The Canal Boat Killer (Detective Inspector Benedict Paige Book 5) | Paperback

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Prologue
June 2023

She hurried along the towpath, keen to put as much distance between herself and what she’d just seen on that canal boat. A fine drizzle fell, dampening her mood further on this Tuesday morning. A small boy in a Harry Potter outfit said hello, his mother not far behind. She ignored him, her head down. She passed several more barges, all painted bright primary colours. Her head spun; nothing felt real.
She emerged on Gray’s Inn Road, relieved to be back in ‘civilisation’. She saw the red bus that would take her home. She ran for the bus stop but just missed it. ‘There’ll be another along soon,’ said an older woman wearing a headscarf. A man in dungarees hawked and spat. She turned away from him and wandered towards King’s Cross.
She’d never seen a dead body before and now she’d seen two in the space of a couple of days. Maybe she’d imagined the second one, lying face up on the boat; perhaps he wasn’t dead. She clamped her hand over her mouth to muffle her scream. She should have made sure he was actually dead but the shock had made her bolt. She didn’t want anyone to see her there.
She put her hand on her heart. She still felt sick. She didn’t know what to do. All she wanted to do was to go home and forget she’d seen him there. But she’d never forget, she knew that. And if she did nothing, she’d never forgive herself.
She saw a red telephone box, an old-fashioned one. She checked her pockets for some change but found none. That, she thought, gave her the excuse not to do anything until she remembered one didn’t need money to phone the emergency services. Would they ask for her name, her number? They were bound to but surely she wasn't obliged to furnish them with her information. The last thing she wanted was to have the police knocking on her door asking all their questions. What if they thought she’d killed him? No one could vouch for her.
She stepped inside the telephone box, ignoring the numerous cards posted up advertising sexual services. Did men really respond to these seedy-looking offers? How pathetic men are.
She dialled 999. A female operator answered.
‘Hello? Hello. I’d…’ She wasn’t sure if she could do this.
‘You alright, miss?’ came the voice. ‘How can I help?’
She had to stop herself from putting the phone down. She noticed someone outside, a man with a dog waiting for the phone box.
‘Miss, are you still there? Is there something you need to report? Hello?’
She held the mouthpiece closer to her mouth. ‘Yes, I…’ She needed to do this. ‘I’d like to report a murder, please…’

Part One
2005
Eighteen years ago
Chapter 1: Ian
April 2005

Ian Turner always rather enjoyed making love on a boat. A canal boat to be precise. But now, he was itching to leave but to do so too quickly would come across as a little impolite, or seedy. Or both. ‘So, how’s Julia?’ asked Beth, sitting up and pulling up the duvet to preserve her modesty.
‘Juliet.’ They may not have met but Beth knew full well his wife’s name. Did she really need to ask after her? They’d just had sex, for God's sake, couldn’t she think of a more suitable topic for their first post-coital conversation?
‘Oh, she’s alright, you know.’
‘She must be due soon.’
Don’t remind me, he thought. ‘Not for another couple of months.’
‘How far is she gone?’
‘Erm, twenty-three weeks, I think.’
Beth stretched. ‘What are you hoping for? Boy or a girl?’
‘Don’t mind, really.’ He did know, the doctors had told them – Juliet was carrying a boy but he didn’t want to tell Beth. ‘Listen, what time did you say Kris will be back?’ He was due back at ten, he knew that, but he needed to change the subject.
‘About ten. So, plenty of time. I’ll give you ten minutes and then how about another pop?’
‘T-ten minutes? Christ, Beth. I need longer than that. I’m not so young these days.’
She laughed. ‘We’re not yet thirty, you fool. Well, go put the kettle on. Make yourself useful.’
‘Erm, yes, sure.’ He reached for his pants.
‘No, don’t.’
‘What?’
‘I want my tea served by a man in the buff.’
‘Yeah, right, not happening, love.’ He pulled his clothes on.
They heard Beth’s baby make a noise. Ian paused at the bedroom door. Beth swore. They waited, hoping for Baby Harry to settle. ‘Go back to sleep,’ Beth whispered. ‘I can’t be arsed tonight.’ Luckily, he soon did.
‘He sleeps well, doesn’t he?’
‘Normally. That’s one thing I will say for him. Slept the night through from day one. Nothing wakes Harry up.’
Ian padded through to the little kitchen and flicked the kettle on. He always wondered how Beth and Kris survived on this barge, all four of them. They had the one chemical toilet between them, the place was cramped. Yet, Beth kept a tidy boat, much tidier than home. There was no clutter on this boat, everything had its place, it was clean, the surfaces shone. The kitchen had one shelf that sported statuettes of the famous Three Monkeys: See no evil, Hear no evil, Say no evil, each with a silly expression.
‘What hospital are you going to?’ Beth called from the bedroom.
Ian answered and they continued the conversation between the two rooms, all about Juliet’s impending day, whether she was going for gas and air, or pethidine or an epidural. Having only given birth herself three months before, Beth took an unhealthy interest in Juliet’s birth plans. It didn’t please Ian at all. Didn’t Beth realise that whenever she brought up Juliet’s name, that needle of guilt pressed down a little further into his flesh. He’d told Juliet he was at the pub with colleagues from work. But he’d had enough of Beth now, he wanted to get home, away from this boat. He wondered how he could make his escape now without causing offence. Why were women always so darn needy?
He took Beth’s mug of tea through to her. She thanked him. ‘You must be excited, first baby and all.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’
‘You don’t sound sure.’ She sipped her tea. She was right, though, he wasn’t sure at all. In truth, the doctors had warned them things were not going well. Halfway through the pregnancy, they told them that something was seriously wrong. A scan showed too much fluid on the baby’s brain and that he wasn’t growing as well as he should. They knew the baby was a boy. The best-case scenario, so they were told, was that he’d be born prematurely. Ian preferred not to dwell on it; he’d worry about it when the time came.
‘No, it’ll be fine. It’ll be cool.’
‘Cool?’
‘Yeah, as in… cool.’
‘It’s a baby, Ian, not a new pair of trainers.’
‘Actually, talking of Juliet, I ought to be going, you know.’
‘Oh.’ Yes, she looked offended, as predicted. ‘OK, wipe your dick on the curtain as you leave, why don’t you?’
‘No but, you know, I shouldn’t leave Juliet too long, what with… you know.’
‘Oh, aren’t you the considerate husband? How nice.’ She shook her head.
They were both startled by a knock on the cabin door. ‘Shit,’ said Beth, sitting up, spilling her tea.
‘Hello?’ came a distant voice, a man’s voice. ‘Hello?’
‘Fuck,’ mouthed Beth, jumping out of bed, reaching for her dressing gown. ‘That’s Ethan. Shit. Give me a minute, Ethan,’ she shouted.
‘Who?’ whispered Ian.
‘Don’t make a sound. Just coming, Ethan. Just a mo.’
She ran her hand through her hair and tightened the cord on her dressing gown. She puffed out her cheeks. ‘Right.’
Ian stayed in the bedroom, listening to the conversation happening outside. So, it seemed Beth’s son, Dan, was meant to be having a sleepover with his friend but the friend was sick so his dad, Ethan, had brought Dan back. ‘Didn’t you get my text?’ asked the man.
‘No, sorry, early night. Knackering day. I was out like a light. Sorry.’
Ian heard Dan coming into the boat, making a lot of noise and stamping around. Beth and Ethan continued talking. Ian’s phone pinged. Bound to be Juliet, he thought, wanting to know what time he’d be home. But it wasn’t Juliet, it was his mate, Alan Milner. You free? it asked.
Now, that was worrying, thought Ian, what did Alan want? He wasn’t really a mate, just a bloke he knew, and he was generally bad news. Truth was, Ian was rather in awe of Alan. Alan was hard. No one messed with Alan. He could ignore it and pretend he hadn't seen it. But that wouldn’t wash. Give me ten, he responded. He got a thumbs-up emoji in return.
‘Ian’s here,’ he heard Beth say loudly to her son. ‘Ian? Where are you?’
As if he could get lost on a canal boat. Ian stepped through to the little kitchen. Daniel was there, removing a Transformers rucksack. Ian said a sheepish hello and got nothing in return. ‘Well, thanks for fixing the toilet, Ian,’ said Beth.
‘The what? Oh yes, sure. No problem.’
‘See you around then?’
‘Yeah. Sure.’ Daniel threw him a sullen look.
Ian skipped off the boat, happy to get away. He wasn’t so happy about the prospect of having to phone Alan Milner. He didn’t like having him in his life but both Juliet and Beth were friends with Lana, Alan’s on/off girlfriend.
He trotted along the towpath, making his way back towards Kings Cross. It was April. The days may have turned warm, but this time of night, it was still cold, the ground damp after an earlier downpour. Slowing down, he rang Alan.
‘Ian, my old mucker. You up for some easy money?’
‘No.’
Alan laughed. ‘Of course not. But this really is easy cash.’
‘How much we’re talking about?’
Ian heard Alan suck his breath in. ‘We’re talking a hundred K between us.’
That stopped him. ‘How much?’
‘Thought you’d be interested.’
‘A hundred grand.’
‘Yep. Straight up.’
‘No, it sounds too risky–’
‘You don’t know what it is yet.’
‘If it’s worth that much, it’s got to be dodgy as fuck.’
‘Kris is in; at least he wants to hear my plan first, but he will be, mark my words.’
A man walking a cocker spaniel passed, muttering a good evening. The dog sniffed at Ian’s trouser leg. ‘Kris?’ he asked, as in the man married to the woman he’d just had sex with or another Kris / Chris?
‘You know, Beth’s husband.’
‘Don’t really know him, to be honest.’
‘They live on that boat on the canal near King’s Cross. The Purple Mermaid or something.’
‘Do they?’ Ian glanced back at the said boat. ‘I had no idea.’
‘So, we’re meeting on the boat tomorrow evening at seven-thirty. Be there.’
‘No, hang on, Al, I’m not sure… Hello? Alan, are you there?’
But he wasn’t; he’d hung up.
‘Shit.’ Ian put his phone in his coat pocket and walked on.