Deadly Betrayal: A gripping crime thriller full of mystery and suspense (Detective Jane Phillips Book 4) Read online

  Deadly Betrayal

  A 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

  47. Manchester Royal Infirmary, Surgical Ward

  48. Ashton House, Major Crimes Unit, Incident Room

  Chapter 49

  Free Crime Thriller

  Acknowledgements

  Also by OMJ Ryan

  Rights Info

  1

  Ordinarily he didn’t kill women, but Victoria Carpenter was about to become one of the rare exceptions. After all, orders were orders. With his knee wedged firmly in the small of her back, she was trapped face-down against the cold concrete floor of the garage as he looped the nylon noose around her neck and pulled it tight. Her arms flailed as she attempted to grab the blue rope and loosen it from around her neck, but it was no good. She didn’t stand a chance.

  He jumped to his feet and handed the rope to his partner for tonight’s job, who threw it up over the steel girder that held the small out-building in place before catching it again and expertly wrapping it around his gloved right hand. Standing together, they began to pull on the rope with all their might. Carpenter’s head jerked up and she let out a stifled gasp as the noose tightened. She grabbed at the rope as they continued to pull, but within a few seconds her feet were off the floor, her body rising into the air. He watched in awe as she tried to scream, but no sound came out. Her eyes bulged and her face reddened as the blood began pooling in her head. Despite her obvious terror, he felt nothing other than a desire to get the job done quickly and efficiently, which meant leaving no evidence behind and enough clues to suggest suicide.

  Carpenter’s legs kicked out as she attempted in vain to find something solid to stand on. Holding her weight on his own now, his partner moved across the garage and secured the end of the rope in a thick knot against the heavy workbench that was bolted to the floor. All the time, her fingers manically clawed at the noose as her oxygen supply dwindled.

  It won’t be long now, he mused, watching her body jerk back and forth as she began to lose consciousness. Ten seconds later, and with one last desperate flurry of movement, Carpenter passed out. The garage fell almost silent, the only sound the rhythmic creaking of the rope against the steel girder as Carpenter’s dying body swayed gently in the air.

  Moving to stand underneath her, he used both hands to hold her body still, and stared up into her lifeless face. He felt nothing.

  He checked his watch; it was 8.18 p.m. It would take at least ten minutes for Carpenter’s brain to shut down completely and he would not leave until he was sure she was dead. His partner had been careless tonight, so he would use the time to clean up his mess and dress the space ready for the discovery of her body, which would happen later this evening. In the meantime, he returned to the main house to remove any evidence of their presence, and ordered his accomplice to get the car ready for a quick retreat.

  Fifteen minutes later he returned to the garage, just in time to witness as Carpenter’s body finally gave up the fight. A small puddle of urine had pooled on the concrete floor below her. Careful to avoid stepping in it, he moved closer and felt her pulse at the wrist as it faded away and stopped.

  With everything in place, he surveyed the space one more time, then switched off the light and made his escape through the back garden and into the alley that ran adjacent to the house. A few minutes later, he jumped into the waiting car at the end of the street and nodded silently to his partner – it was time to move out.

  As the car pulled onto Wilmslow Road, he dialled the usual number on his phone. It connected. As was customary, he didn’t wait for a response.

  ‘It is done,’ he said, his voice devoid of emotion, and ended the call.

  2

  As the time approached midnight, DCI Jane Phillips made her way down the side of the detached house in Withington, four miles south of Manchester. SOCO – scene of crime operation – was already on site, the garage at the end of the drive lit up like a movie location. Just before she reached the garage, she stepped inside the white SOCO tent. Detective Constable Bovalino, his massive, muscular frame squeezed into the biggest forensic suit the Greater Manchester Police could provide, turned towards her. Next to him stood a uniformed sergeant, waiting.

  Phillips nodded to Bovalino, then turned her attention to the sergeant. ‘Are you Baxter?’

  The sergeant nodded. ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

  ‘You said on the phone it looks like a suicide, but you wanted MCU to have a look at it because her husband’s claiming she was murdered?’

  Baxter cleared his throat and shifted his feet before answering. He seemed nervous. ‘That’s right, Ma’am. He’s insisting that there was no way she would kill herself, and that someone else must have done it.’

  ‘And he found the body?’

  ‘That’s correct, Ma’am. Her name’s Victoria Carpenter.’

  Phillips glanced at Bovalino, eyebrows raised. ‘Well, we’d better take a look at her then, hadn’t we?’ she said, and thrust her right leg into a forensic suit.

  A moment later, with her athletic frame fully suited and her dark-haired ponytail reset, she cleaned her glasses with an antiseptic wipe, then stepped into the garage, closely followed by Bovalino. Baxter remained outside.

  Phillips had witnessed hundreds of crime scenes throughout her twenty years on the force, but the first sight of a dead body always gave her pause. Tonight was no different, and she stopped to take in the scene. Carpenter’s dead body hung from the ceiling joist, a blue rope tied around her neck. Her face was bloated and her wide, blood-shot eyes appeared to be staring off into space. Her jogging bottoms were wet from the crotch down to her ankles, which hung about two feet above the ground. Near her feet was an upturned chair.

  Camera flashes from the forensic team cast flickering, temporary shadows across the space as the crime scene specialists moved around, attempting to capture every detail.

  Phillips knelt to get a closer look at the small pool of liquid on the floor below the body.

  ‘Looks like she p
eed herself,’ said Andy Evans, the senior CSI on duty. Despite his pale face being covered by a mask, she recognised his voice instantly.

  Phillips nodded and got back to her feet. ‘So, was it suicide?’

  ‘On first inspection, it looks that way,’ replied Evans.

  ‘I’m told the husband claims it was murder.’

  Evans’s eyes widened. ‘Really? Why?’

  ‘I dunno…’ Phillips, frowning, took in the scene once more. It certainly had the appearance of a suicide and, to the naked eye, there was no sign of a struggle. ‘…but I guess we’d better talk to him and find out.’

  She turned back to Bovalino and signalled for him to lead the way out. A few minutes later, after removing and bagging their forensic suits, Phillips and Bovalino made their way into the main house, which was detached from the garage.

  The property was the classic Victorian architecture prevalent in the suburbs to the south of Manchester. Inside, it looked as if it had been lovingly renovated, with an array of modern furniture and fittings that complemented the original features and high ceilings. Making their way into the lounge, they found Victoria Carpenter’s husband, Aaron, sitting in an armchair, cradling a glass of something that looked like brandy as he stared at the floor. He wore jeans and a replica England Cricket shirt with short sleeves. Seated, it was difficult to tell how tall he was, but his bare arms were muscular. It appeared he was a man who enjoyed exercise, and his close-cropped auburn hair and stubble only added to his sporty appearance.

  ‘Mr Carpenter?’ Phillips said, her tone soft. ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Phillips and this is Detective Constable Bovalino. Can we have a quick word?’

  Carpenter moved his gaze from the floor to meet Phillips’s. He nodded without blinking, as if in a trance.

  Phillips and Bovalino took a seat on the adjacent sofa.

  ‘I’m told you were the one who found your wife’s body. Is that correct?’ asked Phillips.

  Carpenter nodded again. ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice almost a whisper.

  ‘And what time was that?’

  Carpenter took a moment to answer, as though deep in thought. ‘I’d say about 10.45. A few minutes after I came home from the cricket.’

  ‘And which cricket was that?’

  ‘England, the 20/20 at Old Trafford.’

  ‘Can you talk us through your movements after you left the cricket tonight?’ said Phillips.

  Carpenter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. ‘I left just before it finished so I could get ahead of the crowds. There was a tram just about to leave as I got to the station, which got me back to Burton Road at about half-ten. Then I walked back here.’

  ‘And what happened when you got home?’

  ‘When I came in, I noticed the house was oddly quiet. I couldn’t see or hear any sign of Vicky, so I called out to her. When there was no answer down here, I headed upstairs, but there was no sign of her. I couldn’t figure out where she could be, so I came back down and called her mobile, which started ringing nearby. I found it on the kitchen table and started to panic – she never went anywhere without her phone. And that’s when I spotted the back door was slightly ajar.’

  ‘And is that unusual?’

  Carpenter scoffed, ‘Around here? Too bloody right. We make a point of locking the doors and windows all the time. People are always getting burgled; it happened to us a few months ago – although they didn’t take much, just Vicky’s laptop.’

  Phillips continued ‘So what happened then?’

  ‘I went out to the garden to see if she was outside, but there was still no sign of her. That’s when I thought to check the garage, and found…’ Carpenter’s voice trailed off and tears streamed down his cheeks.

  ‘Did you touch Vicky at all?’

  Carpenter nodded. ‘I ran and grabbed her legs, trying to take the weight off her neck.’

  ‘And when did you call the police?’ asked Phillips.

  ‘Immediately. I had my phone in my pocket, so I called 999. I stayed with her, holding her legs, but it was no use. I could see she was already dead…but I couldn’t just leave her hanging there.’

  ‘I understand, Mr Carpenter,’ said Phillips. She allowed a moment of silence before she asked her next question. ‘Did Vicky ever talk about taking her own life?’

  Carpenter recoiled. ‘God, no. Never.’

  Phillips glanced sideways at Bovalino, who discreetly raised an eyebrow. She continued. ‘The uniformed sergeant told us that you think your wife was murdered. Why would you say that?’

  ‘Because there was no way she would kill herself. Not Vicky.’

  ‘You’re certain of that?’

  ‘One hundred percent,’ said Carpenter.

  ‘So she hadn’t shown any signs of being depressed of late…anxious, even?’

  ‘No. No. Not at all.’

  ‘Are you sure? Mental health can be a silent killer,’ said Phillips. ‘Many people feel the need to hide it when they’re struggling.’

  ‘She wasn’t struggling,’ said Carpenter firmly. ‘She was having the time of her life.’ His voice was acidic now.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  Carpenter swallowed hard and waved away the question. ‘Nothing. We just weren’t getting on very well of late, that’s all.’

  Phillips eyed him for a moment. ‘If your wife was murdered, Mr Carpenter, do you have any idea who might want to kill her?’

  Carpenter took a gulp from his glass, then shook his head. ‘No. I don’t.’

  ‘So what makes you so sure it wasn’t suicide?’

  ‘It’s just not something that Vicky would do. It wasn’t in her nature. She would consider killing herself as cowardly. She was a fighter, no matter what the issue.’

  Phillips watched Carpenter for a long moment, attempting to read his body language.

  Baxter entered the room. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Ma’am, but there’s someone here claiming to be Mr Carpenter’s sister.’

  ‘That’ll be Florence,’ said Carpenter. ‘I called her straight after I called you lot.’

  Phillips stood up from the chair. ‘Look, Mr Carpenter; as forensics may be here for some time, I think it might be best if you were to stay somewhere else tonight. Maybe you could stay with your sister?’

  Carpenter nodded, and Phillips smiled sympathetically. ‘In the meantime, I’m sorry to do this, but because you touched your wife, we’ll need to take a DNA swab and fingerprints. It’s purely for elimination purposes.’

  ‘Sure. Whatever you need.’

  ‘One of the forensic team will be in shortly to sort it all out. It’ll just take a minute, and then you can leave.’

  Carpenter’s tear-stained face oozed grief.

  ‘Get some rest, Mr Carpenter,’ said Phillips. ‘We’ll be in touch if we need to speak to you again.’

  Carpenter didn’t respond, instead taking another swig from his drink as he returned his gaze to the floor.

  ‘Bring Mr Carpenter’s sister in, Sergeant,’ said Phillips as she turned to face Baxter, ‘and ask forensics to take the samples they need as a matter of urgency so he can get out of here as soon as possible.’ Phillips turned back to face Carpenter. ‘Do you still have your ticket for the cricket?’

  Carpenter flinched, then locked eyes with Phillips.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your ticket. For tonight. Can I see it?’

  ‘Er, yes of course,’ he said, and pulled his wallet from his pocket and produced a large, folded ticket emblazoned with the three-lions branding. He passed it to Phillips.

  ‘Can I borrow it for a day or two?’

  Carpenter’s brow furrowed. ‘Why?’

  Phillips smiled flatly as she tapped the card against her fingers. ‘Just procedure.’

  Still confused, Carpenter nodded. ‘Keep it. It’s of no use to me now.’ He turned his attention back to his drink.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Phillips, and she and Bovalino made their way out of the room.

/>   A couple of minutes later, they were back outside the SOCO tent. ‘What do you make of his story then, Bov?’

  ‘He seems plausible enough, but like Evans said, it looks like a straightforward suicide. It’s not as if he had any alternative theories about why anyone would want to kill her.’

  ‘That’s true.’ Phillips nodded in the direction of the tent, where Victoria Carpenter’s body was being placed into a body bag. ‘I’ll head over to pathology in the morning with Jonesy and see what Chakrabortty has to say. While we do that, you and Entwistle see what you can find on Victoria and Aaron Carpenter. See if anything of interest pops up.’

  ‘Will do, Guv,’ said Bovalino.

  Phillips checked her watch. ‘Jesus. It’s almost one in the morning.’ She patted Bovalino’s thick shoulder with a warm smile. ‘You get yourself home to Izzie and I’ll go and see if my cat still loves me.’ She set off in the direction of her car.

  3

  Phillips took a seat in Dr Tanvi Chakrabortty’s office in the basement of the Manchester Royal Infirmary in the heart of the city. She placed a cardboard tray holding three cups on the desk in front of her, and handed Chakrabortty her usual: a steaming hot soy latte. For the next few minutes they passed the time of day like colleagues in any one of the glass office blocks that filled the Manchester skyline might do. The difference for Phillips and Chakrabortty was that their immediate task was to examine the body of Victoria Carpenter to ascertain her cause of death. Thankfully, like Phillips, Chakrabortty was an early riser. The post mortem had been scheduled for 8 a.m. However, with the time approaching 8.10 a.m., they were still waiting for Detective Sergeant Jones, Phillips’s right-hand man, to appear. He was ten minutes late, which wasn’t like him at all.