Cold Killing

Cold Killing
Luke Delaney

Terrifyingly authentic, London-set debut crime novel with a psychological edge, by an ex-Met detective. Perfect for fans of Mark Billingham, Peter James and Stuart MacBride.NO MOTIVE. NO MERCY. NO REMORSE.A series of brutal killings leaves South London’s Murder Investigation Unit struggling to connect the crimes: no recognizable method; no forensic evidence; and the victims have nothing in common.NO TIME TO LOSE.DI Sean Corrigan’s troubled past has left him with an uncanny ability to identify the darkness in others – a darkness he struggles to keep buried within his own psyche. Sean knows these murders are the work of one man. As the violence escalates, Sean must find the evidence he needs to bring the perpetrator to justice – before the next attack hits too close to home…

LUKE DELANEY

Cold Killing

DEDICATION

There are so many people I could dedicate this book to, without whom my writing career would have been over before it even began, but I feel a shared dedication can some how lose much of its power and I didn’t want that as this particular dedication is so personal to me and indeed others who were close to the man.

So I dedicate this first novel to my dad, Mike. For reasons of maintaining the anonymity of my family, friends and myself, I cannot say too much and nor would he want me to. I could talk about his brilliance in his own field and the worldwide respect and admiration he is held in amongst his peers. I could talk about his meteoric rise from very humble beginnings to the very top of his difficult trade, but that’s not really what I remember about him most.

What I remember about him most was his gentleness, kindness, incredible generosity and painful honesty. He was the best moral compass a young man could have had, especially one with ambitions to join the police. I would be lying if I said tempting opportunities didn’t present themselves, but the thought of letting not just myself but my parents down kept me well and truly on the straight and narrow.

My dad taught me one thing above all others – that no matter how much we achieve in our chosen professions, no matter how much wealth and power we obtain – what is really important is to be a good man. Just be a good man. He was a very good man.

Sadly Mike passed away three years ago aged a very young seventy-two. Another victim to the great taker of men – cancer. The world has felt a poorer place ever since. He is much missed and much loved.

For Mike.

Table of Contents

Title Page (#u08e6e0b7-915c-5fa5-8217-a631f5516bd0)

Dedication (#ud83f3581-6d1a-5c9c-917a-d422e25d5c57)

Chapter 1 (#u1c8d8350-a588-54d3-a9a0-541ef7ef73fe)

Chapter 2 (#u49185dd8-ce6a-567d-8928-9c8727ea9d60)

Chapter 3 (#u68a6d381-a9ea-5b3c-995d-c440d342c018)

Chapter 4 (#ua5fe27ed-6ce8-5618-9613-317d41978aff)

Chapter 5 (#uaca4463a-7eef-5360-88a0-ef8eb4fb94cd)

Chapter 6 (#u52240e26-6237-5232-9891-0bee0066dc4f)

Chapter 7 (#u44c8b0e1-dcdb-52bd-902e-2db9724b3de2)

Chapter 8 (#u4613bb8e-ab31-5044-a0f2-304cecff74e7)

Chapter 9 (#ub45d13f5-fc5f-57a1-acf3-fd08202e9b58)

Chapter 10 (#ua479b6ad-54aa-5da0-8cbe-c16db690c6b9)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Read on for an extract of The Keeper (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

1

Saturday. I agreed to come to the park with the wife and children. They’re over there on the grassy hill, just along from the pond. They’ve fed themselves, fed the ducks and now they’re feeding their own belief that we’re one normal happy family. And to be fair, as far as they’re concerned, we are. I won’t let the sight of them spoil my day. The sun is shining and I’m getting a bit of a tan. The memory of the latest visit is still fresh and satisfying. It keeps the smile on my face.

Look at all these people. Happy and relaxed. They’ve no idea I’m watching them. Watching as small children wander away from their mothers too distracted by idle chat to notice. Then they realize their little darling has wandered too far and up goes that shrill shriek of an over-protective parent, followed by a leg slap for the child and more shrieking.

I am satisfied for the time being. The fun I had last week will keep me contented for a while, so everyone is safe today.

I thoroughly enjoyed the time I spent with the little queer. I made it look like a domestic murder. I’ve heard fights between people like him can get nasty, so I had a bit of fun with the idea.

He was easy enough to dispatch. These people live dangerous lives. They make perfect victims. So I hunted amongst them, looking for someone, and I found him.

I had already decided to spend the evening stalking the patrons of a Vauxhall nightclub, Utopia. What a ridiculous name. More like Hell, if you ask me. I told my wife I was out of town on business, packed some spare clothes, toiletries, the usual things for a night away and booked a hotel room in Victoria. I could hardly turn up at home in the early hours. That would arouse suspicions. I couldn’t have that. Everything at home needed to appear … normal.

I also packed a paper decorating suit that I bought at Homebase, several pairs of surgical gloves − readily available from all sorts of shops − a shower cap and some plastic bags to cover my feet. A little noisy, but effective. And last but not least a syringe. All fitted neatly into a small rucksack.

Avoiding the CCTV cameras that swamped the area, I watched the entrance to the club from the shadows of the railway bridge as the sound of the trains reverberated through the archways.