Eye Snatcher by Ryan Casey Read Free Book Online

“Sure we’ll hear something—”
    “Why would he leave a coat lying around?”
    The words came out of Brian’s mouth without much thought. They were more a kneejerk reaction than anything. Seventeen years on the job had that effect on a police officer. Quite often, gut instinct was wrong. Totally off the mark.
    But every once in a while—every once in a million times—it was spot on.
    “Rushing to get Sam away?” DI Carter said, turning around like she was more interested in the rest of the search as dogs sniffed around.
    Didn’t sit right with Brian. He walked over towards Chris Patel, who was still on his phone, gold ring around his middle finger catching a glimmer of sunlight and shining in Brian’s eyes. “It’s too complacent. No prints or DNA at the scene of Sam Betts’ body, and yet the killer does something as stupid as leaving the coat lying around?”
    Brad shrugged. “Maybe he isn’t as pro as he makes out. I’ve seen killers make more glaring errors of detail. They get so focused, so obsessed with the minute elements of murder, of body disposal, that they forget the obvious things. The things that you and I would notice.”
    Carter whistled. “Try not to be too creepy, hun. Wouldn’t want you getting framed.”
    Brad, naturally, just blushed.
    “Can I take a look at that, Chris?” Brian asked.
    Chris Patel nodded. Half-smiled at Brian. Stepped away from the coat, ruddy phone still glued to his ear.
    He crouched down and examined the coat. Little blue anorak. No brand or anything like that. Slight tear on the material at the front.
    A patch of blood surrounding that tear.
    “So what. The killer stabbed him right here? And yet there’s no other traces of blood?”
    “We can’t confirm that yet,” Carter said, rain beginning to sprinkle down again as the leaves rustled in the breeze.
    “Okay. So say the killer did stab Sam here. He stabs him, manages not to spill any of Sam’s blood, and keeps Sam alive all the time for him to get to the old Whittingham Hospital before disembowelling him completely?”
    “Sounds about right,” Carter said.
    Brian shook his head. His arms and hands buzzed as he looked down at this coat. “No. It doesn’t sound right. There’s something off. Get this coat down to the station ASAP and have it checked out. The blood in particular.”
    He stepped back up to Carter and Richards. Both of them looked at one another, wide-eyed.
    “What?” Brian asked.
    Brad shook his head. “Nothing. Just seem on tenters—”
    “I’m on fucking tenters because a kid’s dead,” Brian said.
    He only realised how much he’d raised his voice when Brad backed away. When he saw all the other officers looking at him.
    Brad shook his head. “Sorry. I—”
    “Carter, get the route from here to Whittingham Hospital checked. Arrange an HtoH. Get any CCTV. The killer has to have gone down there at some point. What is it, a ten, fifteen minute drive or something?”
    Samantha had her head down, still a bit shocked from Brian’s shouting. “Um, yeah. We’ll get onto it.” She looked up. Looked at the officers with the dogs. “What you waiting for? Get on with it.”
    The officers hurriedly got back to the search.
    Brian walked slowly down the dirt track. Let the mud squelch through his shoes, through his socks. He imagined little Sam Betts walking down this path. Saw tiny paw prints in the mud, imagined the smile on his face as his dog ran beside him, the wind brushing through his hair and all kinds of innocent, childish thoughts in his mind.
    “Brian, wait up.”
    Brian’s stomach turned. Brad. Shit, he shouldn’t have snapped. But like he told his therapist, he’d been a grumpy shit lately. That’s all it was—a bout of grumpiness.
    Brad stopped beside him. Almost slipped in the wet soil. “Back there. I’m sorry about—”
    “The farm,” Brian said. He pointed up at the farmhouse just ahead. “Anyone spoken to them yet?”
    Brad turned around. “Erm, Carter