London's Psycho Cyclist (Vance And Shepherd Mysteries Book 5)

Book summary

In "London's Psycho Cyclist," a thrilling tale unfolds as detectives Vance and Shepherd investigate a series of cyclist killings. Their prime suspects are an architect, Damian Devenish, and his wife, whose motives for violence stem from a deep-seated desire to punish society. As Devenish ascends to a high political position, the detectives' suspicions intensify, especially when a drone device triggers unexploded WWII bombs. The story races towards a tense climax, leaving readers wondering if Vance and Shepherd can thwart Devenish's vengeful plan.

Excerpt from London's Psycho Cyclist (Vance And Shepherd Mysteries Book 5)

His grandfather told him that the line between bravery and cowardice was very thin, and he should have known because he was a Great War hero, having won the Military Medal twice.

This theory helped Damian, an introverted, shy child, to understand the domestic violence he witnessed when he was an infant. There must be a thin line between a hero, in this case, his father, and a coward—the same person. From the top of the staircase, he had cringed while his father shouted obscenities, split his mother’s lip, and blackened her eye. His hitherto perfect home life shattered like a mirror falling onto a stone floor. His carefree childlike logic couldn’t process what he had seen, nor would it accept his tearful mother’s explanation that ‘mummy and daddy were playing a silly game’. He did not believe her. How could it be so if that was her blood trickling at the side of her mouth, and what about the ugly red swelling on her poor cheekbone? How she flinched when he tried to kiss her better! As for his father, the previous unblemished hero in his life, the slammed front door and the bellowed “I’m going to the Victoria Vaults,” leaving behind a sobbing wife and trembling little boy brought more than seven years’ bad luck—more like forty years of bottled rage.

Happily, Damian Devenish did not witness another such scene as he went serenely through his school years. Rarely, he overheard strong words between his parents, and each time on the following day, he studied his mother’s features and bearing to make sure she was alright. Reassured, he now reasoned that all married couples occasionally quarrelled. But he promised himself, now that he was a teenager and developing an athletic frame, he would give his father a thrashing if he laid a finger on his mother.

Some of that was bravado because he loved his father, with whom he shared several interests, not least, playing and listening to the saxophone. Damian loved to sit with him as they wordlessly listened to the warbling tones of sax virtuosos as the day faded into night. Only when darkness overtook daylight, would his father sigh and pull the curtains closed, switch on a lamp, and select another album. That was when they would chat about their respective days, and Damian would draw on his father’s knowledge of history and the arts in general. He admired his father’s self-confidence, doubtless born of a successful career as a buyer for a large chain of supermarkets.

Damian was a bright although not particularly popular student; his taciturn nature was interpreted by his peers as stand-offishness. He didn’t care if his classmates labelled him a swot. What did they know about his aims, needs, and values? Nobody had taken the trouble to find out what made him tick, so his overriding sentiment towards them was indifference. From time to time, when an immature chav irritated him, he would have to restrain a surge of violence. He was afraid of himself and what he might do. After all, he was his father’s son.

Thankfully, it only happened that he failed to control his emotions once. One of his classmates, an unpleasant, sneering youth with a mid-European surname, touched a sore spot when he leered, “Hey, Devilish, I saw you in the library looking at art books with your mother. Now there’s a Milf if ever I saw one!”

“Show some respect, asshole, or I’ll wipe that smirk off your face!”

“Oh yeah, you and whose army?” Here the aggressor made his fatal mistake. Being something of a malicious character, he had previously whittled a standard wooden ruler to a sharp point, for such an occasion. Now, he lunged at Damian with it, stabbing through the black blazer sleeve and into his victim’s arm.

Later, Damian confided to his father, “It was like a firework went off inside my head; I just leapt at him, swinging with my fists, hitting him over and over again. Not even when his mates leapt in to drag me away, did I stop. H-honestly, I think I wanted to kill him.” Luckily, he did not, but he had made a significant mess of his adversary’s face. With just one more year left at his grammar school, Damian was fortunate not to have been expelled, which was what happened to his tormentor. The school nurse, who treated them both, was shocked by the wound inflicted on Damian’s upper arm and the deliberate intent to harm. Both boys’ previous conduct was taken into account, and, since Damian’s behaviour had been impeccable whilst Meyer had been involved in various episodes of fighting, albeit on those previous occasions without a weapon.

Damian went on to gain excellent grades at Advanced level, which enabled him to pursue his dream and gain a place at UCL on the Architecture BSc course, where he shone in energy-efficient technologies aimed at reducing consumption and emissions; eco-friendly construction methods to minimise waste and resource depletion, and also, the creation of green spaces, fostering biodiversity to offer natural sanctuaries for residents. His splendid references and reserved character ensured that he would pass his first serious interview with a firm of architects renowned for their sustainability approach within the expanding Putney property market.

As he said in his brilliant interview, “Improved indoor air quality, energy efficiency, and access to green spaces contribute to a healthier environment and enhance residents’ well-being. A focus on sustainability positively impacts the long-term value and attractiveness of properties for buyers who prioritise environmental responsibility alongside financial considerations.” He was convincing because he truly shared this vision.

The three elderly architects interviewing him exchanged significant glances and nodded wisely. After he was shown out into a waiting room, anxious to learn the outcome, they discussed among themselves.

“Also in his favour,” said one, looking over metal-rimmed spectacles, “is that he is married and the couple have a young daughter.”

“Altogether a serious young fellow with the right ideas in this expanding sector,” said the senior partner.

Miss Greenacre, perhaps the most talented of the associates, had made her mind up. “I say we take him on. He also lives relatively locally, in a pleasant residential suburb like Earlsfield in Wandsworth, so he won’t be easily tempted away by our competitors.

Less than an hour later, Damian drove up to his garage and turned off the ignition. He drove a Fiat 500, a graduation gift from his father. Before he shut the car door gently as was his way, he paused to gaze around the leafy surroundings to admire the majestic trees almost imperceptibly donning their mantles of autumnal hue. He spotted a scuttling squirrel, What a brilliant choice of neighbourhood! He sighed happily and hurried to let himself into his home with his latch key, except that it wasn’t necessary because Marion was waiting for him with a beaming smile, the white-painted door held open in her right hand.

My God, you’re beautiful, he thought as he leant forward to kiss her. She was certainly very pretty, with her corn-blonde hair in tight plaits framing her oval face and exalting her teal-blue eyes. They had met as third-year undergraduates, she a philosophy student, and he a quietly-spoken, well-mannered architecture student with a surprising range of general knowledge, including philosophy. The swirling, heavy-drinking crowd around them at a mutual friend’s birthday party might not have existed for either of them. As Damian often remarked, “What makes us special is that it’s so easy to be together.” Neither would admit it, but each was silently afraid that the day would come when they had an argument; yet, they had managed to choose and buy a house together and decorate it without a single heated exchange. He felt slightly emasculated because the deposit for the home was entirely her contribution from her share of her father’s will. Sadly, he had died of cancer at the premature age of fifty-four. Currently, they were making the monthly payments thanks to Marion’s salary as a trainee area sales manager of an insurance agency.

“Well,” she said, staring into his peat-grey eyes, “How did you get on?”

“£33,819 a year.”

“Yay! You got it! I knew you would,” she kissed him and dragged him indoors by his lapels. “That must be about £3,000 a month. With your salary and mine, we’ll be comfortably off, darling, especially when I pass my exams.”

“I’ll be making inroads into it straight away. I’m going to give you the Fiat. I’ll need a higher status vehicle.”

“But I can’t drive, silly!”

“Which is why we’ll book you into a driving school and I’ll take you out at weekends for the extra practice.”

“I think I’ll be too anxious to make a decent driver—I’ll probably come home all red and sweaty! Coffee?”

Often, things unspoken between a couple can contribute to the ease of their relationship. This was the case for Marion, who had never mentioned to Damian the episodes of domestic violence that had so conditioned her character up to the present day. Sooner or later, she would have to confide in him before a sudden panic attack betrayed her ingrained nervousness. She had to fight back her anxieties every time she saw a heavily tattooed male forearm. Even so, she would have had difficulty recognising how much her childhood experiences had determined her choice of spouse. Almost unconsciously, she had sought a gentle-natured partner, but with the strength of character to reassure her that she would be protected and loved. Damian eschewed tattoos and didn’t have one or a piercing anywhere on his skin. She also believed deeply that a relationship could not sustain ingrained secrets, so she would eventually unburden herself to him. Curiously, Damian shared the same sentiments: he needed to tell her about that dreadful day when he was four years old. He knew that Marion would understand and help him to forget. Would he be able to tell the complete truth about the Meyer incident, though?

“Coffee?” penetrated his conscious mind.

“Yes, please. We’ll sit down, and I’ll tell you all about my new job. I’m going to be based in Putney, specialising in High-End Residential design.”

“My, that sounds important!”

“Which is why I’ll need a more impressive vehicle. I’m too tall to get in and out of that Fiat!”

“Whereas, it’d be ideal for your little squirt of a wife!”

“Nobody insults my wife and gets away with it!” he growled in a dangerous voice, and they both laughed light-heartedly. They would have occasion to look back on that carefree moment of good humour with nostalgia.