Deadly Obsession Read online

  Deadly Obsession

  OMJ Ryan

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  Contents

  1. Wednesday, February 3rd

  2. Thursday, February 4th

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  6. Friday, February 5th

  7. Thursday, February 11th

  8. Friday, February 12th

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  11. Monday, February 15th

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  14. Saturday, February 20th

  15. Tuesday, February 23rd

  16. Wednesday, February 24th

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  19. Thursday, February 25th

  20. Friday, February 26th

  21. Saturday, February 27th

  22. Monday March 1st

  Chapter 23

  24. Tuesday, March 2nd

  25. Approaching midday, Wednesday, March 3rd

  Chapter 26

  27. Friday, March 5th

  Chapter 28

  29. Monday, March 8th

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  32. 9.33 a.m. Tuesday, March 9th

  Chapter 33

  34. Wednesday, March 10th

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  38. Thursday, March 11th

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  42. Friday, March 12th

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  45. Monday, March 16th

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  59. Thursday, March 18th

  Free Crime Thriller

  Acknowledgments

  Also by OMJ Ryan

  Rights Info

  1

  Wednesday, February 3rd

  His hot breath steamed up the glass on the front door as he fumbled to get the key into the lock. His hand was shaking and his heart raced, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Finally, he managed to get the key into place, then turned the Yale lock to the right and gently pushed open the door. The warmth of the hallway caused his cheeks to flush and skin to tighten as he stepped inside. For a moment blood rushed to his face, causing him to feel light-headed and a little nauseous.

  Closing the door quietly behind him, so as not to wake his wife and young son sleeping upstairs, he turned to look at his reflection in the mirror positioned next to the door. He allowed himself a smile of admiration, then removed his leather boots, winter coat, ski hat and thick scarf. Standing in the silent hallway for a long moment, he listened for any signs of life from upstairs. When he was satisfied everyone was asleep, he padded through to the open-plan kitchen and switched on the light. That woke Lola. Crouching, he greeted the doe-eyed black Cockapoo, scooping his hands under her chin. ‘Hello, Lola,’ he whispered in a child-like tone. ‘Who’s Daddy’s girl, hey? Who’s Daddy’s favourite girl?’

  Lola obediently raised a paw and placed it on his knee as he moved his right hand onto her head and rubbed it vigorously. ‘Daddy’s been busy tonight, Lola,’ he whispered again, allowing his smile to return. ‘Very busy.’

  The dog continued to look up at him, completely oblivious to her master’s activities.

  Just a few hours ago, he had passed the point of no return and stepped into a whole new world, experiencing a level of power and exhilaration he could never have imagined possible. What was even more shocking, though, was just how easy he had found it, to take a life.

  He closed his eyes and replayed the final moments in his mind once again; the excitement he had felt as the pulse faded to nothing and finally stopped. He could almost hear the ghostly silence that had fallen in the room at that exact moment, and a shiver shot down the length of his spine.

  Opening his eyes now, he kissed Lola on her head, then stood and made his way to the sink, where he filled the kettle, switched it on to boil and placed a teabag in his favourite mug, which was emblazoned with the slogan, ‘World’s Best Daddy’. As he waited for the water to boil, he noticed the adrenaline dissipating, to be replaced by agitation and anxiety. He desperately wanted to maintain the newfound sense of power and euphoria that had gripped his body in the immediate hours that had followed the murder, but with every minute that passed, it faded away. Much to his chagrin.

  Steam began to rise from the kettle spout and, when the tiny LED light flicked off, he filled his mug and left it to brew for a minute.

  Standing there in the kitchen, waiting, his stomach began to churn. For a split second, the enormity of what he had done seemed to weigh heavy on his shoulders. To distract himself, he spooned three sugars into his tea, then poured in the milk and gave it a stir.

  ‘Time for bed, Lola,’ he said softly as he turned back towards the dog and pointed in the direction of the large basket positioned in the corner of the room. Lola obediently followed his direction. A moment later, she appeared content as could be, curled up in a ball on top of her tartan blanket. ‘Night night, sweetheart,’ he said as he switched off the light, then made his way along the hallway and up the stairs to bed.

  On reaching the landing, he could see the door to the bedroom was slightly ajar. Pushing it gently open, he peered inside. Lying on the side of the bed closest to the door, his wife, Jodie, opened her eyes and smiled, then put her finger to her lips as she cast her gaze down to the tiny Moses basket next to her. Their three-month-old son, Noah, lay sleeping, arms bent at ninety degrees, his hands next to his ears.

  Opening the door wider, he tiptoed into the room, passed Noah and went round to the other side of the bed. He placed his mug on the bedside table.

  ‘Long night?’ asked Jodie, turning to face him.

  ‘Yeah. It was, actually,’ he replied, slipping off his T-shirt and jeans.

  ‘You’re working too hard, Gabe. We hardly ever see you.’

  He smiled softly before pulling back the duvet and slipping in next to her. ‘I know, love, but I’m the new boy and when the work’s there, I have to take it.’ He drew her close. ‘This partnership is important to me, and besides, we need the money.’

  ‘I get that, but we also need you here,’ added Jodie.

  ‘Please don’t start that again, babe. I’m doing what I can.’

  ‘I’m not starting anything. I’m just finding it hard on my own, that’s all.’

  At that moment, Noah let out a high-pitched moan.

  They both held their breath, but a second later, the now-familiar wail of a hungry baby filled the bedroom.

  Jodie’s face contorted and sagged. ‘He can’t be hungry already! I only fed him an hour ago.’

  He kissed her on the forehead and let out a sigh. ‘I’ll do it,’ he said. He climbed out of bed and made his way over to the Moses basket.

  Noah’s screaming had reached fever pitch by the time he picked him up and cradled him in his bare arms. ‘I’ll take him downstairs for a feed. You get some sleep,’ he said.

  ‘I always said you were an angel, Gabriel,’ said Jodie with a wry smile.

  He nodded softly before turning and making his way out onto the landing. Out of sight, he chuckled to himself as he headed down the stairs, thinking back to the events
of that evening. ‘I’m an angel all right, love. An angel of death.’

  2

  Thursday, February 4th

  A few years back, when her mental health had taken a turn for the worse, running late had been an occupational hazard for DCI Jane Phillips. Being shot in the line of duty had taken its toll for a very long time. Still, after many hours of therapy and implementing better lifestyle choices, she had worked her way back to good health and habits. All of which made the fact she was twenty minutes late leaving home this morning all the more frustrating. Especially so, considering she was due to meet her newly appointed chief superintendent at 9 a.m. sharp.

  She checked the clock on the dash; 8.53 a.m.

  Ashton House – headquarters of the Greater Manchester Police – was situated five miles north of her current location and at least twenty minutes away in light traffic. Sadly, not something Manchester was famous for at this time of the day.

  As the squad car surged up the on-ramp to the Mancunian Way towards Failsworth, her heart sank at the stationary traffic on the road ahead of her. With no way of turning the car around and the nearest exit over two hundred meters away, she was well and truly stuck.

  ‘Damn it!’ she yelled as she brought the car to a stop and slammed her hand down onto the steering wheel. ‘Jesus, Jane. He’s only been in the job a couple of weeks. This is hardly gonna endear you to him, is it?’

  Navigating her mobile phone through the in-car system, she located Detective Constable Entwistle’s number and pressed the green dial button on the screen. After a couple of rings, he answered.

  ‘Morning, Guv.’

  With her patience at zero and her frustration mounting by the second, Phillips wasted no time with pleasantries. ‘Are you in the office?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ve just this minute sat down. Why?’

  ‘I’m due to meet Carter at 9 and I’m stuck in traffic on the Mancunian Way, just where it intersects the university. Can you check the traffic feed for me? I need to know what I’m up against before I call him and let him know I’m gonna be late.’

  ‘Sure, let me pull them up for you,’ said Entwistle before going silent.

  Phillips could hear the click of his mouse on the other end of the line as he searched for the traffic updates.

  ‘Looks like there’s been a lorry fire just ahead of you, about half a mile ahead, by the railway bridge. It says emergency services are at the scene, but it could take a while to get it under control.’

  ‘Bollocks! That’s all I need,’ barked Phillips.

  ‘Can’t you put the siren on and push your way through, Guv?’

  Phillips took a moment to ponder his suggestion. Strictly speaking, driving under blues and twos – using the siren and lights – was restricted to police emergencies only. As much as she hated being late to meet her boss, this wasn’t an emergency.

  Just then, Phillips’s phone began to beep, indicating she had another call coming in. Picking up the handset from the central console next to her, she could see it was coming from her second in command at the Major Crimes Unit, Detective Sergeant Jones. ‘I’ve gotta go, Entwistle, Jones is calling.’

  With that, Phillips cut him off and activated the call with Jones. ‘Jonesy, what’s up?’

  ‘Where are you, Guv?’ he asked, his South London accent reminding Phillips of a young Michael Caine.

  ‘The car park that is now the Mancunian Way. Apparently there’s been a lorry fire ahead of me. I’m gonna be so late for my 9 a.m. meeting with Carter, it’s not even funny.’

  ‘So you’re stationary, then?’

  Phillips felt her brow furrow. ‘Yeah, I bloody am. Why do you ask?’

  Jones let out a loud breath. ‘I need you to see something, Guv. I’m gonna switch to a FaceTime call.’

  A second later, the scrawny, gaunt features of Detective Sergeant Jones appeared on her phone screen.

  ‘What on earth’s going on, Jonesy? Where are you?’

  ‘I’m at the Cedar Pines Residential Care Home in Longsight.’

  ‘What the hell are you doing there?’

  Jones’s mouth fell open for a moment as he appeared to be struggling to find his words. ‘It’s probably easier if I show you,’ said Jones. He flipped the screen on his phone so the camera showed the room in front of him.

  It took a moment for the lens to adjust to the low light before Phillips saw what he was looking at. ‘Jesus. What’s that?’

  Jones narrated from behind the camera. ‘One of the residents, a Michael Yates, deceased. The nurses found him like this about two hours ago and called in uniform, who then called me.’

  Phillips stared at the contorted frame of the old man lying on the bed. He lay facing upwards, his expression fixed in agony, back arched and arms pulled against his chest in a pugilistic pose, almost as if frozen in the middle of some kind of fit. ‘What’s happened to him?’ she asked, her voice low.

  ‘That’s just it. I’ve no idea and nor does anyone else. I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  ‘Where did you say you were?’ asked Phillips.

  Jones flipped the screen back. ‘The Cedar Pines Care Home in Longsight.’

  ‘Right, in that case, I’m five minutes away,’ said Phillips. ‘I’ll head over to you now.’

  ‘What about the traffic, Guv?’

  Phillips grinned. ‘Emergencies like this are what blues and twos are for.’ She hung up and switched on the siren and lights.

  As the cars in front of her began to move left and right to create enough space to let her through, she called Chief Superintendent Carter through the in-car system.

  He answered promptly, his soft Newcastle tones a stark contrast to Jones’s London drawl. ‘Jane, I was just about to call you. I’m in the canteen. Do you want a coffee for the meeting?’

  ‘About that, sir. I’m gonna have to come and see you later on this morning. Something urgent’s come up.’

  ‘Oh?’ He sounded slightly disappointed. ‘Is that your siren I can hear?’

  ‘Yeah, it is.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘I’m not sure, in all honesty,’ said Phillips, edging her car forwards through the traffic, ‘but it looks like a suspicious death at an old people’s home in Longsight. I’m heading there now to meet Jonesy.’

  ‘Suspicious, how?’ Carter asked.

  ‘I’ll bring you put to speed when I see you, sir. It’s a bit hard to explain at the moment.’

  ‘Very well. Keep me posted, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Phillips rang off. A warm feeling of relief washed over her at having avoided being late to meet her new boss, mixed with the rush of anticipation she always felt on her way to a brand-new crime scene.

  A moment later, the last of the cars finally parted in front of her, and she could see clear road ahead. Slamming her foot to the floor, she sped off in the direction of the care home.

  3

  Jones was waiting by the main entrance doors as Phillips pulled into the Cedar Pines car park, next to the police patrol car. The building itself was typical of British residential homes built in the eighties and nineties, comprising a single storey with large windows facing out to the main road. As she stepped out of the vehicle, she could see a host of elderly faces on the other side of the glass. Some stared out towards Phillips’s position with glazed expressions, while others appeared to be snoozing in the high-backed chairs. She pulled her collar up against the bitter February wind and strode towards the double front doors to meet with Jones, his skinny frame wrapped in a black trench coat.

  ‘Are you ready for this?’ he asked.

  ‘As I’ll ever be.’

  Jones turned and led the way. ‘It’s one of the weirdest things I’ve ever seen, Guv.’

  As they stepped inside, Phillips was struck by the familiar smell of industrial disinfectant mixed with overcooked food and strong urine. It was something she had grown accustomed to during visits to see her beloved grandfather, who had died in a similar
home a couple of years ago. A wave of sadness washed over her as she remembered him in his final days, lying motionless in the high-sided bed, a shadow of his former self in so many ways.

  Jones recalled her attention to the reason she was there. ‘I haven’t called in SOCO yet. I wanted you to see him first.’

  Phillips nodded as they came to a stop outside room sixteen, where two uniformed officers stood. ‘Are you the guys that called it in?

  ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ replied one of the officers.

  ‘And who called you?’ asked Phillips.

  ‘The care home manager, Ma’am. Dianna Kirby. As soon as we saw the body, we called MCU.’

  ‘Well, get yourself a drink or something for the moment. We’ll call you if we need you. Ok?’

  Both officers nodded in unison, then walked away down the narrow corridor back towards reception.

  ‘He’s in here, Guv,’ said Jones, and moved inside.

  Phillips followed him, and stopped in her tracks as she laid eyes on the body. It was even more grotesque in the flesh, contorted and frozen; the head and feet were connected to the bed, but the rest of the body arched upwards and the arms bent inwards like a boxer’s. The expression on the waxy face appeared to be one of abject agony. Pulling on a pair of latex gloves and a surgical mask, she moved closer before bending forward to get a better look. ‘What the hell could’ve caused this?’