Deadly Caller: A gripping serial killer thriller (Detective Jane Phillips Book 6) Read online

  Deadly Caller

  A Detective Jane Phillips Novel

  OMJ Ryan

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  Contents

  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

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Free Crime Thriller

  Acknowledgments

  Also by OMJ Ryan

  Rights Info

  1

  Just after 9 a.m., Antonia Berry sat alone in her tiny office. The factory, which had been in her family for three generations, was in Sighthill, just outside Edinburgh. She found herself staring at her laptop, and the mirror image of her face in the on-screen window, as she waited for the Zoom meeting to begin. She’d made something of a special effort this morning, donning a full face of makeup – which included a killer red lipstick she had bought at the weekend – all for the benefit of her first meeting of the day, with her rather dishy client, Matthew Rice, a partner and financial director of Ardent Technologies based in Manchester. Unusually, he was late, which gave her a moment to run her fingers through her tousled auburn hair to ensure he saw her at her absolute best once the video connection was made.

  Just then, the screen changed and Rice’s handsome face appeared next to hers. ‘Morning, Antonia,’ he said. He gave her an impish smile and flashed his perfect teeth, accentuating his chiselled jaw. ‘Sorry I’m late.’ He sighed. ‘Lesley called me just as I was opening up my laptop.’

  He was, of course, talking about his boss at Ardent, Lesley Bailey.

  ‘Everything ok?’ she asked.

  Rice nodded. ‘Nothing that couldn’t keep. Honestly, she’s driving me mad at the moment.’

  ‘Stressed out about the IPO?’ Berry asked, referring to the imminent stock market flotation of Ardent Technologies, somewhat big news in the British construction industry.

  ‘Yep. I’ve been working from home for the last few days to stay out of her way. Not that it’s done me much good. She must have called me ten times a day, at least. I’ll be bloody glad when the whole thing is over and done with. Maybe then, she’ll leave me in peace.’ He lifted a steaming mug to his lips and took a sip of his hot drink.

  Berry smiled. She knew, from their previous Zoom conversations, that as a founding partner, Rice held significant shares in Ardent. Once the stock flotation became a reality, he would become a very wealthy man indeed. Not bad for someone in his late forties. He could soon enjoy all the peace and quiet he could wish for, and a lifetime of exotic holidays. The fact that he was still single made him even more appealing. It was such a shame he lived a four-hour drive away in Manchester.

  Rice set the mug down on the desk in front of him, then pulled out his pen and opened a small leather folio. ‘Anyway, Antonia. I know you’re as busy as I am, so let’s get down to business, shall we?’

  Berry felt herself blush slightly as the double meaning of his words flashed into her mind; oh, how she’d love to get down to business with Matthew Rice.

  ‘So, I’ve sent you the specs and quantities for our next order,’ Rice continued, suddenly serious. ‘And I’m hoping you can turn it around in the next seven days. We have a new large-scale project going live in Chicago at the beginning of June, and we’d like to start the manufacturing at our end on the 17th of May.’

  Berry felt her face contort. ‘I’ve seen the order requirements, Matthew, and it’s extensive to say the least.’

  ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘No, no, of course not. It’s just that delivering the quantity you need within a seven-day turnaround is going to be quite a challenge. Our usual timeline on a job that big would be a minimum of fourteen days.’

  Rice nodded. ‘I see.’

  ‘I mean, we could certainly look at seven days, but that would require us to hire in additional agency staff, which would then have a knock-on effect on the price.’

  Rice said nothing for a moment, his eyes fixed on Berry’s. ‘Look, Antonia. We’re all under pressure to deliver more for less. If you’re saying you and your father can’t deliver, then maybe it’s time I found myself another supplier?’ His tone was passive-aggressive, almost threatening, now.

  This was a side of Rice Berry had not seen before. In an instant, his charm and boyish good looks seemed to desert him. She swallowed hard, trying to mask her unease. Ardent was their biggest client, and one their small family business could ill-afford to lose. ‘No, please don’t do that, Matthew. I’m sure we can find a way to make it work,’ she said finally.

  ‘That’s what I like to hear.’ Rice’s smile returned, but appeared bereft of any real emotion. His eyes were lifeless and cold.

  Just then, the sound of a doorbell ringing echoed around Rice’s house. He glanced sideways to a position off-screen as it sounded again. ‘Who the bloody hell is that?’ he growled before returning his gaze to Berry.

  ‘It’s probably the Amazon delivery guy. He practically lives at my house,’ Berry said with forced levity as she attempted to lighten the mood.

  ‘Will you excuse me for a moment,’ said Rice. He didn’t wait for a response. He stepped up from his chair and disappeared off-camera.

  In Rice’s absence, Berry’s eyes were drawn to the room where he’d set up his laptop for the meeting. It appeared to be positioned in a relatively compact living space that led into a modern open-plan kitchen at the far end of the house. From what she could see, it was all very tastefully decorated in greys and blues; quite minimal and masculine. Out of shot, she heard Rice’s footsteps as he made his way to the front door and opened it. There was the sound of a brief exchange, followed suddenly by raised voices. Then a blood-curdling scream exploded through her laptop speakers, followed by another, and another, and another.

  ‘Matthew?’ Berry shouted instinctively into her laptop as her adrenaline spiked. ‘Matthew? What’s happened?’

  As an eerie, deadly silence descended on the room, Berry stared at the empty chair. Her heart pounded in her throat so loudly, she thought it would burst. She leant in close to the laptop’s microphone. ‘Matthew? Are you there?’ she whispered, as loudly as she dared.

  The room remained silent for a long moment. Then the sound of footsteps began to filter through.

  Berry held her breath.

  Then the laptop
screen was pushed shut from behind. A moment later, the Zoom link was severed.

  2

  DCI Jane Phillips let out a frustrated sigh as she dropped the thick report of crime statistics onto her desk, then removed her glasses and swivelled her chair to face the window. Beyond the glass, the sun shone brightly, and a light breeze caused the treetops to sway. Her office was on the third floor of Ashton House, the headquarters of the Greater Manchester Police. Rubbing two fingers against her right temple, she attempted in vain to ease the tension headache that had been building since she’d arrived at her desk three hours ago, just after 8 a.m. If anything was guaranteed to stress her out, it was paperwork, and, in particular, the raft of Excel sheets the GMP top brass obsessed over in order to gauge the successes or failings of her Major Crimes Unit. Sadly, data analysis – as opposed to on-the-ground detective work – seemed to be the way modern policing was headed: a mind-blowing array of quarterly progress reviews, input vs output ratio charts, and arrests vs conviction graphs. Tedious didn’t even come close.

  Letting out another loud sigh, she replaced her glasses, then stepped up from her chair and wandered over to the window. ‘There must be more to life, Jane,’ she muttered under her breath as she stared down at the large car park below for a long moment.

  A knock on her open door broke her train of thought. She turned to find her second in command, Detective Sergeant Jones, standing in the doorway. They were enjoying unusually warm weather for May, and Jones was without his customary suit jacket. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, exposing the heavy scarring on his skinny left wrist, a recent, and unwanted, memento of the job.

  ‘You got a minute, Guv?’ he said, his accent thick South London despite having lived in Manchester for over fifteen years.

  Phillips nodded. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I’ve just taken a call from a uniform team out in Lymm saying a man’s been murdered, stabbed to death on his doorstep. The description of the scene sounds pretty nasty. I was gonna take Bov over there and have a look.’

  Phillips felt her eyes widen. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘There’s no need, Guv. It’s just a preliminary walk-through at this stage.’

  Phillips shook her head as she reached for her suit jacket on the back of her chair. ‘No. I want to come with you. I’d much rather do a prelim than stare at bloody paperwork for the rest of the morning.’

  Jones chuckled. ‘I’ll get my car keys,’ he said, then headed back to his desk.

  The journey from the GMP’s north-Manchester HQ in Failsworth to the location of the stabbing took just over half an hour. The village of Lymm, nestled in the heart of the Cheshire countryside southwest of Manchester city centre, was famous for its well-heeled residents, as well as its large SUVs and expensive real estate. The style of the houses varied from large, purpose-built executive homes to extensively modernised traditional cottages. Their destination was located on a quiet, leafy street on the outskirts of the village, and easily identifiable by the patrol car parked outside. Jones pulled in behind it and switched off the engine.

  Phillips felt reenergised, being back at a crime scene. ‘Right. Let’s get to it,’ she said enthusiastically as she stepped out of the car. Jones followed suit.

  As they made their way past a large, gleaming silver BMW and up the short, gravelled drive towards the quaint stone cottage covered in green ivy, one of the two uniformed officers stepped towards them. His stab vest badge identified him as PC McCoy.

  Phillips flashed her ID.

  McCoy nodded. ‘Ma’am.’

  ‘What have we got?’ asked Phillips.

  ‘A deceased white male,’ said McCoy, ‘with what looks like multiple stab wounds to the chest.’

  ‘Location of the body?’

  ‘He’s lying on his side, just past the front door.’

  ‘Any sign of a forced entry?’ asked Jones.

  ‘No. The door was wide open when we arrived, and the locks intact. The body and the scene are as we found it.’

  ‘So, you haven’t been inside the house yourselves?’

  ‘No, Ma’am.’

  ‘Good. Any idea who our victim is?’ said Phillips.

  McCoy nodded. ‘According to Control, we think he’s the homeowner, Matthew Rice. Apparently, someone he worked with in Edinburgh called it in.’

  Phillips furrowed her brow. ‘Edinburgh?’

  McCoy continued, ‘Yes, Ma’am. It seems Rice was on a Zoom video call with her when he broke off to answer the door, and was subsequently attacked.’

  ‘So, she witnessed it?’ asked Jones.

  ‘I don’t know. As the only car in the area, we got a call from Control at around 10 a.m. asking to check out the reported attack. We arrived about ten minutes later and found him like this, and immediately called you.’

  ‘Do you have contact details for the witness in Edinburgh?’

  ‘Sorry, Ma’am, I don’t. Like I say, it was just top line details on the original job.’

  ‘Get back onto Control and get everything you can on her, will you? We’ll need it when we come back out of the house,’ said Phillips, then locked eyes with Jones. ‘Let’s take a look at the body, shall we?’

  To all intents and purpose, the house appeared untouched, but as they drew closer to the front door, extensive blood spattering could be clearly seen against the white wooden frame. A moment later, the body of a man came into view, lying, as McCoy had described, on the left side, just inside the small hallway.

  ‘Jesus. There mustn’t be any blood left in him,’ muttered Jones as he took in the macabre scene.

  ‘Looks like a frenzied attack,’ added Phillips as she pulled on a pair of purple latex gloves and blue shoe coverings. Jones did the same.

  Next, she placed her feet carefully on the gravel and stepped forwards to get a closer look. The tiled hallway was typical of such small cottages; compact, with limited floorspace, and connected directly to the stairs up to the next floor. The clothes covering the body were saturated with blood, which was already turning a rusty shade of brown in the warm morning air.

  ‘There’s too much blood in there for us to go in this way,’ said Phillips. ‘Let’s see if we can get in around the back.’

  Jones nodded.

  A minute later, Phillips and Jones were at the back door. Luckily, it appeared as if the cottage was a listed building, retaining many of the original features, including the tiny rear door with thin, single-glazed glass. Picking up a rock from the garden, Jones made light work of smashing out the small panes above the lock, then carefully reached in and released the door.

  Phillips took the lead and headed through to the small open-plan kitchen, where everything appeared untouched. ‘This is the police,’ she shouted. ‘If there’s anybody inside the house, please make yourself known to us.’

  The house remained silent.

  Phillips repeated the instruction, again without response.

  Moving through to a small dining area that annexed the living room, she noted the laptop power cable lying across the smoked glass dining table, alongside an empty coffee cup and open notepad; a Montblanc pen rested on the page.

  Jones pointed to the table. ‘Looks like that’s where he made the Zoom call.’

  ‘I’d say so, but if that’s the case, where’s the laptop?’ said Phillips.

  From their position, they could see the open door to the living room, which connected the combined space to the hallway and the location of the body. Phillips carefully followed the trail of bloody footprints towards the door, to where she was once more able to see the blood-soaked body.

  ‘Looks like one set of footprints going in both directions, Guv,’ said Jones.

  ‘Judging by the state of the victim, I’m guessing the killer left them.’

  ‘Do you want to take a look upstairs?’

  Phillips shook her head. ‘The body’s blocking the only access route. We can’t risk contaminating the scene.’ She scanned the room for a long moment.
‘We need an urgent forensic sweep.’

  Jones was already pulling his phone from his pocket. ‘I’ll call Evans.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Phillips as she led the way back out into the garden. ‘I’ll see if McCoy has found out anything on our witness, then I’ll call Entwistle. We need to find out if this guy really is Matthew Rice.’

  Jones nodded. As they returned around the outside to the front of the house, he stepped away to call the forensics team.

  Phillips made her way back down the drive to the patrol car, where McCoy stood ready, an open notepad in his left hand. ‘What have you got?’

  ‘Ma’am. The person who called it in is a woman named Antonia Berry from Sighthill near Edinburgh. According to Control, after hearing Rice being attacked on the Zoom video link, she contacted the local police in Edinburgh, who pointed her in our direction. That’s when she called us.’

  ‘Do you have her contact details?’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ said McCoy, ripping a page from his notepad and handing it to Phillips.

  ‘Good work,’ said Phillips. She stepped away and pulled out her iPhone. It was time to bring in the rest of the MCU team.

  Her call connected a moment later, Detective Constable Entwistle, as ever, answering promptly. ‘Guv? How’s the stabbing?’