To Die For: A London Crime Thriller (Detective Chief Inspector Arla Baker Series Book 11)

A prominent civil servant is brutally killed in his mansion. His family is distraught, and they want answers. 

Detective Arla Baker is called in to track the vicious killer.

But the dead man had secrets that many would kill to protect. As Arla delves deeper in to the mysteries of the past, she uncovers a terrible conspiracy that scarred thousands of lives.


As another senior government officer is brutally killed, the political establishment becomes unsettled. They unleash forces of their own to keep this secret buried in the past...


Arla finds herself in the eye of the perfect storm – the killers who won’t stop at anything, and mercenaries who will eliminate her without a second thought.


As she gets closer to the blood thirsty assassin, her mind also begins to disintegrate under the pressure….

CHAPTER 1

Detective Chief Inspector Arla Baker held her ring finger up to the light. It was winter, and a thin shaft of watery sunlight came in through the window overlooking the car park. She was in her office, and alone. Sun rays caught the polished diamond and scattered shards of coloured beams on the wall. She grinned. The wedding ring was new, and she never imagined she would wear one. Life held unexpected surprises, and perhaps she was overdue a pleasant one. New ring, and new name. She was Mrs Mehta now, but at work she kept her maiden name.
She sighed, and turned around to face the desk. The pile on her in-tray was full every day. One of the perks of being a DCI, and responsible for five police stations in the borough. To top it off, she was the duty senior investigating officer for her station in Clapham this week. It was winter, hence the crime season was at its nadir, thankfully. It was a Friday, and she had only two more days before she could relax. The week of being duty SIO could be hell. She also knew the weekend was generally crime heavy, so she wasn’t holding her breath.
Right on cue, there was a knock on the door. Rob Pickering’s face appeared, one of her trusted detective sergeants. Rob had lost a lot of weight recently, and his caramel-coloured cheeks were now covered with a light black beard. The fact that he was hitting on sergeant Rosslyn might have something to do with it, Arla figured, with a hidden smile.
Her mirth faded when she caught the look on Rob’s face. His dilated eyes didn’t bode well. His words confirmed her premonition.
“IC1 male found dead in his home, guv. Lived opposite the Common. His wife called it in this morning.” IC stood for International Classification, and the number 1 was used to denote a Caucasian male.
“Is the wife okay?”
“She’s fine. Woke up this morning and couldn’t find her husband. He was on the floor in his study downstairs, covered in his own blood. She thinks he was stabbed to death.”
Arla stood, pushing away her paperwork with a sigh. It couldn’t wait, but neither could this.
“We have an ID I guess?”
“Yes,” Rob stepped inside the office. Framed in the sunbeams from the window, Arla could see he indeed was a lot thinner. His chubby cheeks had vanished, and the usual tightness around his shoulders was missing. His coat hung looser on him. He looked healthier, and the beard suited him.
“He’s a professor, guv. Long winded name, sounds posh.” He grinned. “Brian Cholmondeley St John.”
Arla smiled. “Proper old school.” Her smile vanished as she contemplated the reality. “Did his wife mention anything else? Any signs of struggle in the study? Did she hear anything last night?”
Rob spread his hands. “She was distraught, as you can imagine. I heard the tape of her call. Her voice was high pitched and loud. She kept saying – a lot of blood. Uniforms got there as soon as they could.”
Arla glanced at her watch. “What time was the call?” It was 9.30 AM now.
“0830 hours. Uniform got there at 0900. They’ve secured the place and closed access to both ends of the road.”
“Okay, have you informed Harry?” She didn’t bother referring to him as DI Mehta anymore. Most of the coppers from the station had been at the wedding.
“Not yet, guv. Do you want me to?”
“Don’t worry, I will. Give me five and I’ll be out. Please get the car ready.”
“Alright guv. I’ve called scene of crime already, and Parmentier will head down there asap. The blood splatter technician will also be there by the time we arrive.”
Rob nodded and left. He was Inspector grade material now, Arla knew. She would have to let go of Lisa and Rob soon, and they would get senior jobs elsewhere. She was lucky to have such a great team, but it was time to train the younger generation like Rosslyn, Geeta and Tarek Jaffer, the new detective constable.
She called Harry, who was driving down after dropping off Nicole at nursery. Nicole was a precocious four-and-a-half-year-old, spoilt rotten by her parents and sole grandparent Rita – Harry’s mother.
“First stiff of the winter,” Harry said. “In that way, its been a unique year.”
“It’s only November,” Arla snorted. “Give winter a chance.”
Harry sighed. “Shall I see you there? Please send me the address.”
“I’ll ask Rob to send it over. It’s by the Common. See you soon.”
Arla picked up her black note pad and pen and stuffed them in her coat pocket. She made sure her warrant card was in her card holder. Rob was waiting for her outside. She waved at Lisa and Geeta, who waved back. Tarek, the new DC, was sat with his back to her, hunched over his laptop. Arla strolled over to him. The fresh-faced young man gaped at Arla, then stood up so fast he knocked the chair over.
“Sorry Marm I didn’t see you there.”
Arla smiled reassuringly. “Don’t call me marm, it makes me sound old. Guv will do fine.”
“Okay guv.” Tarek swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing in his long, thin neck. He scratched the back of his head.
“We’re going to see a deceased IC1 male. You need to come with us.”
Tarek’s eyes widened. He had big eyes, which looked larger on his gaunt cheeks. “Me?”
“Yes you,” Arla said. “Come on, haven’t got all day.” She turned and left, Rob following. She could hear Tarek scraping his chair under the table. It was all part of the young constable’s training. He needed sharpening up.
Rob drove briskly through the serpentine roads that surrounded the station. Clapham Police station was in the middle of numerous brown brick buildings that were council estates. A multitude of lives stacked together like forgotten, moth eaten pages of an old textbook. Arla was used to it, and she had been inside several of these grimy apartments to apprehend suspects, or in drug busts. Good, hard-working people lived there too, and it was a shame the criminals used them as their shield. It was a sad reality that in a life devoid of hope, crime offered the only way out.
Rob made his way through the winding streets, and came out on the traffic lights to the main street. Traffic was heavy so he turned the siren on. The cars ahead took their time to pull over, but eventually they were free, gliding down the road adjacent to the vast green stretches of the Common.




















CHAPTER 2

Harry rang while Rob was driving. Arla informed him they had arrived at the scene, and hung up. The broad avenue was a beautiful residential road opposite the Common. Mature oak, birch and willow trees lined the street, offering privacy to the row of magnificent mansions overlooking the greenery. The bank of trees was now devoid of leaves, their wet, dark branches reaching up to the leaden sky like claws.
Rob pulled up into the driveway, and parked behind a Tesla model X. The house was set back from the road. It was immaculately maintained, each red brown brick seemingly restored to its Victorian splendour. Floor to ceiling tall windows flanked the main door on both sides, and framed the two floors upstairs. The front lawn was minimally modern, with Japanese style rocks and bonsai plants.
The uniformed sergeant standing guard outside the house nodded at them, and opened Arla’s door.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Arla smiled at the young man, whose name badge said Mathew. “Thank you.”
“Pleasure, guv,” Mathew said. “The victim’s wife is inside.”
“Has scene of crime arrived?”
Mathew shook his head. “On their way, I last heard.”
Arla stepped outside the gates and stared up and down the street. A waist high iron fence ran along the border of the Common. The grassy expanse of the common was now blackened with mud. The sky was the same colour, a sheet of dark grey drowsing over the dense canopy of treelines in the distance.
Could the killer have come across the Common, under cover of night? It would be an easy getaway too. These houses had formidable security, but still…Arla crossed the road and peered over the railing. The Common’s ground were slushy from the rain last night. Rain was the enemy of evidence, washing away vital signs and clues. But there was always a chance boot prints might be left behind. Arla turned and waved at Rob and Tarek. Both men hurried over.
“I want a uniform team to scour this area, upto say a couple of hundred yards. Extend the blue tape and cordon it off.”
Rob scratched his chin. “But guv, it’s a public area. Going to be hard to keep people off it. There’s a track there, sure people run on it.”
“It’s winter,” Arla said. “This area of the Common isn’t that popular. I can’t see a kiddies playground nearby. Inform the council, and guard the area. I want a uniform team to make sure no one comes in.”
Tarek cleared his throat. “Treat it like a crime scene, guv?”
Arla nodded. “Exactly.” Her eyes fell on the pavement. It was slick with rain. She couldn’t see any obvious footprints. She indicated to her team and headed for the house. A familiar black BMW pulled over. Detective Inspector Harry Mehta emerged, tall and wide shouldered, dressed in his usual dapper suit. He patted his gelled hair once, and strode over to them. Arla suppressed a smile. Harry dressed like he was walking down a red carpet. All he needed was a silk handkerchief in his breast pocket.
She tapped her wrist as he approached them. “Late for work again, Harry? Busy putting your make up on?”
“Oh, I wake up looking this good. Don’t need make up.” He flashed her a smile, his eyes warm.
They didn’t talk about Nicole in front of their colleagues, but she could tell from his relaxed attitude all was well at home. Harry had just dropped Nicole off at nursery. Harry said hello to the others, who fell in line behind them. She glanced up at Harry, and he mouthed she’s okay. She nodded. They stepped into the white stone porch. The black door was glistening, and she could see her reflection. Harry knocked on the door and waited.
An elderly woman opened the door. She was tall, her face level with Arla, who was five ten. She was in her sixties, and had looked after herself well. The tan lines on her face were few, resulting in a paler complexion, but a less weather worn face. Her grey eyes flicked from Harry to Arla, and although the look in her eyes were dull, and red rimmed, they were attentive. She was still pretty, a small button like nose above full lips. The large eyes dominated the face, and drew the onlooker towards them.
She didn’t have make up on, and looked tired. The folds on her neck, Arla thought, were the main markers of her age. She wore dark blue slacks and a brown blouse.
“You must be the police officers. The detectives, I mean,” she said.
Arla nodded, and both she and Harry showed their warrant cards. She introduced Harry, Rob and Tarek.
The woman stood back from the door, and they walked in. The reception area was large enough, with the white stone floor continuing, but laid with tiles. A number of rooms branched off in all directions. A wide staircase lay to their left.
“I hope you don’t mind all of us coming in,” Arla said.
“No, it’s okay.” The woman sighed. “I’m getting used to it.” She passed a hand over her tired face. “I’m Cheryl, by the way. Brian’s wife.”
“I’m very sorry about your loss,” Arla said. “Do you mind if we sit down and have a chat?”
Cheryl stared at Arla. “I’ve told the others everything. Do we have to go over it again?”
Arla was used to this. “It must be hard for you. We want to resolve this as quickly as possible, and getting the facts from you would help the most. If you don’t mind?”
Cheryl blew out her cheeks, and nodded in resignation. A female uniformed sergeant arrived, emerging from the room to Arla’s left.
“Guv,” she said to Arla. “I’m Gemma. Came this morning with Mathew, who’s outside.”
“Thanks,” Arla said. She eyed the room Gemma had just come out from. She could see kitchen cabinets, and a shiny cream tiled floor. Gemma followed her eyes.
“I was just making a cup of tea for Mrs St-John when I heard you.” She turned to Cheryl. “Your tea is ready.”
“Thanks,” Cheryl said. “Shall we go into this room?” She indicated a room behind Harry. The door was shut.
Arla said, “Where did you find your husband this morning?”
Cheryl pointed to her rear. The door was open, and Arla could see dark wooden parquet flooring, and a glass cabinet. A couple of framed canvases hung on the wall.
“That’s Brian’s study. He spends a lot of time there doing his work. I came down this morning to make tea. He wasn’t in bed, but he wakes up before me normally. When I entered his study I saw….” Her voice trailed off as she looked down.
Arla said, “Please let me have a look. Why don’t you go into the kitchen and have a cupper with Gemma?”
Cheryl nodded. Harry stepped forward as she turned towards the kitchen. “Sorry, I just wanted to ask if the study door was open when you came downstairs this morning.”
Cheryl stared at Harry for a few seconds. Then she nodded. “Yes, it was.”
Arla nodded her approval to Harry. They put on their gloves, and Rob pulled out shoe covers from his pocket. Arla stepped into the study, followed by Harry and the others.