Remorseless: A British Crime Thriller (Doc Powers & D.I. Carver Investigate #1) Read online

  Remorseless

  A British Crime Thriller

  (Doc Powers & D.I. Carver Investigate #1)

  by

  Will Patching

  ***

  Copyright 2015 Will Patching

  The right of Will Patching to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, and incidents in this publication are the product of the author’s imagination. Real organisations and places are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  ***

  Publishing history

  This edition of Remorseless has been rewritten based on reader and professional editor feedback. Originally published in paperback by TimeFrame Books, Asia in 2006.

  Available in eBook and Paperback

  Audiobook format available January 2016

  ***

  From online reviews of Remorseless:

  ‘A tale of twisted minds, psychopathic planning and dark moods.’

  ‘I always felt like I was reading with my hands over my eyes, sort of peeking through my fingers, cringing at what I knew was coming next...’

  ‘…this one is not for the lily livered...’

  ‘...if you like your books gritty, dark with complex characters and a plot that takes you with it to the grand finale then you will enjoy this...’

  ‘...a build up in tension as the book rolls along and some twists that will put a big smile on your face...’

  ‘You think you see where this is going… wrong!’

  ‘...a really enjoyable read.’

  You can read the full online reviews these quotes were taken from at Goodreads.com or on good online retailers’ sites.

  To find out more, or for notification of other novels by this author, please head to the website below. You can register for free author giveaways here too!

  You can also hear the author narrate the opening pages of the Audiobook at:

  www.remorselessthriller.com

  For Joanna

  ***

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Part One - Crime and Punishment

  Part Two - Retribution

  Part Three - Redemption

  Epilogue - A Life After Death

  Author’s Comments and Acknowledgements

  Quotes - From Real Life Psychopaths

  Mutilated - Will’s new British Crime Thriller coming soon

  The Hack - Read Chapter One of Will’s fast paced international crime thriller!

  Readers Group - Find out how you can receive your FREE COPY of The Hack in 2016!

  Prologue

  Peter Leech leaned on the railing and surveyed his kingdom from his vantage point on the top level. His cell was on this floor, the third, and he often stood here as he had no desire to join the sweaty throng in the common ‘association’ area below.

  The screws are such lazy bastards, he thought as he watched three of them chatting, huddled, largely ignoring the forty or so inmates socialising around them. The fat slugs, don’t like climbing stairs unless forced to. He snorted, disdainful but grateful that they only ever bugged his floor when they had to.

  His green eyes roved through the bodies, hunting his prey. Cochran. The man watched the TV, giggling like a little girl at some pathetic cartoon. Leech squeezed the cast iron railing, knuckles threatening to burst the skin from the force of his grip.

  Come to me, you lanky faggot. Come and dance with the Snake. If you dare.

  Eventually Cochran glanced up and their eyes locked. Cochran spoke to the two men sitting next to him, and they too looked up.

  Leech ignored them, his attention on Cochran, all his venom focussed on the big convict. Cochran lifted his hand, swept his fingers across his Adam’s apple in a chopping motion, and mouthed, You’re dead.

  The Snake continued to hold its prey with its eyes, challenging until the man rose and swaggered to the stairs. He took the steps two at a time, his gaze breaking from Leech only to confirm his two mates were behind him. The flunkies followed, but less eager. Reluctant even.

  Cowards.

  Leech realised Cochran was unaware how tardy his cronies were being as he clambered up the iron stairs, his soft trainers barely making a sound.

  Leech’s peripheral vision was excellent, and though he was fixated on Cochran, he was aware that the guards were still engrossed, oblivious to the burgeoning conflict. Some cons sensed a fight was brewing, but only a few of them dared to gaze up at the protagonists.

  Cochran reached the flight below, and grinned as he bounded up the last dozen steps, enthusiastic now, clearly confident that Leech was about to take a beating.

  Leech was in a zone beyond fear or elation. He was intent only on his prey. His brain computed, calculated and he struck.

  Cochran had almost reached the top step, his right leg mid-air, searching for purchase, his rear leg stretched two steps below, powering him upwards. Perfectly unbalanced and moving fast.

  The Snake was faster.

  Leech leapt towards Cochran, a blur of limbs, connecting with his target at a forty-five degree angle. His electric speed, combined with the weight and power of his athlete’s body, delivered a pile-driving punch so swift Cochran had no chance of avoiding impact. This fearsome mass of energy was concentrated and delivered in a bone-splintering blow that connected with Cochran’s temple.

  The force literally sent the big man flying. Leech continued moving past the top of the stairs as his victim flipped over the handrail, bounced off the edge of the suicide netting, and plunged backwards down the stairwell, his body hurtling past his two comrades.

  Leech was still in the killing zone, everything around him seemingly in slow motion as he speed-walked away, watching Cochran floating earthward, startled, spread-eagled, face-up, mouthing a garbled scream.

  He slammed into the first floor landing head first, tumbled down another flight of metal stairs and smashed onto the concrete floor with a resounding thud.

  Silence.

  And then the roar and near riot as the prisoners realised what had happened. The screws, one blowing a whistle signalling the alarm, scurried to Cochran’s corpse, the blood already pooling round his ruined skull.

  Leech, standing several metres beyond the stairway, his back to his own cell, arms folded on the railing, nonchalantly observed the goings on. He was detached. Not a hint of concern anywhere in his consciousness. Intrigued at what would happen now. Nothing more than a curious spectator.

  Warders were flooding the floor below, rounding the men up to return them to their cells – early lock up was inevitable. Diarmud was with them, seemed to take it all in with a glance, spotted Leech. His voice whiplashed through the pandemonium. ‘What the hell happened here, Leech?’

  Silence, again. Ten seconds passed as Leech eyed the Chief Warder. Then he grinned and shrugged.

  ‘I’m not sure Mister Dire Mud. I think maybe he dived down the stairwell head first. Didn’t have him pegged as a suicide but you never can tell, can ya?’ He pointed at Cochran’s two henchmen, dithering on the stairs, visibly unsure what to do now their leader was gone. ‘Ask Headless and Chicken there. They were right behind him. Must’ve seen it all.’

  The two cons glanced between themselves, at Leech and then the warder, neither wanting to be first to speak. Snake eyes held them as they considered how to respond.

  Diarmud yelled at them. ‘Well? What happened? The truth. Now...�
��

  ‘He just dived off Mister Diarmud...’

  ‘Yeah, we was follerin him up and he just jumped when he reached the top, like...’

  A wag from the floor below quipped, ‘Maybe he thought he could fly sir. Him doin bird an all.’

  Then another, quick to respond added, ‘Nah mate. He just forgot to strap on his fucking hang-glider!’

  The cons started laughing and joshing, more facetious comments flew.

  Diarmud, his authority sapping, screeched, ‘Lock up! Now. Move...’

  The cons were shepherded away, while Leech continued his vigil, well satisfied with the mayhem he had created.

  Diarmud climbed to his level. ‘Get in your cell Leech.’ The warder’s face was scarlet, his neck pulsating, threatening to burst his collar. ‘I’ll be talking to you very shortly.’

  Leech shrugged. ‘I’m looking forward to it Mister Dire... Mud. You should get your blood pressure checked. Look a bit stressed, if you don’t mind me saying.’ His smirk firmly in place, he turned and sauntered into his cell.

  ***

  Part One: Crime and Punishment

  ‘Hi Doc. Come on in and take a seat. How are you?’ The Judge peered over his half-moon glasses and twitched an eyebrow at him.

  Doctor Colin Powers scraped the chair back and plopped his wide rear end onto it. He surveyed the chaos of the Judge’s desk, gazed at his boss for a few seconds too long, and said, ‘I’m okay. Little steps. You know?’ He smiled, the muscles working hard to remember the movements before fading back to their neutral position.

  ‘Sure?’ Those beady eyes hooked him like a fish. Doc wriggled, unwilling to share how he truly felt.

  ‘Yup. I’m good Judge. Ready and willing.’ He shifted his focus, tried to change the subject by eyeing the stacks of papers piled on the mahogany desk. ‘Looks like you could use some help.’

  Judge Potter scrutinised him for a moment longer, then sighed. ‘We’re reckoning on one thousand oral parole hearings this year, as well as several thousand recalls. I’m swamped Colin.’ He waved his hand over the mounds of documents. ‘The Home Secretary expects us to do the job regardless. The team’s working flat out and we’re still falling behind.’

  Doc Powers could see the weight on his boss’s shoulders, a sagging that had not been there just a few months before. Once again Doc wondered how his old friend, now sixty-seven, coped with the pace and pressure of a job that would probably outdo most men half his age. Still, he thought, despite the lines and unhealthy pallor of the Judge’s skin, the eyes twinkled with intellect. His sardonic smile was an acknowledgement that the job was never really going to get to him. Doc knew the Judge loved it.

  The current Chairman of the Parole Board for England and Wales had, until three years before, been an eminent high court judge, recognised as one of the sharpest minds in the legal profession. He was well respected for his measured judgements and there had even been talk of him becoming a Lord, eventually perhaps Lord Chief Justice.

  Yet his boss was also a man with charisma, Doc thought as he watched the Judge root through some files. Enough to woo him away from the offer of a professorship at Cambridge to become his Vice Chairman.

  Doc had taken to the job with enthusiasm. At least, until three months ago... His shoulders shuddered at the thought. Fortunately the Judge did not notice, his head was down and his hands were burrowing in the mounds of documents, hunting an elusive file.

  ‘I’m glad you’re back. We’ve got a mandatory lifer hearing coming up and I want you involved – that is if you’re ready to get back in the stirrups?’ Again the eyebrow flickered, the sharp blue eyes skewering Doc.

  ‘Definitely.’ He thought it sounded convincing. ‘What have we got?’

  ‘It’s in two weeks. You may remember the case. Both you and I were involved in it.’ The Judge proffered a folder.

  Doc noticed his own rumpled sleeve as he reached across, wondering how he could have forgotten to iron his shirt before meeting with his immaculately turned out boss. He shunted the thought aside even as he realised the Judge’s obvious concern was heightened by his appearance. Christ, he thought, I don’t even remember brushing my hair. He thrust his left hand over his scalp, the fingers combing, struggling to control the unruly curls, feeling stale grease there. Jesus. He focussed on the file.

  The name on the cover rang vague bells for him. Peter Leech? The Judge, though apparently ignoring his unkempt appearance, clearly wanted a positive response. Eyes like laser lights probed Doc for some sign of recognition.

  ‘Sorry Judge. Give me a minute?’ He dropped his eyes to the folder, concentrating hard on the sparse summary there. After reading for a few moments realisation hit him. ‘I was the consulting psychiatrist. At the trial. One of my first cases.’

  Doc looked up, saw the Judge nodding, smiling. Relieved. ‘Go on.’

  He glanced at the notes, but got little help there. Slowly his brain started to unfreeze. The case should have been memorable enough. The teenager had murdered his parents. And now he was eligible for parole.

  Doc subconsciously massaged the livid pink scar on his forehead as he racked his brain for more. Why was he struggling to remember? Was it the fog of time? No, he thought, frustrated as he fumbled around his ravaged memory.

  Justice Potter puffed out his cheeks as he contemplated his subordinate, then said, ‘If you need more time before returning to work Doc I’ll understand.’

  ‘No!’ Leech. Dammit, I know you, he thought, as the vision of a surly teenager finally surfaced in his mind. ‘I remember the case.’

  His boss sighed, relaxed back in his seat. ‘Go on.’

  ‘The defence claimed temporary insanity and the lad tried to convince everyone he had no memory of the murders. I assessed him.’ The facts of the case spilled into his mind as if a clumsy brute had upended a foul concoction, saturating his brain. ‘A nasty piece of work. Clinical psychopath. Extreme. I had no doubt he remembered everything. He could lie though, very convincingly, and he displayed no feelings of guilt. But definitely sane. He’d just turned eighteen when he killed his parents. Right?’

  The Judge nodded again, then added, ‘Sane?’ The eyes smiled. ‘I thought that was something for a judge and jury to determine.’

  Doc’s rusty muscles tried to respond, grimacing instead of returning a smile. ‘Of course. In my professional opinion, he could tell the difference between right and wrong. Legally I think that makes him bad rather than mad.’

  ‘Yes, which is why I sentenced him accordingly. He’s due parole. I want Judy Finch to interview him tomorrow.’

  ‘She’s new, I haven’t even met her. Is she up to it boss?’

  ‘I believe she is. I know she lacks experience but she’s keen, sharp, resilient and very fair-minded. I’ve asked her to report on Leech prior to his hearing. Can you meet up with her tomorrow for lunch? Give her some tips. She’ll meet Leech in the afternoon.’

  ‘No problem. What do you need me to do?’

  ‘It’s her first parolee interview. We need all the information we can get in a case like this. Frankly, if it weren’t for the Home Secretary’s cuts I would do more of them. But costs rule these days.’ Doc saw stress flit across his boss’s face for a moment. Then it was gone. Back to business. The Judge patted the files in front of him. ‘All these criminals were deemed dangerous, but some more than others. As ever, our first priority is to ensure they are no longer a danger so that – ’

  ‘We can release them,’ Doc interrupted. ‘And save the government around a thousand pounds for every week of sentence unserved.’

  ‘So that we can help them re-integrate with society Doc.’ The Judge flipped off his glasses and hard stared his colleague. ‘We don’t need cynicism. We need you thinking straight.’

  ‘Sorry boss.’ Doc felt his cheeks flush. ‘The girl. Judy Finch?’

  Muscles bunched in the Judge’s jaw. ‘She is not a girl. She’s over thirty years old, has a Masters in Sociology, is a Home Office
high-flyer, fast-tracked for promotion, and she is a single mother too...’

  Doc recoiled in shock. Surely the Judge had not meant to stab him in the heart by emphasising the word mother? He shook the thought away, though he knew it would fester and revisit him later when he was alone. He swallowed hard. ‘It’s just a figure of speech.’

  ‘One I don’t like. She has been an absolute godsend, standing in for you while you’ve been on extended sick leave.’

  ‘Sorry boss. Again. I’ll help her as best I can.’ He felt like a schoolboy in the headmaster’s study.

  ‘You’ve over twenty years experience interviewing violent offenders and murderers. It’s her first time. Give her some pointers in how to deal with Leech. But do not prejudice her views. She’s there to hear from Leech. An impartial ear. Clear?’

  ‘Sure Judge.’

  ‘And I want you on the panel for the oral hearing.’

  ‘What? I can’t.’ Things were moving too fast now and Doc was teetering on the brink.

  ‘Why on earth not?’

  Doc scrabbled around in his mind for a reason, though in reality he just wasn’t ready. ‘Well, I was involved in the case.’ He tried another almost smile. ‘I’m not exactly impartial am I?’

  ‘Do you stand by your professional opinion of eighteen years ago?’

  ‘Of course – ’

  ‘Exactly. There is no conflict of interest.’ The Judge smiled. ‘Don’t worry. Any forensic psychiatrist on the team would take account of your views from the trial, in the same way the panel will take account of mine in my summing up, along with my comments from the sentencing hearing. Then they’ll make their decision whether Leech should be freed.’ It seemed to Doc that Potter’s eyes shone with a hint of zealotry as he added, ‘British justice is the best in the world. So let’s make sure we’re up to it. Call me after you’ve met Judy.’

  The Judge dipped his head to read more papers and Doc realised he was dismissed. He scuffed his chair back and muttered, ‘Good night Judge.’