by Wyer, Carol
The Dare
An absolutely gripping crime thriller
Carol Wyer
Books by Carol Wyer
The DI Natalie Ward series:
The Birthday
Last Lullaby
The Dare
The DI Robyn Carter series:
Little Girl Lost
Secrets of the Dead
The Missing Girls
The Silent Children
The Chosen Ones
Other titles:
Life Swap
Take a Chance on Me
Mini Skirts and Laughter Lines
Surfing in Stilettos
Just Add Spice
Grumpy Old Menopause
How Not to Murder Your Grumpy
Grumpies On Board
Love Hurts
Available in audio:
The DI Natalie Ward series:
The Birthday (UK listeners | US listeners)
Last Lullaby (UK listeners | US listeners)
The DI Robyn Carter series:
Little Girl Lost (UK listeners | US listeners)
Secrets of the Dead (UK listeners | US listeners)
The Missing Girls (UK listeners | US listeners)
The Silent Children (UK listeners | US listeners)
The Chosen Ones (UK listeners | US listeners)
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Carol’s Email Sign-Up
Books by Carol Wyer
A Letter from Carol
The Birthday
Last Lullaby
Little Girl Lost
Secrets of the Dead
The Missing Girls
The Silent Children
The Chosen Ones
Life Swap
Take a Chance on Me
Acknowledgements
For Edith Marshall, who I lost and then found again
Prologue
The large hand on the wall clock inched closer to the number six. As it did so, he struggled to control the jackhammering in his chest. Soon. He poured the oil into his hands, smoothed it over his chest and shoulders, and stared into the large mirror that allowed him to see the creature in all its glory. The tattooed snake glistened in the light from the window, seemingly alive, with scales refreshed and shining. Its head hung below his right collarbone, its jaws wide open. The scaly, black body disappeared over his shoulder to coil down the length of his back and reappeared on the left-hand side of his ribcage, where it curled around his waist, its tail disappearing under the waistband of his jeans. It had been a while since the snake had been pacified and fed.
Soon.
He dragged on his shirt to conceal the dark beast and paced the carpeted floor, halting by the music box, lovingly handcrafted and mounted on a wooden stand. It was astonishing what was sold at car boot sales. One person’s junk could be another person’s treasure. This was his.
He traced the holes and protrusions along the barrel of the music box and ran his fingers along the pieces of metal – the eighteen-note Yunsheng movement, resembling a book of thin, metal matches – that would create the tune. He lifted the music box with care, fingertips lightly grasping the delicate hand crank, and turned it unhurriedly until the drum rotated, the silver strips struck the drum, and the tinny tune – a recognisable nursery rhyme – filled the otherwise silent room. He smiled at the irony. How appropriate that he had chosen this one.
The clock hands moved again. It was now after 3.30 p.m. School was over for the day and it was finally time. He cranked the handle and hummed along as it played, his hooded eyes scanning the street for his next victim. She’d be passing by soon. Very soon.
Boys and girls come out to play,
The moon does shine as bright as day;
Come with a hoop, and come with a call,
Come with a good will or not at all.
One
Monday, 16 April
‘Get a fucking move on!’ Jane Hopkins shouted, even though the giant John Deere tractor ahead currently holding up the lengthy queue of traffic wasn’t the real reason she was thirty minutes late getting home. She rested her elbow against the window and let out an exasperated sigh.
At this rate, she wouldn’t get home until after five. She turned up the volume on the radio to take her mind off her frustration at travelling at such a snail’s pace. In reality, there were only three miles left. Getting worked up about a few extra minutes was pointless, except she was always at home when Savannah got in, even though the kid knew where the spare key was hidden and was quite capable of letting herself in. It was a matter of principle. Jane’s own mother had always been at work when Jane came home from school, and as a former latchkey child, she hadn’t wanted Savannah to experience the same thing. That was why Jane worked nine to three thirty and only four miles away from home – four long miles. She tried to relax her jaw. She was grinding her teeth subconsciously again as she usually did when she was wound up. The tractor refused to pull off into the only lay-by between here and the T-junction.
‘Bastard,’ she muttered. There was no way anyone would be able to overtake the vehicle heading through the centre of Hapfield. She was stuck crawling along with everyone else, all doing ten miles per hour. She’d already left a message on her daughter’s mobile to say she was going to be late but she rang again, and Savannah’s breezy, recorded voice filled the car.
‘Hiya! It’s Savannah here. I can’t talk now, so leave a message.’
‘Hun, I’m still running late. Won’t be long. There are crisps in the cupboard if you’re peckish but don’t eat too many. I thought I’d cook your favourite, lasagne, for tea.’
It was her own fault she wasn’t at home as usual with a smile and the offer of something to eat, and now there was added guilt to that she was already experiencing. If his wife ever finds out… She blocked out the thought. The tractor was finally turning off, its indicator flashing for an eternity while it waited for a gap in the oncoming traffic so it could manoeuvre. The exasperation of the drivers ahead of her was evident in the way they floored their accelerators as soon as the wretched machine had disappeared. She joined them and within five minutes was pulling up on her drive.
She jumped out of the car and slammed the door with a bang. The bloody workmen had clocked off early. They were supposed to be there until five. It was quarter past four. Lazy shits. Muddy caterpillar tracks ran to and from the bricked driveway. The garden was still a mess – a quagmire that Jane couldn’t imagine would ever look anything other than a mudbath. A mountain of rolled turf sat in the far corner, each piece like an inside-out, hairy green carpet. She scowled at it and wished she’d never employed the duo – they’d offered the cheapest quote but were turning out to be the most unreliable workmen she’d co
me across.
There was no sign of Savannah. Jane had half-expected her thirteen-year-old to be leaning against the front door with a sour look on her face, but she must have collected the key from under the special rock and let herself in. She opened the door and shouted, ‘Savannah! You home, sweetie? Sorry I’m late. Traffic was dreadful.’ She winced at the half-truth. Of course, she’d never be able to tell her daughter the real reason she was late. ‘Savannah!’
There was no reply. The girl was probably already glued to her phone. That was the routine: come in, chuck her bag at the bottom of the stairs and head to her room, where she’d peel off her hated school uniform and become so involved in some game or other, she wouldn’t hear her mother shouting that tea was ready.
Jane stopped in her tracks. There was no school bag.
‘Savannah!’ She climbed the stairs and opened the door to her daughter’s bedroom. The unicorn on the dressing table grinned its happy smile at her. The bed hadn’t been made. It was always difficult to wake Savannah up. She really wasn’t a morning person, and since they’d moved to this house, it had been even more difficult to get her up each day. The neighbour owned a terrier that spent most nights outside, barking at shadows. The night before it had yapped solidly until 3 a.m. Both Jane and Savannah had risen at 8 a.m., fatigued and in bad moods, and Savannah hadn’t wanted to go to school at all.
‘Please, Mum. Let me take a day off. I feel ill,’ she’d pleaded.
She’d looked pasty but Jane hadn’t given in. Why not? asked the voice that sometimes acted as her conscience. You know fucking well why not. I didn’t want to take a day off work and miss out on screwing my boss in his office, she snarled back at it.
Jane scooted back downstairs and checked her mobile in case her daughter had tried to contact her. The only message on her phone brought a hot flush to her cheeks as she read then deleted it. She rang Savannah’s number again. It went immediately to answerphone.
‘Savannah, it’s Mum. Ring me when you get this message.’
She ended the call, and a mix of vexation and anxiety caused the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. Savannah was never late from school. She was always home by 4 p.m. The school was only a twenty-minute walk – thirty tops if you were a schoolgirl talking to your best mates and dragging your heels – and it was the golden rule that Savannah was only allowed to walk home unaccompanied by her mother if she came straight home. Jane wasn’t a strict parent but that was one rule she held fast – she wasn’t going to have Savannah grow up with the same deep-seated resentment and feelings of rejection that Jane had experienced. At least Savannah would know her mother cared enough about her to be there at the end of every day to listen to grumbles and offer a pot of tea and a smile. Not that she seemed to give much in return these days. Savannah barely managed a hello before disappearing upstairs.
It was four thirty. She ought to be home by now. Jane pocketed the mobile and strode to the window overlooking the street. Beyond it was wasteland, nothing but open space waiting for development. Several cars snaked past. She turned her head to the left, the direction Savannah would come from. No sign of anyone walking towards the house.
She marched to the front door and stood outside, then walked the length of the driveway and stood at the edge of the pavement to get a better view up the road. Her next-door neighbour was approaching, her dog on a lead. Jane couldn’t face talking to her about her barking mutt, so she turned away and looked in the opposite direction towards the railway crossing and the park that skirted behind her home. Nobody. She scooted inside the house before the woman reached her.
She tried Savannah’s phone again and got the same answerphone message. It was no good; she had to find out where her girl was. She kicked off the high heels she’d been wearing, swapping them for a pair of trainers beside the back door, and headed in the direction of the school. Where could her daughter be? Had she buzzed off into town with her friends? She made a snap decision to ring one of the mothers, Isobel Gilmore, a snooty cow but one who’d invited Savannah around to hang out with her daughter, Sally, when no one else had been so welcoming.
‘Hi, Isobel. It’s Jane Hopkins here – Savannah’s mother.’
‘Oh, hi.’ The response was lukewarm. Jane wasn’t surprised. She and Isobel were polar opposites although their children rubbed along well enough.
‘Is there an after-school activity today?’ She hated asking the question and could imagine Isobel rolling her eyes. Jane really would be the worst type of mother if she didn’t know what was going on at the school. All the other mothers knew what was happening.
‘No. Nothing on Mondays.’
‘Okay. Thanks.’
Isobel obviously picked up on her tone. ‘Is something wrong, Jane?’
Jane didn’t want to give away too much information. The news would be halfway across town before she’d hung up and made it to the school gates, only twenty metres away. Once the jungle drums started sounding, their noise would reverberate around the entire network of local mums and Savannah would be the butt of jokes the following day.
‘No, nothing.’ She glanced across at the locked gates as she spoke, then changed her mind. What the heck if Savannah was teased in the morning. She ought to have come straight home. ‘Well, yes. Savannah hasn’t come home yet. I wondered if she was with Sally.’
‘No. I’ll ask Sally when she last saw her.’ There was a mumbled exchange and Jane struggled to hear what was being said. An oil tanker drove past her, and the driver honked his horn and made a suggestive sign. She turned away, mobile clamped to her ear. Isobel was back. ‘No, she hasn’t seen her since school.’
‘Okay.’ Jane didn’t know what to say or do next. She had a weird sensation of floating away from reality. Savannah didn’t have many friends. Sally Gilmore and Holly Bradshaw were the only two girls she hung about with. It had been a struggle for her moving to this school.
Isobel defrosted a little, her voice warmer. ‘Don’t worry. She’ll turn up. She’s probably got waylaid with friends and forgotten the time. Sally did that once. Gave me a proper scare. Let me know when she gets home.’
‘Can you ask Sally to try her on social media? Ask her to call me. Please.’ Jane knew she was overreacting. Savannah was only half an hour late.
Isobel must have thought the same. ‘Sure. If she hears anything at all, I’ll ring you.’
Jane half-ran and half-walked back to the house, hoping to see the girl by the door, school bag on the path beside her, on her phone. There was nobody. She opened the door and called out Savannah’s name but was met with silence again. She rang Holly Bradshaw’s mother, Karen, who worked at the local pharmacy and sounded irritated at the call.
‘I’m not off shift yet. Holly’s with my mother,’ she said.
She gave Jane her mother’s address, several streets away. Torn between waiting for her daughter and seeking out Holly, Jane frantically searched for some paper. Using the back of an electric bill, she scribbled a note that she left on the bottom stair so Savannah would see it as soon as she came in.
Ring me now.
She raced out to her car, threw herself back into the driver’s seat and drew out into the traffic. Her conscience whispered two words: Your fault.
‘Fuck off,’ she replied out loud.
After a ten-minute drive, she pulled onto a driveway outside a smart, modern bungalow that was three times the size of her own house and parked behind the black convertible Mini stationed there. A woman with jet-black hair answered the door, a restraining hand on the collar of an exuberant spaniel, and gave her visitor a steely look. Jane wasn’t going to be put off.
‘I’m Jane Hopkins. Savannah Hopkins’ mother. I’m sorry to bother you but I need to speak to Holly. Savannah hasn’t come home and I wondered if Holly had any idea of where she might be. Please? I’m worried about her.’
The woman hesitated for a moment before saying, ‘You’d better come in.’
She led the way into a warm, bright
, welcoming kitchen and ordered the dog to lie on its bed.
‘Holly, this is Savannah’s mother. She’s looking for Savannah.’
Holly Bradshaw was dark-haired, rosy-cheeked and sulky-mouthed – the opposite of Savannah. She looked up at Jane through long black eyelashes, her lips pulled down, and then she spoke. ‘Not seen Savannah since school ended. She was in a strop and went off without us.’
‘What do you mean?’
Holly shifted uncomfortably on the kitchen stool, her plate of chips in front of her.
Her grandmother stroked her hair and encouraged her to talk. ‘Tell Mrs Hopkins.’
Holly shrugged. ‘She was in a bad mood. She and Sally had a falling-out and she went off. That’s all.’
‘What did they fall out about?’
‘I dunno,’ said Holly, and then she appeared to lose interest in the conversation, turning her attention back to the chips in front of her.
‘Where did you last see her?’
‘Aldi. The car park at Aldi.’
It was the route Savannah and her friends took each day, leaving Watfield Secondary School, crossing the supermarket car park and then taking the pedestrianised street that joined onto the road leading to her house.