Blood Evidence Read online

  Copyright © 2019 by Rhiannon D’Averc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher / author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at the address below.

  Rhiannon D’Averc - www.rhiannondaverc.co.uk

  First Edition August 2019

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental, save where historical references are made to existing crime cases for illustrative purposes.

  Blood Evidence

  Serial Investigations 2

  By Rhiannon D’Averc

  ✽✽✽

  For two Js, who helped to motivate me and keep me on the right track; and whose support has been unwavering.

  ✽✽✽

  Contents

  Title Page

  1 – Ram

  Two - Will

  3 – Ram

  Four – Will

  5 – Ram

  Six – Will

  7 – Ram

  Eight – Will

  9 – Ram

  Ten – Will

  11 – Ram

  Twelve – Will

  13 – Ram

  Fourteen – Will

  15 – Ram

  Sixteen – Will

  17 – Ram

  Eighteen – Will

  19 – Ram

  Twenty – Will

  21 – Ram

  Twenty-two – Will

  23 – Ram

  Twenty-four – Will

  25 – Ram

  Twenty-six – Will

  27 – Ram

  Twenty-eight – Will

  29 – Ram

  Thirty – Will

  31 – Ram

  Thirty-two – Will

  33 – Ram

  Coda

  Read More

  1 – Ram

  Fuck. I should have snuck out last night before he woke up.

  If I have one rule, it’s never to get too involved. No calling them back, no dinner dates, no second round. I stay for the night, and then I leave.

  It’s just sex – nothing else.

  Because anything more than that would mean I was making an actual connection with someone, and I don’t want that. I don’t want to let anyone in. I don’t want to have to change my life around someone else’s. I don’t want to introduce them to my family or be emotionally vulnerable or tell them my deepest, darkest secret.

  But somehow, I seem to have accidentally broken my own rule. Because here I am, stuck in this guy’s apartment in East London, and he’s about to serve up breakfast.

  Breakfast is a meal, and that means that technically, this is our second date. Which in turn means that if I take a bite out of the pancakes he’s making, I am in serious trouble.

  I must have overslept this morning. I was planning on sneaking out before he woke up – one of my usual tricks. But my head is heavy, no doubt linked in a non-coincidental way to the copious amounts of alcohol I drank last night. When I opened my eyes, I was alone in his bedroom.

  I crept around getting dressed in yesterday’s clothes, thinking he might be in the bathroom and I could still make an escape. But when I snuck out into the living room, there he was – standing in the open-plan kitchen with a spatula and an apron.

  There are circumstances when that get-up could potentially invoke excitement, but this is not one of them.

  “Do you want jam?” he asks now, cheerily. “I’ve got strawberry and cherry. Or there’s always maple syrup. I’ve got lemon juice and sugar if you want them the classic way.”

  I shudder. The thought of eating something that sweet with the way that my stomach feels this morning is almost unbearable.

  “Plain is fine,” I say. “Have you got any coffee?”

  At least if I’m going to be forced to sit through this, I’m going to take the one thing my brain actually needs.

  “Of course,” he chirrups, practically springing across to a machine nestled on the other end of the counter. “What do you prefer? I’ve got decaf, espresso, cappuccino, macchiato, mocha, hot chocolate -”

  “Cappuccino is fine,” I say, cutting him off before he has the chance to launch into song.

  “Your wish is my command,” he says, giving me a sickly-sweet smile as he presses a few buttons on the coffee machine. It whirs into life, a blessed wall of noise that momentarily cuts us off.

  The pancakes smell so good that my stomach is growling, but this could be my chance. His back is to me, and the sound of the coffee machine hides my footsteps. I get up and head across the room, my eyes fixed on the door.

  “Oh, that’s so sweet of you,” he says, whirling around and pressing a couple of forks into my hands. “Here, you can put these out.”

  For the briefest moment of time, I consider stabbing the forks into his arm and running out. On closer inspection, however, the tines appear to be fairly blunt. Just my fucking luck.

  I turn on my heel and lay out the forks on a small table wedged between the kitchen and the living room sofa. I’m not sure why exactly I do it, but there’s a certain obedience brought on by the shock of being handed forks out of the blue.

  I consider the table, which is a jaunty shade of yellow. I take a deep breath and turn around, only to discover him standing just inches away from me. It takes all my willpower not to jump back and yelp.

  “Pancakes are up!” he trills.

  I glance down at his hands, each holding a plate of pancakes.

  “Great,” I say weakly.

  “Sit down, sit down,” he urges, putting the plates on the table and ushering me towards one of the chairs.

  I sit, not really knowing what else there is to do.

  “Tuck in,” he says. “No need to stand on ceremony.”

  I lift up the hated fork and reluctantly take a bite of the first pancake. It’s fluffy and soft, and absolutely delicious. God fucking damnit.

  “Don’t forget your coffee!” he says.

  I pick it up and take a sip, almost burning my tongue on the heat. I feel like a child.

  “So I was thinking, it’s such lovely weather, we should head out to the park later,” he says.

  I feel a rising sense of panic.

  This is what happens when you go on a second date. Plans are made for you. This is what you let yourself in for when you break the golden rule.

  “It’s so lucky that it’s Saturday. We have the whole weekend to spare,” he says happily.

  “Oh,” I say.

  Well.

  This is not good.

  “Actually,” I say, hit by a sudden bolt of inspiration. “I work Saturdays.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes,” I proclaim, growing more confident in my lie. “Every week.”

  “That’s funny,” he said. “I thought with you being self-employed, you’d run your own hours.”

  I hesitate. “Well, yes,” I say. How does he know I’m self-employed?

  “With you being a celebrity detective and all, you can skip a couple of days of work when you want to, can’t you?”

  I almost choke on my pancake. Now I’m almost certain I didn’t discuss my career with him.

  “Celebrity detective?” I repeat, cautiously.

  “Well, you were on the news, weren’t you?” he says. “I read about you. You helped catch that s
erial killer who was dissecting half of Soho.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “You read about me?”

  “You’re an easy guy to recognise,” he says, looking me up and down with a suggestive smirk. “Not to mention, being the son of Matthias Rakktersen – I mean, you’ve got the family look.”

  Has he been stalking me or something? I mean, sure, dear old Dad is famous – being an iconic rock star means you’ll always get a certain amount of attention in the press – but I’m hardly as well-known.

  This is really not good.

  “Well, as it turns out, I have to go where the work calls,” I begin. “See, when there’s an investigation on, you can’t make it wait.”

  “Oh, right!” he grins. “But you’re fine for now, since you’re between cases. You told me that last night.”

  I clear my throat. This is so, so not good.

  My phone rings in my pocket, the vibration a welcome distraction. This better not be a PPI scam. In fact, even if it is, I might stoop to having an actual conversation with them.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me. Where are you?”

  Oh, thank fuck. Will’s voice is like a choir of angels. I’m saved. “Will! Why, do you need me to get back to the office?”

  “We don’t have an office,” Will says. “We work out of our living room.”

  “Right, right. Well, I can maybe make it in twenty minutes if I leave now.”

  “I didn’t even say yes,” Will says.

  “No, if it’s an emergency, I’ll be there,” I say, standing up from the table and making apologetic gestures at my host. “Crime waits for no man, I guess.”

  He makes a sad face at me. It looks like he’s melting. Then he brightens up, and rushes over to the kitchen again.

  I’ve made it to the door when he catches up with me. Will is making confused noises into my ear while I carry on our pretend conversation. I’m almost out of there when he hands me a piece of paper, arresting my departure with an out-thrust arm.

  It’s his name and number.

  Fantastic.

  I flash him an encouraging grin and a thumbs up, then dart out of the door. I’m down the stairs and out of the communal lobby before he can so much as shout anything after me.

  “Ugh, Will baby, you saved me again,” I say. “Crazy guy wouldn’t let me out of there. He was making pancakes and coffee and plans to go to parks.”

  “How inhospitable of him,” Will says drily.

  “It was awful,” I confirm. “So anyway, what’s up?”

  “Well, as it happens, we actually do have a case,” Will says. “A client called this morning to set up a meeting.”

  “Oh, great. When is it?”

  “In thirty minutes. I hope you weren’t lying about how far away you are.”

  “There may have been some low-level deception in order to prevent him from finding out where we actually live,” I grimace. “I might make it if I get lucky with the Tube.”

  “I thought you already got lucky last night.”

  “You’re on fire,” I congratulate him. “What did you have for breakfast?”

  There’s a slight pause on the other end of the line. Fuck. What a stupid joke to make. He probably didn’t have anything at all, and now he’s trying to work out what lie to tell me.

  “Witty-bix,” he says, at length.

  “Ouch,” I wince. “That was painful. Look, I’m going into the station. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “I’ll get things started if you’re late,” he says. “See you soon.”

  “See you soon, Will,” I say, with genuine excitement.

  It’s been a while since we had a really interesting case. I mean, sure, the publicity from helping the police catch our local serial killer did kick off some new leads, but they’re mostly on the scale of petty theft and cheating spouses. Not exactly meaty fare.

  And even though I have no reason to hope that this might be anything different, there’s still a chance that it could be. That puts enough of a spring in my step as I head down to the platform that I don’t even mind about the hangover headache gripping my entire forehead.

  Two - Will

  I was pacing the room by the time he got back. Before I heard the sound of his key turning in the door, I was already rushing over to grab the handle and let him in. I always knew when he was coming. I recognised the sound of his boots in the hall.

  “You’re only just in time,” I said, shutting the door behind him and hurrying him inside. “She’ll be here any minute.”

  “Well, I’m here now,” Ram said, shrugging off my panic. “You can relax.”

  “You may be here, but you’re not presentable,” I tutted. “You look like you spent the night in a brewery. Or should that be smell?”

  Ram lifted the front of his shirt to his nose and sniffed it. “Yeah, well, someone poured a fucking beer on me, didn’t they? He was lucky I was on a promise, or I’d have had something to say about it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “More like he was lucky you were too drunk to tell which one of him was the culprit,” I said. “Get changed. And brush your teeth while you’re at it.”

  “Yes, mum,” Ram said, ambling off to his room with frustrating slowness.

  I watched the time slowly move forward in digital numbers on my phone screen, trying to swallow down my anxiety. I hated looking unprofessional. Something instilled in me by my adoptive father, Ambassador Wallace: always be on time, courteous, do the job right. If Ram wasn’t ready before she arrived, I’d be furious with him.

  But luckily for him, she was late, too. Ten minutes past our appointed meeting time, she sent me a text that she was five minutes away. I groaned, causing Ram to raise his eyebrows at me.

  “She’s still on the way,” I said.

  “So all that panic was for nothing,” Ram said, in his smuggest possible tone. “I didn’t need to rush at all.”

  I glared at him. Even with the fact that he had been out late and was undoubtedly hungover, he still managed to look perfect. Even his hair, which would have been described as greasy on anyone else, managed to fall into the exact perfect formation. He just looked like a rock star. Like he always did.

  Then again, since his father used to be an actual rock star, maybe there was a reason for it.

  The intercom buzzer for the front door rang and I hurried up to answer it. I pressed the button to let our client in, rather than waiting to talk to her. Through the speaker I heard the door open and close, and started straightening my shirt, making sure I looked presentable.

  The sound of heels clicking across the floor out in the corridor had us both pricking our ears up. She knocked, and I rushed to let her in.

  “Miss Walters,” I said, stepping aside to gesture her towards the living room. “Please.”

  I watched her walk across the floor and settle into one of our armchairs, sitting forward with her legs crossed. She was stunning. She must have been almost six feet tall, dressed in a long beige overcoat and black stiletto heels. I briefly and stupidly wondered if the September weather wasn’t cold on her bare legs. She took off a pair of oversized sunglasses to reveal a finely chiselled and contoured face, framed by a dark bob that curved around her cheeks perfectly.

  “Thank you so much for agreeing to see me on short notice,” she said. Her voice was clear and controlled, though soft. The kind of voice that made you strain to hear it, though you heard every word. “William, wasn’t it?”

  “And Julius,” Ram said, patting his own chest to indicate who he meant. “You made out like this was a matter of some urgency on the phone?”

  A matter of some urgency? Since when did Ram talk like he actually had an education? I watched him watching her, feeling strange. It wasn’t as though I could get jealous over how he felt about a woman. I mean, the man was gay. It wouldn’t even make sense for him to be attracted to her. And yet, it did sound like he was turning on the charm.

  “Yes, I’m afraid it is,” Miss Walters said. She l
ooked up and waited for me to take my seat before continuing. “It’s my fiancé, Ray. I’m extremely worried about him. He’s been missing for a week.”

  “And have you been in contact with the police?” I asked, picking up a small notebook from the table and starting to make notes.

  “Yes, of course,” she said, as if I had accused her of negligence. “They haven’t been any help.”

  “Who’s running the missing persons investigation?” Ram asked.

  “No one,” she said, sniffling a little. Her bow-shaped, full lips twisted downwards. “They called off the search yesterday.”

  “Why is that?” I asked, sitting forward. This was starting to raise the hair on the back of my neck. I couldn’t explain why, but I just had some kind of feeling.

  “Well,” she sniffed again, reaching into the pocket of her coat and drawing out a tissue. “They found him.”

  Ram and I exchanged a look. In the silence that followed, she blew her nose delicately, and blinked moisture back out of her eyes.

  “They found him?” Ram repeated, as if checking he had heard correctly.

  “Yes, or they say they did,” Miss Walters said. “He called them, actually. Told them he was down in Kent and hadn’t realised he had caused any alarm. Then he presented himself at a police station, so they called off the search.”

  Ram leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. “Miss Walters, please forgive me. I’m struggling to see the problem. If he’s been found, then surely you don’t need us?”

  “But that’s just it,” she said, her voice rising in pitch. “He’s not there. I went to Kent, I went to exactly where they said he was. He wasn’t there. I called him over and over and his phone is never turned on. The hotel said they had never seen him. He’s just gone.”

  “Miss Walters,” I said, trying to be delicate. “It seems as though… Ray, is it?”

  “Ray Riley,” she confirmed, dabbing the tissue under her eyes.

  “It seems as though Ray doesn’t want you to find him. Would that be fair to say?”

  “Not at all!” she burst out, almost making me drop my pen. “He’s not like this. He’s a kind, gentle man. He wouldn’t leave me without a word. Something’s going on here. He’s in trouble of some kind, I just know it!”