral compass a young man could have had, especially one with ambitions to join the police. I would be lying if I said tempting opportunities didnt present themselves, but the thought of letting not just myself but my parents down kept me well and truly on the straight and narrow.
My dad taught me one thing above all others that no matter how much we achieve in our chosen professions, no matter how much wealth and power we obtain what is really important is to be a good man. Just be a good man. He was a very good man.
Sadly Mike passed away three years ago aged a very young seventy-two. Another victim to the great taker of men cancer. The world has felt a poorer place ever since. He is much missed and much loved.
For Mike.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
1
Saturday. I agreed to come to the park with the wife and children. Theyre over there on the grassy hill, just along from the pond. Theyve fed themselves, fed the ducks and now theyre feeding their own belief that were one normal happy family. And to be fair, as far as theyre concerned, we are. I wont let the sight of them spoil my day. The sun is shining and Im getting a bit of a tan. The memory of the latest visit is still fresh and satisfying. It keeps the smile on my face.
Look at all these people. Happy and relaxed. Theyve no idea Im watching them. Watching as small children wander away from their mothers too distracted by idle chat to notice. Then they realize their little darling has wandered too far and up goes that shrill shriek of an over-protective parent, followed by a leg slap for the child and more shrieking.
I am satisfied for the time being. The fun I had last week will keep me contented for a while, so everyone is safe today.
I thoroughly enjoyed the time I spent with the little queer. I made it look like a domestic murder. Ive heard fights between people like him can get nasty, so I had a bit of fun with the idea.
He was easy enough to dispatch. These people live dangerous lives. They make perfect victims. So I hunted amongst them, looking for someone, and I found him.
I had already decided to spend the evening stalking the patrons of a Vauxhall nightclub, Utopia. What a ridiculous name. More like Hell, if you ask me. I told my wife I was out of town on business, packed some spare clothes, toiletries, the usual things for a night away and booked a hotel room in Victoria. I could hardly turn up at home in the early hours. That would arouse suspicions. I couldnt have that. Everything at home needed to appear normal.
I also packed a paper decorating suit that I bought at Homebase, several pairs of surgical gloves readily available from all sorts of shops a shower cap and some plastic bags to cover my feet. A little noisy, but effective. And last but not least a syringe. All fitted neatly into a small rucksack.
Avoiding the CCTV cameras that swamped the area, I watched the entrance to the club from the shadows of the railway bridge as the sound of the trains reverberated through the archways.
I had already spied my target entering the club earlier that evening. The excitement made my testicles tighten. Yes, he was truly worthy of my special attentions. This wasnt the first time I had seen him. I had watched him a couple of weeks earlier, watched him whore himself inside the club with whoever could match his price. I had been searching for the perfect victim, knowing the police would only check CCTV from the night he died or, if they were especially diligent, maybe the week before.
I had stood in the midst of the heaving throng of stinking, foul humanity, bodies brushing past my own, tainting my being with their diseased imperfection, while at the same time inflaming my already excited, heightened senses. I so wanted to reach out and take each and every one of them by the throat, crushing trachea after trachea as the dead began to pile at my feet. I fought hard to control the surging strength within, then terror gripped me, terror like I have never felt in my entire life. Terror that the real me was revealing itself, that all those around me could see me changing in front of their very eyes, my skin glowing brilliant red, bright white light spilling from my eyes and ears, vomiting from my mouth. Heavy drops of sweat had snaked down my back, guided by my swelling, cramping back muscles. Somehow I had managed to move my legs, pushing through a crowd of squabbling worshippers until I reached the bar and stared into the giant mirror hanging behind it. Relief washed over me, slowing my heart and cooling my sweat as I could see I hadnt changed, hadnt betrayed myself.
Now the time for watching was over. It was time for my prize, my release, my relief. All was in place. All was as it needed to be. At last I saw him leaving the club. He was shouting goodbyes, but seemed to be alone. He walked casually under the railway bridge, heading towards Vauxhall Bridge. I moved quickly and silently to the other side of the railway bridge and waited for him. As he neared, I stepped out. He saw me, but didnt look scared. He returned my smile as I spoke to him.
Excuse me.
Yes, he replied, still smiling, stepping closer to the street light to better see me. Is there something I can do for you, he said, recognition spreading across his face. We really must stop meeting like this. Yes, Id been with him before. A risk, but a calculated one. A little more than a week ago, inside the nightclub, Id introduced myself without speaking, making sure he saw my smiling face just long enough so hed recognize it again. Later I met him outside. I paid him what he asked, all in advance, and we went back to his flat where I defiled myself inside him and even allowed him to defile the inside of me. The sex wasnt important, or even pleasurable that wasnt the point of being with him. I wanted to feel him while he was alive, to understand he wasnt merely an inanimate thing, but a real live person. I couldnt be with him like that the night I dispatched him in case I left the faintest trace of semen or saliva on his body. Being with him a week or so before would give any such evidence time to degrade and die. And of course we practised safe sex: he to protect himself from the Gay Plague and I to protect myself from detection. Id shaved away my pubic hair and wore a full-faced rubber mask that also covered my head, stopping any head hairs from being left at the scene, as well as rubber gloves to eliminate the risk of leaving fingerprints all of which the little queer thought was simply part of the fun. But the fun, the real fun, was yet to come and I had more than a week to fantasise about events that lay ahead.