Run Rabbit Run: A Relentlessly Exciting British Crime Thriller (DCI Kett Crime Thrillers Book 5) by Alex Smith

Author:Alex Smith [Smith, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Relentless Media
Published: 2020-11-30T16:00:00+00:00

It was more like an hour, the traffic snarling up towards the end of the day. Norfolk Constabulary HQ was busy, but when Kett stepped through the door into the MIT bullpen he found that it was almost deserted. He heard voices coming from the incident room and peeked through the door to see Clare, Porter, Savage and Dunst sitting around a desk at the front of the room. They all looked up like they’d been caught by a teacher.

“Kett, get in here,” said Clare, his frown so deep he could have been a Klingon. “Did you destroy any more cars on the way over?”

“I, uh, no, sir.”

Kett pulled a chair from a nearby desk and squeezed in between Porter and Savage.

“Technically I was the one who destroyed the car,” said Savage, holding up her hand.

“Yes, but he was in it,” said Clare. The Superintendent sat back, folding his arms over his chest. “Where’s Bains?”

“Safe,” said Kett.

“You sure about that?”

“I’m sure,” Kett said. “We can call him if you like.”

“Robbie’s the reason Bains is still alive,” said Savage. “He’s the reason we got out of the house so quickly.”

Clare nodded, taking a giant breath.

“Kate tells me he’s on the list because he discovered what Figg was up to.”

“What he was going to do, yes,” said Kett. “If he’d come to us when he found out, those newspaper girls never would have been taken, and we might have found Billie a lot earlier. To be honest, I don’t think he knows much, just some screen names. But the fact he tried to blackmail Figg is enough to make him a target.”

“And you trust him?” Clare asked.

“No,” said Kett. “Right now I don’t trust anyone.”

“Good,” said Clare. “Take a look at this, will you?”

Savage took the cue, sliding two sheets of paper over the desk. Kett recognised the first one instantly as Christian Stillwater’s suicide note. The other was in exactly the same handwriting, and when Kett leaned in he saw that it was a poem.

“‘The world is sad, the world is bad,’” he read. “‘The people really make me mad.’ What the hell is this?”

“He was a real Emily Dickinson,” said Porter. “When we searched his house we found books full of these.”

“The handwriting, Kett, not the content,” barked Clare.

“Looks identical to me,” said Kett. “Same slanted angles, the same sharp lines. Even his writing looks nuts.”

“Exactly,” said Savage. “It’s spot on. But look at this.”

She passed him a third sheet of paper and he studied it. The shape of the letters was almost exactly the same, but every now and again there were little zigzags where the pen must have trembled, and some of the downward strokes were much longer.

“He wrote this piece when he was in prison,” said Porter. “See the differences?”

Kett studied it for a moment more, then looked up.

“He was in pain,” he said, and Porter nodded.

“That’s what I said. He got regular spasms and cramps in his broken leg, and every time he got one his hand clenched, leaving marks.

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