The Mersey Ferry Murders (Mersey Murder Mysteries Book 9)

Book summary

"In 'The Mersey Ferry Murders,' Detective Inspector Andy Ross and his team grapple with a chilling serial killer terrorizing Liverpool. As seemingly unrelated victims pile up, they uncover a haunting connection to a past trial. Racing against time, they must decipher the killer's 'murder list' before more innocent lives are claimed."

Excerpt from The Mersey Ferry Murders (Mersey Murder Mysteries Book 9)

It had been a warm Monday, the skies almost cloudless and the surface of the River Mersey bore barely a ripple as the Mersey Ferry, MV Royal Daffodil tied up at the pier head, quickly disgorging its passengers, mostly daily commuters who worked on the Wirral side of the river. The crossing from the Seacombe Ferry Terminal had taken, as usual, little more than ten minutes and among those disembarking was 55-year-old Wanda Burnside, a solicitor’s clerk who worked for the firm of Bertrand and Doyle in Wallasey. Single since her divorce a year ago, Wanda enjoyed life as a single woman, and most people, on seeing her for the first time, could be forgiven for thinking the attractive blonde to be at least ten years younger than her actual age. Her natural blonde hair was wavy and stylishly cut, her face make-up immaculate, and her clothes certainly belied her age. This evening, she was wearing her usual office attire, a royal blue skirt suit, the straight pencil skirt reaching to just above her knees, teamed with a cream blouse and low-heeled black patent leather shoes.

She owned a two-bedroomed house in the Wavertree area of the city, which she shared with her cat, Coco, a tabby she’d adopted from a local rescue shelter soon after her divorce. Occasional evenings out were her main source of social entertainment, but she could hardly be described as a social butterfly, tending to restrict such evening recreation to one evening a week, either on a Friday or Saturday.

Reaching the bus stop on James Street, Wanda took her place in the short queue to wait for her bus. She was one of six people waiting for the bus and once the bus arrived, she settled herself into a seat and casually watched the people on the streets, enjoying people-watching as she was carried home. Alighting at her stop near the Liverpool Bluecoat School, Wanda walked the last few yards to her home, where her Vauxhall Vectra stood on the drive, exactly as she’d left it that morning. She knew she could get to work faster if she took the car and used the tunnel every day, but she enjoyed the relaxed approach that the ferry afforded her, the short crossing, especially in the mornings helped to blow away the cobwebs in her mind and set her up for the working day. Equally, the return crossing was a great way to begin the process of unwinding after a hard day’s work.

She reached her front door and extricated her keys from her handbag, blissfully unaware of the soft footsteps that followed her as she placed the key in the lock. The key turned, Wanda pushed the door open, and in less than the time it took her to cross the threshold into her home, a push in the back suddenly sent her sprawling into her hallway, and before she could shout, scream or turn to confront her assailant, a blow to the back of her head ensured Wanda’s world turned black as unconsciousness turned her day to instant night.

***

Earlier in the day, Detective Inspector Andy Ross arrived especially early for work. After the tragic loss of DC Nick Dodds some months before, killed by the twisted killer known as ‘The Doctor’, a replacement member of the squad was due to start work today, and Ross had asked him to arrive early so he could spend some time introducing him the rest of the team.

No matter how early Ross arrived, he always seemed to be beaten into second place by his partner, and squad member, Detective Sergeant Izzie Drake, who’d recently returned to work after a period of maternity leave following the birth of her first child, Alice. Sure enough, he opened the door to his office to find a grinning Detective Sergeant, sitting in one of the two visitors’ chairs, with two mugs of steaming hot coffee on his desk, ready for his arrival.

“What time d’you call this then, Detective Inspector?” she laughed, and Ross laughed with her.

“Bloody hell, Izzie, can’t I ever beat you in to the office?”

“Not a chance,” Izzie replied. “Didn’t you know, I’ve got my secret radar following you so I know when you’re leaving home, and I can get here before you, and anyway, if you got here first, who’d make your coffee?”

Ross was so pleased to have Drake back on the team. The pair had worked together for so long that they understood each other perfectly and at times the two of them seemed able to read one another’s thoughts, so close was their working relationship. They had an easy but respectful relationship, one that transcended rank, and he wondered how he’d managed during the months she’d been away on leave.

“If I didn’t know better,” he now responded, “I might even believe you about the bloody radar,” and he laughed again.

Drake just tapped her nose with one finger, smiling a knowing smile.

“Who says I’m joking?”

“Izzie Drake, shut up and drink your sodding coffee before it gets cold.”

“Yes, sir,” she smiled and then the pair spent five minutes quietly enjoying the hot drinks, before getting down to business.

Ross and Detective Chief Inspector Oscar Agostini had jointly interviewed the candidates for the vacancy in the squad and both agreed without hesitation on the choice of 28-year-old Detective Constable Mitchell (Mitch) Sinclair as the outstanding candidate from some impressive applicants. The squad had been operating under-strength since the death of DC Dodds, as there had been no suitable applicants that met with Agostini and Ross’s strict criteria.

No sooner had they finished their coffee than there was a knock on the door, and the team’s Admin Assistant, Kat Bellamy opened it and escorted the tall, blonde-haired detective into the office.

“I found this poor soul wandering around the squad room,” she said, announcing the arrival of Mitch Sinclair, who walked past her and strode up to the desk and offered his right hand, which Ross, rising from his chair, took and the two men exchanged a firm handshake. Kat quickly withdrew from the room, leaving Sinclair in the hands of the boss and his sergeant.

“Good to see you again, Mitch,” Ross said by way of a welcome. “This is my second-in-command, Izzie Drake.”

Izzie stood and offered her own hand, and she and the newcomer also shook hands. Sinclair’s right eyebrow lifted slightly as he felt the strength in Drake’s handshake.

“Pleased to meet you Sarge,” he said with a smile, and Drake smiled in return.

“Nice accent,” she said, picking up on Sinclair’s obvious Australian heritage.

“Yeah, left the old country when I was fourteen when my Mum and Dad decided to settle over here. Dad’s a retired captain for the Oceanic Cruise Line, and he was from over here anyway. Mum’s Australian, and they met in Sydney years ago, and well, I won’t bore you with the sickly-sweet love story.”

Drake instantly liked the latest recruit to the team.

“Hope you’ll enjoy working with us,” Drake said to which Sinclair responded.

“I sure will, no worries.”

“You were with the Regional Crime Squad, I hear.”

“Correct, Sarge. Spent two years with them before this came up and I put in my application.”

“That’s enough for now, you two,” Ross interrupted. “I think the rest of the team will be in the squad room now, so let’s go and introduce you.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” Sinclair replied, and Ross and Drake led the way from the office into the squad room where, as Ross expected nearly all the team were present already.

The rest of the team knew of the impending arrival of the newest member of the team, and all were present except for DC Ishaan Singh, who was on a week’s leave, and not due back for a couple of days. Ross’s only slight worry was how DC Tony Curtis would react to Sinclair’s arrival. He and Dodds had been close friends and the death of his pal had hit him harder than it had anyone else on the team.

As he and Drake walked Sinclair round the squad room, making the introductions, Ross hesitated for a few seconds after introducing the new man to Curtis. Curtis’s real name was Leonard, (Lenny) Curtis but ever since he joined the squad, he’d been known as Tony, due to his uncanny resemblance to the former movie idol of that name. Ross needn’t have worried. Curtis was nothing if not a consummate professional.

After shaking hands, he spoke genially to Sinclair.

“Welcome mate, if you need any help settling in, just grab a hold of me, anytime, you hear me?”

“Yeah, thanks Tony,” was Sinclair’s short reply, before Drake dragged him across to meet Paul Ferris and Kat Bellamy.

The rest of Mitch Sinclair’s first day passed without drama as he learned his way around and made some tentative friendships with the rest of the team. It would soon prove to be nothing more than the calm before the storm.

Adrian Hill had enjoyed a good day at work. As a repair engineer for Bolton and Son, a local firm in Birkenhead that supplied a full range of household appliances, washing machines, tumble driers, fridge-freezers and so on, he enjoyed getting out and about and dealing with customers needing repairs or service to their appliances. Adrian had held his current job for almost ten years and was popular with his workmates and customers alike. Polite and affable, it could probably be said that Adrian Hill didn’t have an enemy in the world.

He enjoyed the daily commute across the Mersey, using the ferry in preference to driving through the rush hour traffic. Adrian and Pam, his wife of fifteen years had saved for years to buy a place of their own and now lived in a two-bedroomed flat in the City Quay Apartments complex on Ellerman Road. Pam had a good job as the manager of a privately owned ladies’ clothes shop in the city, so together they had a good income and life was good to them. At fifty-two years of age, Adrian hoped to be able to retire early, perhaps in five years or so, when a couple of his private pension plans could be cashed in, and he and Pam could spend some time enjoying retirement while they were still young enough to do some of the things they’d promised themselves over the years.

Adrian loved walking, jogging, hiking and enjoyed walking to and from the Mersey Ferries Terminal in the morning and evening. As far as he was concerned, he was fit, healthy and happy. He had a wife who looked great for her age, with whom he enjoyed a great sex life and who shared his love for outdoor pursuits. As he alighted from the ferry that evening, he couldn’t wait to get home. He’d waited all day to tell her his news. Trevor Bolton the ‘son’ in the company name, had informed him that he was to be promoted to Service Manager, as Mr Crandell, the current holder of the title had announced his intention to retire, and the job was Adrian’s if he wanted it. The job came with a pay rise of course, and the extra money would be sure to help the family finances. He’d picked up a bottle of wine, chardonnay, Pam’s favourite, plus a bunch of flowers on his way home and he felt as if nothing could spoil the evening ahead.

Approaching the entrance to the apartment complex, his attention was taken by what appeared to be someone lying on the ground under a car in the car park. He recognised the vehicle as being the Land Rover Discovery owned by his neighbour, Phil Knott. Thinking his friend might need help, and being mechanically minded, Adrian immediately walked across to offer his assistance.

“Hello mate, do you need some help?” he asked. All he could see was the person’s legs jutting out from under the car. When he received no reply he asked again, “Phil, is that you? Are you alright under there?”

Adrian grew suddenly suspicious and, bending down and placing the wine and flowers on the ground, he tapped the person’s leg, but something felt wrong. He pulled on the leg and the next thing he knew, what appeared to be the bottom half of a mannequin came out as he pulled on it.

“What the hell? Is this some kind of a prank?” he asked nobody in particular.

At that moment, a figure quietly emerged from the other side of the Land Rover, dressed from head to foot in black, topped off by a black hoodie. Quickly making sure there was nobody in the close vicinity, the hooded figure ran round to the other side, where Adrian was still on his knees and before the man on the ground could react, brought a baseball bat down on the back of his head, rendering him instantly unconscious. Another look around, making sure the coast was clear, then the killer quickly pulled the man’s trousers and underpants down, and committed a vicious sex act on the victim, using the wooden handle of an old, well-used screwdriver, finally flipping Adrian Hill over onto his back, pulled a seven inch blade from the pouch of the hoodie, and without wasting a second, thrust the blade forcefully into Adrian Hill’s chest, directly into the man’s heart, before wiping the blade clean on Hill’s trouser leg. After checking there was nobody around, the killer rose, stood for a second ensuring the coast was clear, and then quite calmly walked towards the road, not running, as that might draw unwanted attention.

The blood from the stab wound quickly formed a pool on the ground, enveloping the flowers he’d bought for Pam, and staining the label of the bottle of chardonnay a deep shade of red. As the heart ceased its rhythmic beating, the blood flow ceased, as Adrian Hill departed the land of the living. Meanwhile, on the back seat of the Land Rover, the unconscious form of Phil Knott groaned and began to stir.

***

The call to the Specialist Murder Investigation Team was received at eight pm that evening. That’s to say, the call reached Andy Ross at home, as the squad room wasn’t manned twenty-four hours a day. They’d tried that a couple of years previously, and so rare were the referrals to the squad during the night, the idea was abandoned, as they reverted to having an ‘on call’ officer on duty each night, with the authority to summon more team members if a call of an urgent nature was received.

Ross and his wife, Maria, a local GP, had just sat down to a later than usual evening meal, at their home in Prescot on the outskirts of the city, due to Maria being delayed after evening surgery, when the phone rang. The couple looked at each other, until Ross broke the silence.

“I’ll get it. It’s probably for me, anyway.”

Sure enough, it was the duty officer in the central control room.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir. It’s Sergeant Howarth here. Seems CID have been called to a murder scene on Ellerman Road.”

“So, why me, Dave?” Ross asked the sergeant, who he’d known for a good few years.

“You’re on call for your squad, I believe, sir?”

“That’s right. Like I said, Dave, why me?”

“Detective Chief Inspector Lewis from CID asked for your team, I’m afraid. They’ve had two virtually identical murders in twenty-four hours. No witnesses, no apparent motive, and neither victim has any prior record. Mr Lewis also mentioned that both victims are in their fifties, one male, one female, but signs of sexual assault in both cases.”

Ross had heard enough. Sexual assault on both male and female victims was rare and was reason enough for DCI Lewis to have requested the attendance of the Specialist Murder Investigation Team.

“Contact DS Drake and have her meet me there, Dave,” Ross instructed, feeling as always a little guilty at pulling Izzie away from home and hearth at night.

“Will do, sir,” the Control Room Sergeant acknowledged.

As Ross hung up the phone, Maria was already behind him, holding his camel overcoat ready, one she’d bought him two Christmases ago. Ross quickly shrugged the coat on, placing his mobile phone in the right-hand pocket, and picking up his car keys from the key tray beside the phone.

“Sorry about this, darling,” he apologised but Maria just kissed him and smiled.

“If I’m not used to this sort of thing after all these years, I never will be. Now go, and stay safe.”

“I’ll call you when I’m on the way home.”

“Not if it’s after midnight, you won’t. Just creep in quietly, and do not try to warm your bloody cold feet on my legs, Andrew Ross, or I’ll kill you.”

Ross laughed. He always made Maria jump when he climbed into bed on a cold night, his icy feet instantly waking her.

“Okay, okay,” he promised.

With that, he was out the door and in his car in seconds and on his way to the new murder scene. His next case was about to get under way.

***

Upon his arrival at the crime scene, and after parking his Vauxhall Insignia well away from the bustling activity that identified the exact location of the murder, Ross couldn’t fail to notice the gleaming new Dacia Duster SUV belonging to Izzie Drake, complete with baby seat on the rear passenger seat. Izzie clearly hadn’t wasted any time getting there.

The scene was well lit with lights erected by the crime scene team, headed as usual by Senior Scenes of Crime Officer, Miles Booker, who Ross could see was engaged in conversation with Drake and another officer, who he assumed to be DCI Lewis. Also present was the senior pathologist and Medical Examiner William Nugent and his assistant, Francis Lees, busily flashing away with his camera.

Walking quickly across the car park to join them, Ross nodded to Drake and the others and approached the unknown plain-clothes officer.

“DCI Lewis, I presume?” he said, holding his hand out, which the other man took, and they shook as he confirmed his identity.

“That’s right, and you must be DI Ross?”

“Correct, sir. Good to meet you. Sad circumstances of course.”

“Indeed it is, Ross. I’ve met your sergeant here and given her a quick run-down of what we have so far.”

Having said that, to his credit, Lewis then gave Ross the details of what he’d found out so far, after which he called his sergeant to him and officially handed the case over to Ross’s squad.

“I presume you’d like to keep the uniforms on site until you’re done here?” he asked, and Ross acknowledged his help in leaving the six constables who were in attendance, to ensure security of the crime scene and carry out any other tasks Ross deemed necessary.

“I’ve already had two of them doing a door to door, around the apartments. As always, nobody admits to seeing or hearing anything.”

“Typical,” Ross replied. “Okay sir, just one thing. I was told this was the second similar killing in the last twenty-four hours, with sexual connotations to both crimes?”

“Yes, and that’s the strange thing about these murders,” Lewis replied with a look of consternation on his face. “Yesterday evening, fifty-five-year-old Wanda Burnside, an attractive divorcee, was murdered in Wavertree. Seems to be the same MO with what Doctor Nugent has already confirmed to be sexual penetration of both victims. That’s why I called your team in. Rape and associated murder aren’t uncommon as we know, but such killers usually stick to one gender of victim. This bozo’s made a real mess of this poor chap’s rear end as I’m sure Doctor Nugent will point out to you and Sergeant Drake.”

“Right,” said Ross, grimacing at the mental image Lewis’s words conjured up. “And the murder weapon?”

“Seems to be the same in both cases. The victim was apparently rendered unconscious first by some form of blunt force trauma to the head, then they were sexually assaulted, and dispatched with a stab wound to the heart. They both bled to death, quickly.”

Ross pulled a face at the thought of two such brutal murders. Despite his job, he always felt a sense of revulsion at the innate cruelty of some killers, who could display such depravity in their methods of disposing of their victims.

“I’ll have a copy of the report on Mrs Burnside’s murder on your desk by the morning, plus what we’ve already discovered here, which isn’t much as I called you in as soon as I recognized the similarity in the cases.”

Ross pointed out a male figure sitting on the steps of the waiting ambulance, being attended to by a paramedic.

“Who’s the patient?”

“The owner of the Range Rover, name’s Phillip Knott. He’s a bit groggy but far as I can make out, he was decoyed out to his car by a phone call to tell him there were a couple of scallys trying to break into his car. He never thought to ask who was calling, just ran down to the car park and as soon as he reached his car, someone whacked him over the head, bundled him into the car, and he was just coming round on the back seat when we arrived.”

“That’s interesting,” Ross mused, “It shows our killer had this all planned and well thought through. How, for example, did he know who the neighbour was? How did he get his phone number? How did he know the man was known to the victim and that Mr Hill would immediately play the Good Samaritan? That business with the mannequin was damned clever,” as Lewis explained the significance of the half mannequin which still lay where Hill had begun to pull it out from beneath the vehicle. “I think we’re up against a very clever killer.”

“Let’s just say I’m glad it’s your problem now, not mine,” said Lewis, his voice tinged with relief.