One Last Smile: An Action Packed British Crime Thriller (DI Benjamin Kidd Crime Thrillers Book 7) Read online

  One Last Smile

  A DI Benjamin Kidd Thriller

  GS Rhodes

  Dark Ship Crime

  Copyright © 2022 GS Rhodes

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published Worldwide by Dark Ship Crime

  Cover design by Meg Jolly

  Also by GS Rhodes

  The DI Benjamin Kidd Thrillers

  When You're Smiling

  Just Keep Breathing

  Your Best Shot

  Be My Baby

  Hand On Heart

  Sticks and Stones

  One Last Smile

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  DI BENJAMIN KIDD WILL RETURN SOON...

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  The summer semester was finally coming to an end for Joe Warrington. After weeks of assignments and last-minute late-night essay writing, he was practically finished for his second year. And not before time. He was exhausted. It took a lot to keep your education on track and to run a successful online news site. It often surprised him he was even still upright.

  There was a strange pang in his chest as he left the University library for what would likely be the last time that term, the light of the long summer night casting orange and purple lights into the sky, a summer breeze cooling off what had been yet another absolute scorcher of a day. Though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, he knew he would miss it. He loved his course, he loved learning, and he loved the fact that the library was air-conditioned. Certainly made working during the summer months a lot easier.

  He shook it from his head. He’d blink and summer would be over and he’d be back here, hating his final year, praying for death rather than a dissertation.

  Best to keep moving forward, he thought.

  There was a rough plan to go out for drinks with a couple of his friends tonight. Nothing had been set in stone and when he’d left Lydia in the library, it didn’t seem all that likely to happen. It was wishful thinking that everybody would be done in time to actually have an evening out. She was still working hard on her last assignment for the semester and had all but told him to go. There was no use waiting, she’d likely be there until two or three in the morning. With no plan in place, and the stresses of university assignments behind him, he just wanted to get home.

  Joe had been close with Lydia pretty much since they started at Kingston University but the trauma of everything that happened to Joe’s twin brother, Tony, seemed to push them closer still.

  It was more than six months ago at this point, in the dead of an icy cold and wet January winter. The change in the weather now, the balmy evening that was washing over Joe as he walked home, made it seem like it was years ago rather than months. Lydia and her housemate had stumbled upon a body in Bushy Park, a body that had been sliced to resemble a series of murders that had happened in the area some fifteen years ago.

  They’d reported it to the police, but neither one of them thought for a second what kind of trouble they would be in once the Met started investigating. It turned out that Joe’s twin brother, Tony, had been responsible. And he’d almost managed to get away with it, too. Almost managed to put Joe in the frame for it.

  Joe’s hand made its way to his neck. If he thought really hard, he could still feel the coldness of the blade pressed close to his neck, the small amount of blood that Tony had drawn from him trickling into his shirt collar, before he’d tried to get away.

  It felt like such a long time ago.

  Tony had changed so much since then.

  “That’ll be seven-fifty, please.” The voice pulled Joe out of his thoughts. He’d gone on autopilot, wandering around Sainsbury’s and grabbing something to eat tonight and getting it all the way to the checkout before he even really looked up. The cashier was grimacing at him. She probably thought he was drunk or something.

  He paid and shoved the food into his rucksack, a ready meal, some sweets, milk because he was out, and left the shop as fast as he could. The night really was gorgeous. Tony would have loved it.

  Joe had been to see him a few times since he went to prison. A lot of people didn’t quite get it. His parents sort of understood, but didn’t go to see him themselves. Lydia didn’t get it. DI Benjamin Kidd certainly didn’t get it.

  He’d spoken to Ben about it a couple of times, when he’d seen how broken down Tony was, when he’d realised how tough he had it. He didn’t want him to have to go through that and had asked Kidd for his help.

  It improved after that. Whether Kidd did something about it or not was unclear, but Joe thanked him either way.

  But Tony seemed different. He was more at ease than Joe had seen him in a long time. They’d grown up together, so Joe knew him better than he knew himself and to see him go from all that darkness, all that hurting, to almost being the old Tony, was lovely to see.

  Joe got his phone out, checking through his Warrington’s Wonderings social media channels. He was still getting comments from a few weeks ago, when he broke the story of that agent having one of his authors killed, and messages from tabloid rags asking if they can quote him or use his pictures. It happened all the time. If they weren’t paying, he wasn’t handing them over. No way. He’d worked hard to get the information he’d gotten, to get the pictures he’d snapped. He wasn’t about to give them away for free.

  He smiled to himself. It was more luck than anything else. He’d managed to bag a ticket to the award ceremony at Blackstone Books on the Southbank on the off chance that something would happen, and just ended up lurking around so people wouldn’t clock him. No one did. Not even Kidd. He’d probably had a nasty shock when the picture
s came out. If he even saw them.

  Joe shook his head. Ben certainly wouldn’t have seen them. He tried to avoid the news cycle if he could help it, thought journalists were all vultures and that Joe was wasting his time. Each to their own.

  He replied to a couple of the comments, thanking them for their interest but ultimately declining their offer of zero pounds for his hard work. He’d have to keep an eye on them. The likelihood was they’d take them anyway and just use them, and then he’d have to kick off about it.

  Every damn time, he thought.

  His phone buzzed in his hand, a message popping in at the top of the screen.

  LYDIA: This essay will be the death of me.

  LYDIA: Seriously.

  LYDIA: Can I get extenuating circumstances because I’m really bloody tired and have forgotten how to write academically?

  Joe laughed out loud, pulling a few strange looks from passersby. He really loved Lydia, really treasured the time that they spent together. He wanted to ask her out properly, go on a date or something. But every time he’d said, “Shall we go for a drink?” it had been met with “Yeah, let’s all go out!” and suddenly there were twenty people out in the local Wetherspoons instead of the two of them in a quiet pub by the river. Maybe she just wasn’t into him.

  JOE: You’ve got this!

  JOE: I believe in you!

  LYDIA: Easy for you to say, you’re done!! Come back!

  Joe stopped in the middle of the street and considered it for a second. He was almost back to his student flat. It was one that he had opted to live in by himself. Back in his first year, he’d stayed in Halls of Residence because his mum and dad, despite living locally, wanted him to have the full university experience. But it was in doing that Joe discovered that the phrase “Hell is other people” was truer than true and he’d decided to get a place to himself.

  People often wondered how he managed to afford it, like he was living in a palace, not a one-bedroom apartment. The income that he got from Warrington’s Wonderings alongside his student loan meant that he was doing alright, and that was enough for him. The apartment belonged to his parents. They had a couple of properties in the area and they’d said he could rent it from them. They were definitely giving him a deal on it, but they weren’t letting him live there for nothing. That wasn’t really their style. How many twenty-year-olds could afford to live by themselves while studying? Not many. And given the horror stories he’d heard from Lydia about living in a student house, he’d take having to eat a slightly more basic diet if it meant he didn’t have to share a bathroom.

  He looked down at his phone, at Lydia’s message asking him to come back. He wanted to, he wanted to spend more time with her, to help her with her essay if he could, to just keep her company as the library suddenly went from a buzzing hive of activity to a small group of deathly quiet, Red Bull fuelled students trying to get their work done.

  But he also wanted to get home and get some website stuff done.

  JOE: If you’re still there in a couple of hours, I’ll come back.

  JOE: But keep going. You can do this.

  LYDIA: Hate you.

  LYDIA: Not really.

  LYDIA: See you tomorrow.

  Tomorrow they started their summer break, and Joe couldn’t wait. A trip to the beach was in his sights and while he would have preferred it to be the two of them going alone, going with a group of friends down to Brighton would definitely lift the anxiety of assignment hand-ins. At least he hoped it would.

  He went about his evening putting Lydia to the back of his mind, even if he did occasionally check his phone to see if she had messaged him again.

  She hadn’t.

  It was fine.

  He made himself his ready meal and worked on his website, updating it with recent developments in the case and then having a little scout around for anything else that might be coming up. He certainly wouldn’t give Ben his secrets on this one, but Joe had a number of fans who willingly tipped him off about things that were going on in the local area. If anything seemed remotely suspicious, chances were he would know about it a lot quicker than the police did.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Joe sat up a little straighter, a sharp spike of cold rushing down his spine. He checked his phone. Still nothing from Lydia. He wasn’t expecting anyone.

  The knock came again, more aggressively this time.

  Slowly, Joe made his way to the front door, taking a deep breath before he opened it a crack and was met with a face he wasn’t supposed to see again until visiting hours next week.

  “Alright, Joe. Can I come in?”

  Tony Warrington was free.

  CHAPTER TWO

  On days like this, it felt like there should have been rain, or at the very least, grey clouds hanging ominously overhead. But not today. On the day of the funeral, the skies were blue, the sun was shining, and Detective Inspector Benjamin Kidd was pretty sure he was sweating through his suit, wishing to be literally anywhere else.

  Funerals were always a tricky thing to navigate when you knew the deceased. It was always a toss-up as to whether or not it was the right thing to do to be in attendance, and Kidd was certain he didn’t want to be there.

  But DCI Patrick Weaver had all but insisted that Kidd go. He had protested to the point where the two of them had been in a shouting match in the middle of the Incident Room, but Weaver had won in the end. Said Kidd should go for mental health reasons, that he needed to be there to show his face after everything that had happened between the two of them.

  Frankly, Kidd thought it was bullshit.

  But Weaver was the boss and, as much as Kidd didn’t like to admit it, what Weaver said was the rule of law.

  Kidd had pulled on a black suit that morning, said his goodbyes to John, and met with the DS Zoe Sanchez and DCI Weaver at Kingston Police Station, where they took a black car to the funeral plot at Kingston Cemetery. Weaver had anticipated protestors, and sent a couple of officers to patrol just in case someone decided they wanted to interfere, but it was blessedly quiet.

  People only had a morbid fascination with Albert Hansen while he’d been alive. Now, he was gone, and it was like he had vanished from people’s minds entirely. Now, Kidd silently hoped that he would do the honest thing and vanish from his.

  The Grinning Murders had been some fifteen years ago at this point, and even with Tony Warrington bringing it back into sharp focus earlier this year, the shine was off it now. Tony was in prison and, as of just over a week ago, Albert Hansen was dead.

  Weaver had pulled Kidd into his office in the middle of last week to give him the news. At the time, Kidd hadn’t really known how to feel. There was a small part of him that was somewhat relieved. The Grinning Murders still haunted him to this day. He still woke up in the middle of the night sometimes, with Albert Hansen on his mind, with flashes of the victims in his head. He’d hoped they would pass with time, but knowing he was still out there, even behind bars, meant he hadn’t been able to relax. Not really.

  It felt morbid to even think it, but maybe Kidd would be able to sleep a little bit easier with him gone. He could only hope so.

  The service had been short, all of them quickly ushered outside into the bright summer sun before the last bars of “You’ll Never Walk Alone” had played.

  “Wasn’t expecting him to be here,” Weaver grumbled. Weaver, Kidd, and Sanchez had quickly moved away from the building, not wanting to be caught up in the conversations of the handful of mourners. Weaver was taking everybody in from behind his sunglasses, apparently passing judgement on them too. “Thought he’d want to avoid the crowds.” He tugged at the collar of his shirt, clearing his throat.

  The DCI never seemed to wear suits that actually fit him in a way that seemed comfortable, this black number was practically bursting at the seams from the sheer size of him. Maybe he liked it that way. He was built like a rugby player, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, with a voice like a rumble of thun
der in Kidd’s ear.

  “Who’s that?” Kidd asked, looking across at the modest collection of people. He could count them on two hands. And one of them was the Vicar who had performed the service. The one face that Kidd did recognise, and the one he assumed Weaver was referring to, was Colin Hansen.

  He didn’t look sad. He looked relieved almost, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. But it was possible Kidd was projecting. Their relationship would have been difficult, but it must still have been difficult to bury your parents regardless of what had happened in the past.

  He looked exactly the same as he had done six months or so ago when Kidd had last seen him. The same dark cropped hair, the same slightly exhausted-looking expression. The likelihood was he had the press outside his house once again, people clamouring to get any information they could out of him, interviews, the works. He’d dealt with it on and off for a lot of his life, occasionally giving in and giving them some information, often just trying to bat them away or ignore them. Kidd always wondered why he didn’t just move, but he never got around to asking.

  Colin caught Kidd’s eye, a sad sort of smile drifting across his face.

  “I’ll be right back,” Kidd said, not really to anyone in particular, but loud enough that both Sanchez and Weaver could hear.

  Colin watched as Kidd made his way over. Their dealings in the past had always been quite tense. The only times Kidd had ever really spoken to Colin had been about his dad, and it was never good. It put a strange tension in the air as Kidd reached his side, like neither one of them knew what to say. “Sorry for your loss” didn’t seem genuine, nor like the right thing to say.