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Diamond Crime Books Ltd - Jennifer Lee Thomson

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161 pages

English

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A killer is stalking victims on Glasgow's streets. Men are being abducted, tied up, force-fed, then strangled and their livers removed. DI Duncan Waddell is facing his most bizarre case yet. Meanwhile, his best friend and colleague Stevie, is comatose in Intensive Care. But talking to him, and only him. A career criminal comes forward claiming he was targeted by the killer but managed to get away. Is this the breakthrough the team needs? Is this witness a genuine link to the disturbing madness of the case?

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Thriller

Informations

Publié par	Diamond Crime Books Ltd
Date de parution	28 septembre 2022
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781915649232
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jennifer almost lost a hand when she found a stray scalpel in a doctor’s coat whilst working in a hospital laundry. She’s had various other jobs, including working as a film extra and board game inventor.

As well as being a football and human-interest writer, she’s also written several self-help books.

Obsessed with unsolved crimes like the identity of Glasgow serial killer Bible John, she naturally gravitated towards writing crime fiction. Her current muse is huge rescue dog Harley.

Butcher City is the second book in the Detective in Coma books featuring DI Waddell who’s worried he’s losing his mind when his partner Stevie who’s in a coma starts talking to him, but no one else can hear him.

The first book in the series, Vile City won the Scottish Association of Writers’ Pitlochry Quaich award for a first crime novel.
Published in Great Britain in 2022
By Diamond Crime

ISBN 978-1-915649-23-2

Copyright © 2022 Jennifer Lee Thomson

The right of Jennifer Lee Thomson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Diamond Crime is an imprint of Diamond Books Ltd.

Thanks to…
The guys at Diamond Books for being such a delight to work with.
I needed insight and they’ve got it in spades.

To everyone who helped get this book out, including William Lothian and JacksonBone for the wonderful cover.

Cover photo: William Lothian
www.glasgownightphotography.com

Book cover design:
jacksonbone.co.uk

And coming soon to Diamond Books:
Detective in a Coma
Volume Three
Vigilante City

For information about Diamond Crime authors and their books, visit:
www.diamondbooks.co.uk

Dedicated to
To my late dad for always believing in me. Some lights shine brightly no matter where they are.
My mum Rosemary for kicking off my love of books when I joined the library aged three.
To John for putting up with me and all of the idiosyncrasies that come with living with a writer, like standing outside in the freezing cold, in the snow as I finished writing that last chapter.
To huge rescue hound Harley for always being happy to see me.
To the late Barbara Hammond from Writers’ Umbrella for giving me the best news possible when she told me Vile City had won an award. She was as excited as I was.

BUTCHER
CITY
Volume Two: Detective in a Coma

Jennifer Lee Thomson

Chapter ONE

His head felt like a whoopee cushion somebody with a huge, fat arse had sat on. And what the hell was that smell? Had someone taken a giant dump and left it to rot in the pan?
Warily, he opened his eyes. Which wasn’t easy because they were gunged up with sleep. His head was sore enough without letting light in, but he had to see where he was.
Gradually his surroundings came into focus. He was lying on a mattress on a stone floor, in a room with bare brick walls, and strip lighting. In the far corner, there was a barber’s chair. Located nearby was the source of the stench, a plastic bucket. He didn’t need to inspect it to know it was full of shit.
Was it his shit? Not remembering how he got here made anything possible.
Only shit smells like shit, his old man used to say (before he suffocated on his own vomit after a two-day bender).
His legs were numb. As much as the marching band in his head made him want to remain lying down, he needed to get the blood flowing in his legs or he’d end up with cramp.
He managed to sit up. Gave the tops of his legs a wee rub to try and get the circulation going. That’s when he clocked the chains around his ankles. He followed the chain to a bolt embedded in the wall. When he pulled with both hands there was no give at all.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Where the hell was he? And more to the point, who the fuck was he? He couldn’t even remember his name. Had he been hit over the head? That’d explain the pain and the dizziness.
What was the last thing he remembered? Knowing that would be a start.
Think. Think. Think.
He’d a quick flash of someone grabbing some guy’s shoulder bag with a laptop inside. Dozy clown had been too busy sipping his fancy coffee to notice it’d been snatched.
How the hell would he know that? He must have taken it. But how could he remember stealing that bag and not even know his freaking name? Was he concussed or drugged?
He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a thin denim jacket on top. Rummaging through the pockets, he found a few bookies’ receipts and one for petrol, so he must have a motor somewhere. That was one more thing he knew about himself than he’d known a minute ago.
In the back pocket of the jeans, his hand closed around a plastic card. A gym membership card in the name Dennis Kincaid. Maybe that was who he was?
Think. Think. Think.
Someone had put him in this cellar and chained him up. And that person could be coming back any minute, in through that door with the keypad that he couldn’t get to because these bloody chains stopped him from moving any further.
He was scouring the floor, frantically searching for something to defend himself when the door beeped and then clicked.
Fists balled, he hauled himself to his feet, bracing himself for what was coming. Despite the dizziness, he managed to stay upright. A guy in a Freddy Krueger mask came in through the door. He almost laughed. Had to be a wind-up.
“Is this a joke?” His words were a rasp.
The guy advanced towards him. There was a flash and his whole body convulsed. The bastard had Tasered him.
As he writhed about on the floor, the guy spoke. “Listen carefully. Do what I say and I’ll let you leave. Try to fight me and you’re dead. Deviate in any way from my instructions and you’re dead.”
He listened as the stranger made his offer.

Chapter TWO

“You’re not going to believe who claims he’s been kidnapped.”
DS Jim Henry had found Waddell in the canteen with DC Brian McKeith. Just as he was folding a chocolate wrapper and considering having a second biscuit with his tea despite his wife’s orders for him to cut down.
“Okay, Jim. Hit me with it.”
Henry’s face was stern. “Aye, but before I tell you remember I’m not one for jokes.”
“Aye, right enough,” said Waddell. Henry was a serious, church-going man.
“Kevin Drummond.”
Waddell’s face twitched. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What’s he playing at?” He took a moment to think, eyed Henry, then said, “Is there any chance this is legit?”
Henry nodded. “He claimed he was chained up in a cellar. He’s got chain marks on his ankles and Taser burns on his torso.”
Waddell whistled through his teeth. “Any kidnapper’s scraping the bottom of the barrel with him. Maybe it’s some kind of insurance or compensation scam.”
“Could be. Knowing Drummond anything’s possible. But we still have to investigate.”
Waddell sighed. “Aye, we do. Okay, give me the specifics.”
Henry told him Drummond had been found outside a city hospital in one of the loading bays, He was unconscious, with a big lump on his head. When he regained consciousness, he began gibbering away about a man in a Freddy Krueger mask, whilst insisting he was called Dennis Kincaid. The hospital A & E department knew Drummond well – he’d been in enough times trying to score recreational drugs.
The uniform who dealt with Drummond ran the name through the police database and got a match. Kincaid’s laptop bag was stolen while he was drinking his coffee at Central Station. The description of the thief matched Kevin Drummond who’d steal his granny’s false teeth for a plasma telly. He was an opportunistic thief, or as Waddell unofficially called him, a slippery, thieving bastard.
Waddell shook his head. He’d thought he’d heard enough convoluted stories but this was something special.
“If we assume he’s lying about it all, why would he pretend to be someone else and stage his own kidnapping? And if he is telling the truth, why would anyone take him? Drummond’s strictly a user of drugs and not a seller, so there’s nobody further up the food chain to come after him. If he owed somebody money, they’d have tortured him first with a cordless drill to send a message.”
Glasgow’s drug pedlars knew how to keep their customers in line.
“Maybe it was a case of mistaken identity,” Henry suggested. “He was carrying another man’s gym card.”
It was obvious to Waddell. “Could be.” He paused for a moment. “Okay, Jim, let’s go. You’ve got the patience of a saint and we’ll need it with Drummond.”
He noticed McKeith’s down in the mouth expression at not being asked to join them.

* * *

Waddell found Drummond in a private room with a huge comedy bandage on his head, and a glaikit expression that if you didn’t know him, would look like his face had frozen when he’d been constipated.
“Hello, Kevin. That’s some bandage you’ve got here.”
Drummond’s gormless expression remained. “ Why do people keep calling me that? My name’s not Kevin Drummond. It’s Dennis Kincaid, bud. Says so on my gym card.”
Waddell blew out some air. “Kevin, the photo the gym has on file looks nothing like you.”
Drummond squinted as though he couldn’t believe Waddell was saying that.
The DI turned to Jim Henry, who’d come in after speaking to the nurse. “Is the doc still convinced he’s suffering from some form of amnesia?”
“Aye, she said it wa