Glass Dolls Read online

  GLASS

  DOLLS

  An addictive crime thriller with a fiendish twist

  D.E. WHITE

  First published 2020

  Joffe Books, London

  www.joffebooks.com

  © D.E. White

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The spelling used is British English except where fidelity to the author’s rendering of accent or dialect supersedes this. The right of D.E. White to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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  www.joffebooks.com

  ISBN 978-1-78931-351-2

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Epilogue

  ALSO BY D.E WHITE

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  GLOSSARY OF ENGLISH SLANG FOR US READERS

  “Where have all the pretty girls gone?”

  In a mind where perfection is everything, he has his eye on the ultimate prize.

  You.

  Prologue

  I wonder when she knew.

  When did she realize she wasn’t going to get out alive, that this was her last mistake? Was it when he spoke, or was there some evil in his eyes that made her turn and run, slipping in her polished brown boots, dark hair blowing in the icy wind? Maybe she really didn’t know until his hands fastened around her throat. I hope she didn’t.

  In my imagination, there was blood on the snow and dirt on her face, but she kept on fighting. I know she would have struggled until her last breath, because that’s just how she was.

  I hope she never knew it was my fault . . .

  Chapter One

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  His breath was hot and sour on her cheek. She flinched as the chisel touched her arm, cold metal meeting warm skin. The blade slid up to her shoulder.

  “You screwed up. I’ve been watching you for a while now, and I know you aren’t who you say you are.” He studied her face, his blank brown eyes showing no hint of feeling, no emotion. “So the question is, who the hell are you?”

  She said nothing, feeling the chisel run back down her arm, trying to control her shaking body. The wires that bound her hands and feet were tied tightly to a metal beam, which formed part of the warehouse.

  He shrugged and went back to his work, while she sagged with relief. Surely by now they would be on their way to rescue her. She had done everything right, followed the protocol. Almost everything.

  The chip of the stonemason’s chisel filled her ears, the smell and taste of dust and marble. And blood. Her face was bleeding from where he’d hit her and her lip cracked. Only the pain from her injuries and the cramping of her muscles, forced and tied into standing position for hours, kept her from dropping into unconsciousness.

  After a while he came back, walking carefully around the neat piles of gravestones and memorial plaques, his boots thudding softly on the concrete.

  She held her breath. There were no words. It had all been said. This was the endgame. He knew who she was and he knew that she knew.

  “You’re getting boring,” he told her, his voice steady.

  He struck swiftly, unexpectedly, with the chisel. She felt it as the weapon struck deep in her abdomen. The agony, the fierce heat searing her lower body made her scream.

  She was dimly aware of sirens, shouts and running feet. They were coming, but it was too late. Her blood, dark and sticky, soaked her body, her legs, splashing on the floor.

  “Isn’t it ironic? I don’t want children and you can’t have them. Funny how things turn out . . .”

  * * *

  Dove pushed the nightmare away. The morning light was struggling through the darkness. Without giving herself time to think, she pushed her sweaty sheets away and threw on some clothes.

  The rangy grey cat coiled neatly at the end of her bed watched her as she ran out of the room, still shaking, one hand unconsciously pressed over her scar.

  The sea was icy, the early morning mist enclosing her body in freezing fingers, but gradually, the rhythm of the waves, the solitude and freedom helped the memories to recede.

  Finally she dragged her wetsuit off, towelled her cold, salty body, and re-dressed. Chucking her board on the roof rack, she started the short drive home. Only now, returning from the half-world of tangled dreams and horrors, did she think to check her phone.

  No calls, thank God. Her breathing slowed, her heartbeat calmed and the pleasant feeling of tiredness crept into her muscles as she drove the short distance home.

  As usual after being out on the waves, her senses were filled with the sea, but her mind was still stubbornly cluttered with ghosts. Her therapist said she was holding on to the past, which seemed so unlikely Dove had almost laughed in her face.

  The phone rang as she fumbled with the front door keys, making her jump. Swearing, struggling to answer it and keep hold of everything, she dropped her bag and surfboard on the path. “DC Dove Milson.”

  “You need to get over here now, we’ve got a body. The text alert’s gone out, but I thought I’d ring you as well. It’s a bit of a weird one.”

  DS Steve Parker was her partner. From what she had seen in the first couple of months working together, he was solid. The new DI, Jon Blackman, had done well, putting them together. Like her, Blackman had recently transferred from another unit. It was strange being a “newbie” again, fighting for inclusion, regarded with suspicion by the close-knit team.

  “I haven’t got the text yet . . . Anyway, clarify ‘weir
d’ for me, Steve.” She made it through the door one-handed, phone wedged between shoulder and ear, nearly falling over the cat.

  She chucked her surfboard and wetsuit on the hall floor, making a mental note to rinse it out later. Then grabbed her work bag and retraced her steps to the car, slamming the door behind her. Her long, coarse black hair was still damp and she could taste the salt on her lips, could feel it itching on her skin. No matter, this was what she had been waiting for. Being on call meant she had been checking her phone day and night, waiting for the alert that would bring the Major Crimes Team together.

  “Dove, are you still there?”

  “Yeah, sorry, on my way. Go on about the scene . . .”

  “Gibbons Copse, off the North Shore Road. Victim is female. Probably late teens. A dog walker called it in. She’s . . . Fuck, I’ve never seen anything like this up close, but it reminds me of another case.” He paused. “The body is encased in glass. Like a bloody statue but with a human inside it. Ring any bells?”

  “Bloody hell! I’ll be with you in ten.” Dove’s heart rate accelerated again, and she ran a shaky hand through her hair. It felt like she had been punched in the gut. I needed them to be perfect. His voice rang out inside her head. How was that even possible? Was he coming at her from beyond the grave?

  She ordered the memories and the ghosts away. Her first big case with the MCT: she needed to keep her head together, to prove she still had what it took. It was just bloody typical that this clearly wasn’t your usual homicide.

  North Shore Road was clear and she drove fast through the light drizzle, biting her lip as she always did when she was thinking hard. A quick glance in the driver’s mirror showed her dark eyes were bright with anticipation. And fear. Definitely fear, but what were the chances of it happening again? Her lashes were still salty and her thick black rope of hair hung over one shoulder, making her T-shirt damp. Not the best look, but she wasn’t wasting any time on this one. At least her trousers were black and could pass for casual office wear at a glance. Why the fuck was she worrying about her clothes? Her brain buzzed with possibilities as she drove, and despite her best efforts, memories slipped tiny fingers of horror around the darkest corners of her mind.

  * * *

  Dove grabbed her coat, slammed the car door, and walked quickly up the wide track that led to Gibbons Copse. It was a favourite with dog walkers and runners. She and her boyfriend, Quinn, had been up here hiking across the hills a few weeks ago, and it was a picturesque area. But now the scenic innocence of spring growth was tainted by death.

  Had he been working with someone who had been overlooked last time? Surely that wasn’t possible, and besides, why would they choose to start killing again now?

  The body was situated about fifty yards from the road, deep inside the small wood that made up Gibbons Copse. The team were already busy organizing the scene. A redundant ambulance stood at the edge of the road, blue lights flashing through the fog.

  She ducked under the tape that sealed off the scene, introducing herself to a uniformed officer as she made her way towards DS Steve Parker.

  “She’s over there. No attempt to hide her. There is usually a lot of traffic along this path, so we’re assuming at the moment the body was dumped late last night or early this morning, or it would have caught someone’s eye.” Steve looked grim, but managed a quick smile as he passed a coffee cup filled with steaming liquid. “CSM is Jess Meadows. Her team have just started arriving, and the DI is on his way over. He’ll be a bit longer because he was up in Kent for a conference.”

  “Morning, Jess,” Dove called over to the petite blonde woman, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t take her eyes off the body, her hands shaking even as they wrapped around the warm cup. It had to be a copycat. There was no way it could be anything else . . .

  Jess waved a welcome in Dove’s direction. She was suited and booted in white plastic, issuing instructions to her team, who moved smoothly into action, each with their own individual job to complete. A couple of officers were carefully stretching a tent over the scene around the glass case, as the light patter of raindrops filtered through the tree cover. Vehicles were parked either at the roadside, or in the case of Jess’s van, pulled to the far side of the crime scene, away from any possible evidence.

  The body lay at the heart of the copse in a little dell between two towering oaks. Bluebells and milkwort stretched a vibrant carpet across the whole copse, and the vivid greens of spring made a striking backdrop for the victim.

  Dove gulped her coffee, pretending she was just letting the team get to work, before she too booted up. It would be professional suicide to let anyone see her freeze up. Jess was already shooting her worried glances.

  Forcing her body into motion, one step after another, she approached the scene. Being professional would see her through this. They were all watching her, waiting for her to prove her worth.

  Or maybe they weren’t, perhaps it was her own paranoia making her feel the burn of so many eyes. Her photographic memory was both a blessing and a curse. Often it felt as though she had a kind of old-fashioned ticker tape streaming through her mind, analysing and comparing as her mind dismissed possibilities. Details of the previous Glass Doll murders were rocketing through her brain, the echoes of his voice locked inside her head forever. But he was dead. It was over.

  The victim, clearly visible through the glass casing, looked to be in her late teens. Her blonde hair was arranged into two bunches fastened with pink ribbons, cascading down over her shoulders. She was slim, naked, and her blue eyes were wide and staring. The glass that encased her was fairly thick and highly polished. Pristine. The word popped out from memory and she knew that was how he had liked them.

  The glass case looked to be joined like two halves of an Easter egg, the seal neat and professional. Again, a hallmark of the previous murders. It must weigh a ton, and yet somehow somebody had got it up the hill. A lone killer, or was this the work of several perpetrators?

  “Sick, isn’t it? Just like the Hayworth victims, if I remember rightly.” Steve was at her shoulder, frowning. His curly brown hair was slick with rain, his hazel eyes sombre above a thin, slightly hooked nose.

  Dove pushed her hair back. Damp tendrils had escaped, framing her face. “Do we know who she is yet?”

  It felt as if she wasn’t really present, just watching herself go through the motions, when all the time her stomach churned with horror. Her worst nightmares had nothing on this.

  “Still checking. That glass case must weigh a fair bit, and to get it up here from the road would be a long haul . . .” Steve glanced back along the track, echoing her thoughts. “Not sure how we’re going to get through that glass without shattering it and wrecking any evidence that might be waiting for us, but that’ll be a job for the pathologist to figure out.”

  Dove was still looking at the girl, doing a quick head-to-toe. She didn’t seem to have any obvious injuries on her body. No bruising or blood. No burns to indicate she had been present when the glass was moulded around her body. Dove recalled reading the process from the previous murder cases, and discovered time hadn’t made it any less horrific.

  “I suppose the pathologist will have to get specialists in. I believe that’s how they handled it last time. Can you see anything on her arm?” She crouched and leaned forward, peering through the glass.

  “Looks like needle marks and some faint bruising.” Steve squinted, adjusting his glasses. “Hard to be sure until we get her out of this thing.”

  More of Jess’s team had arrived and white-suited figures were moving quickly and carefully around the scene. A woman crouched next to Dove, photographing the body, while another took measurements. Three men were spreading out for a fingertip search of the surrounding vegetation.

  Dove moved back towards a tree, and Jess joined her, her expression concerned.

  “You all right?”

  “Of course.” She didn’t mean to snap, but she was terrified of lett
ing her emotions show. It would ruin everything, and she would be taken off the case before she’d even started. As a close friend, Jess knew about Eden. Dove prayed she wouldn’t mention it, not here.

  Jess nodded, lips pursed, considering her. Eventually she said, “This scene is going to be a bitch to process. Not only is the body behind glass, but the rain is on its way.” She lifted a gloved hand, palm up, and frowned at the massing grey clouds.

  “Might be some fingerprints on the glass,” Dove suggested. “Any immediate thoughts?” It was always useful to get everyone’s first take on a scene and she valued Jess’s professional opinion. The woman was meticulous and she never seemed to get flustered.

  “I know what everyone’s thinking. It stands out a mile that this is another Glass Doll murder, but all that was back in 2014. Peter Hayworth didn’t serve much of his sentence, did he, because he had a terminal illness? He died in Wandsworth and there was no family left,” Jess said, her blue eyes fixed on Dove’s face.

  “2016,” Dove supplied, pushing down a wave of nausea that threatened to derail her.

  “Yeah, I guess everyone who sees this is going to dig Hayworth right back up. We’ve got ourselves a sick copycat for sure.” Steve had re-joined them, and was taking careful notes.

  “I’m going to have a quick look around while we wait for the DI, and I want to talk to the dog walker who found our body too. Is that her over there?” Dove could see a woman in running gear sitting on a fallen log, with a red setter leashed next to her and a police officer standing at her side.

  “Yes, it is,” Steve told her.

  She made her way quickly across the wet grass and smiled as she made eye contact with the woman.

  As Dove approached, the police officer made hasty introductions. “Victoria, this is DC Milson. She just needs to ask you a few questions. This is Victoria Carter.”

  “I don’t know what else I can tell you.” Victoria had short brown hair, half-hidden under a Nike headband. She was tall and athletic, but her face was pale and she shivered despite a thick blanket that was wrapped around her shoulders.