Darkest Night

by Jenny O'Brien

  She’d known the minute she’d stepped into his restaurant, three months ago that here was a man that was going to change her life for the better and nothing and no one would ever be able to take that feeling away, certainly not Casper Stevens.

  Amy switched her mind off in the same way someone turned off a light, her thoughts now in the past. She didn’t feel the chink of metal or the cold sliver of blade as he rested the long knife across her stomach. She didn’t hear his crooning tones continuing to chant his everlasting devotion as the tip of the blade pierced her flesh between her ribs. She didn’t feel the creak of the old, timber-framed bed as it shifted under their weight just as she didn’t hear the muffled creak of the door as it pushed open under some invisible hand. She was in a world of her own, her thoughts filled with a future that would now never be hers, a single teardrop chasing down her cheek.

  Chapter 48

  Gaby

  Thursday 14 May, 6.35 p.m. Caernarfon

  The house was silent, dark invading all corners.

  ‘You take the right, Owen,’ she whispered, slipping off her shoes and, with the same instinct that had made her open that drawer in Stevens’s office, tiptoed to the end of the hall and gently pushed open the door.

  The room was dark and dingy, the only light coming from the north-facing windows. But it was still bright enough to see Amy spread-eagled on the bed and Casper Stevens bending over her, his hand clenching what looked like a hunting knife.

  Gaby would be the very first to admit that in situations like this she was a coward. She’d never volunteered for anything in her life, always having the ability to weigh up situations in a heartbeat and coming up with a better plan. She was always last on those assault courses they made her go on. Time and again she was the butt of her colleagues’ jokes during training exercises and the truth was no one ever wanted her on their team. She tried her best, but her best was never good enough. She was just one of those people that wasn’t built to be a copper and, if it hadn’t been for her sharp mind, she’d have been shown the door years ago.

  But, for once, instead of thinking, Gaby acted and, with a burst of speed, which had more to do with the adrenaline soaring through her veins than the desultory jogging she was already thinking of quitting, she sprinted across the room and landed on his back, her hand clamping around his wrist, screaming at the top of her voice.

  ‘Owen. Help!

  ‘Get off.’ Casper drew up to his full height, but Gaby held on, her legs wrapping around his thighs, piggyback style and, for the first time in her life, she felt positive about her ability to disarm him. He could twist and shake all he liked but all she had to do was hold on to his wrist for another couple of seconds until Owen …

  The feel of the knife slicing through her arm caused her to lose grip and drop to the floor like a sack of spuds. She lay there, helpless, watching as he lifted the blade before piercing through her stomach right up to the hilt.

  There was a blinding pain then nothing. Her senses dulled. Her thoughts shattered all around as the light behind her eyes suddenly switched to dark.

  Chapter 49

  Gaby

  Wednesday 20 May, 9 a.m. St Asaph Hospital

  ‘Completely unresponsive.’

  ‘But for how long?’

  ‘No one can tell. The brain shows activity but it’s not an exact science. A coma can last for hours, days, weeks. Even years. The main thing is to continue to hope. The doctors and nurses here are some of the best people I’ve ever worked with.’

  The words flickered in and out of her mind but didn’t linger. She didn’t recognise the harsh weeping of her mother or the sound of her father trying and failing to offer some comfort. She was unable to process that her two brothers were standing silent, unable to rationalise the deathly pale body in the bed as being that of their beautiful sister just as she was unable to read the card of thanks signed by Christine and Paul de Bertrand. She was also blind to the man sitting by her side, reaching out to squeeze her hand as he tried to provide what help and support he could to her family.

  Hours passed, great swathes of time that she’d never regain, her mind in limbo while her spleen attempted to heal the damage wrought from having a seven-inch blade plunged into its depths. Day turned into night and back into day, the nurses washing and changing her, the tubes in her nose and arms providing the essential fluids, nutrients and drugs needed to maintain the status quo. She was unaware of Amy coming to visit, great tears streaking her cheeks at the sight of Gaby’s lifeless body. She was unaware of the newspapers declaring her a hero. She’d have had something to say about that. She was unaware of all these things, her mind deciding to take a long-earned rest from a life she didn’t really rate that highly.

  It was the pain that did it. Not the usual pain she was used to. The stab from a tooth. A self-inflicted headache. A stubbed toe. No, this was a gnawing pain right in the centre of her gut that defied explanation. She pulled a grimace, her face wrinkling up for the first time in well over a week, a week where Rusty Mulholland had haunted ITU like a ghost, his presence telling her family and staff alike that here was a man who cared – cared desperately. But Rusty wasn’t there now. Rusty was at home trying to catch up on some well-earned sleep.

  Gaby’s grimace turned into a frown as she tried to make sense of her situation. She was lying in bed, but something didn’t feel right. The sheets certainly weren’t her Egyptian cotton ones and as for that beeping … Her mind switched off, a sudden tiredness engulfing her. By the time the staff nurse came into the room with her next round of analgesia, she’d slipped back under the covers of unconsciousness.

  It was Owen Bates who proved to be the key that unlocked her mind from the place it was resting. Owen who, despite his hatred of all things hospital, had forced himself to visit after a persistent nag from Kate.

  ‘We’re really missing you at the station, Gabs. Even Sherlock was asking after you yesterday even though he did lay into me for letting you chase up that lead without back-up.’ He picked up her hand idly, continuing to speak. ‘That’s a laugh. As if I – or indeed any man – could ever tell you what to do. Amy’s fine by the way. The best. She’s taking a couple of weeks off but, apart from some bruising and scratching she’ll be back to normal in no time. And as for Casper Stevens … Jason came up trumps in the end by matching the blood on the diving knife with the saliva on the sheets and even with poor Tracy Price’s unborn child. So I’m sure you’ll be delighted to hear that the bastard is under psychiatric review but, wherever he’s going, it will be for a very long time.’ He clenched her hand harder. ‘Come on, Darin, if you’d only wake up, I promise I won’t give up on the force just yet.’

  Gaby drew a breath, pleased that the pain from earlier had disappeared. In its place she felt nothing. No, that wasn’t quite true, the pressure on her hand was increasing. Her eyelids remained closed. She couldn’t be bothered to open them – it all felt like too much effort. She listened to Owen rambling on, her memories starting to fly back into the window of her mind, tears gathering. She was pleased Amy was well. That was the only thing that mattered, her hand returning Owen’s grip, tears starting to track down her face.

  The pieces were finally fitting into place. She’d never know for sure exactly what had happened in Christine’s bedroom but she had a bloody good idea. Nikki was damaged, more damaged than anyone could have ever guessed, the borders of Gaby’s mind stretching back to include that conversation she’d had, weeks ago now, with Melanie Shaw. Nikki Jones had a huge self-destruct button hidden deep and, if it hadn’t been for the actions of Casper Stevens, she’d have killed Christine de Bertrand before turning the blade on herself.

  The sad fact was that no one would mourn her death, certainly not her mother. But Gaby would remember and in remembering would try and make a difference. The borders now shifted closed as sleep demanded entry but, there was still room for one final thought.

  If there was ever anything she could do to help Ronan Stevens,
she’d do it.

  Chapter 50

  Nikki

  Saturday 9 May, 3.40 a.m. Llandudno

  The days passed, soon running into weeks and months but still Nikki waited. She waited for the right time for her anger and disappointment to swell to such a level as to be unstoppable. It was all very well deciding on a course of action but to carry out that one perfect sweet act, something that would make up for the crock she’d made of her life, was easier said than done. Life went on, the day-to-day minutiae of work eating into her time and draining her of any inclination other than the most basic. She got up and went to work and, when she returned home, she spent the remainder of her time holed up in front of the TV. That was it.

  Something needed to change, some push to make her step outside the comfort of Christine’s flat. That push came with the arrival of the birthday card from Paul. Up until that point she’d almost decided on a different course. Living with Christine wasn’t what she’d expected. She wasn’t what she’d expected. She was kinder, softer somehow. The anger that had pulsed now only simmered – a minor undercurrent of resentment that probably wouldn’t have escalated if the card hadn’t arrived.

  It wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t seen him from her bedroom window earlier that day, his head downcast, his shoulders slumped as he turned away from the door. Paul had looked as broken as she felt and, with that thought, her anger turned into a rage.

  She sat in her shoebox of a room, the knife resting across her bare skin, the blade calling to her like a siren but she resisted the temptation. Later. Later, she’d take pleasure from drawing the sharp edge over Christine’s flesh …

  Wine came first. One bottle and then two – in between mouthfuls of pepperoni pizza – while she worked on a plan. She must have slept because the next thing she knew the clock on her bedside table had shifted. Slipping out of the room, she didn’t pause for her dressing gown. The night was warm, made all the warmer by the wine pulsing through her veins.

  There was no premonition of what was ahead. No insight as to what lay behind Christine’s partially closed door. Nikki couldn’t see past her anger, which seemed to have taken on a life of its own. This wasn’t about Paul or even Christine anymore. This was the final act of desperation by a woman who knew, somewhere in the dark recesses, that she had to take some responsibility for her own actions.

  Pushing open the door, a scream built in the back of her throat. A war cry if you like. The culmination of twelve years of hatred. She didn’t see the man shift under the duvet as she raced across the room and leapt on the bed. She didn’t see him lift a hand and grab her wrist. She only saw him arching above her, the gleam of the blade matching the gleam in his eye as he drove the knife through her chest and by then it was far too late.

  Chapter 51

  Gaby

  Monday 6 July, 8.30 a.m. St Asaph Police Station

  Walking through the doors of the station for the first time in over six weeks seemed strange. It didn’t feel like that long, the days spent recuperating back in Liverpool almost disappearing before her eyes. Even the office looked the same, apart from the large bunch of flowers that tightened her throat and loosened the grip she’d been keeping on her emotions. For someone that prided themselves on never crying, she was turning into a right old watering pot.

  She headed back out of the office and down the corridor to see DCI Sherlock, still unsure as to whether he’d take her to task for heading out after Stevens without backup. It wasn’t mentioned during his one hospital visit but she’d put nothing past him.

  ‘Ah Gaby, do take a seat. How are you feeling?’

  She returned his smile before settling in her chair, the scar on her side still pulling despite the passage of time.

  ‘Pretty much back to normal, sir.’

  ‘Good. Good. Well I won’t keep you long. Only long enough to ask you if you’d like to continue heading up the team on a more formal footing.’

  ‘Sir?’

  He propped his elbows on the desk, his expression as unreadable as ever. ‘I’ve been in touch with DI Tipping, Gaby and, between you and me, it’s not looking that good. He agrees that we need to keep the momentum of the department by appointing an interim DI to head up the MIT and we’d both like that person to be you.’ He raised his hand at the sight of her open mouth. ‘No, don’t say anything yet. While it might seem odd, in light of your recent appointment up to sergeant, we both know that that was a long overdue promotion. Go away and have a think.’

  Gaby returned to the office, her office now, the dazed expression lingering. After Cardiff and Swansea she’d almost given up on her dream of a career in law enforcement and now this. How was she ever going to top it, she wondered, her smile only faltering when her thoughts turned to Stewart and Sheila Tipping and what they must be going through.

  She’d barely had time to look at the flowers before there was a knock on the door, which pushed open before she had a chance to say come in.

  The sight of the man in front of her turned her cheeks pale before they flooded with colour. She’d heard time and again, from almost everyone she’d met, how much of a support Rusty had been during her illness – if illness was the right word. In fact, she’d threatened to leave the room the last time her family had harped on about what a splendid chap he was and how she could do a lot worse. The best she could say about Rusty Mulholland was that he confused her. Having her family nagging her only increased that confusion. She was happy the way she was, or that’s what she kept telling herself. It wasn’t helping.

  She stood, while she tried to remember the little speech she’d worked on in case of this eventuality.

  ‘Thank you again for all the time and support you provided my family. I hear you went out of your way to ease the situation for them.’

  ‘I didn’t do it for them, Gabriella.’ He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze on her face. ‘Are you sure you’re fit enough to return to work? A ruptured spleen isn’t a walk in the park, you know.’

  ‘Tell me about it! Yes, I’m fine, as back to normal as I can be and it’s an excuse to give up jogging,’ she added, her eyes twinkling at his shocked expression. ‘I might try cycling next, at least it will save on petrol and be good for the environment.’

  ‘Yes, well, we’re all pleased you’re back,’ he said, throwing a nod in the direction of the flowers.

  She followed his gaze to the little card peeking out the top, ‘Gabriella’ written in a scrawl she couldn’t fail to recognise. ‘Oh, you shouldn’t have.’

  ‘I wanted to. We – that is I … Well, I’d like for us to start again?’

  ‘Start again?’

  ‘Yes. Look, I’m pretty useless at this relationship thing, which is clearly evident with one failed marriage but …’

  She stopped him mid-sentence, not quite believing what she was hearing. ‘Rusty, if this is your idea of a joke, it’s far from funny. Most days you ignore me and, when you’re not, you’re plain rude.’

  ‘I can explain all that.’

  ‘An explanation isn’t necessary,’ she said, lifting her hand to her forehead. ‘I’m a big girl – I know what it’s like. Let’s agree to differ on how we see things.’ She tilted her head in the direction of the flowers. ‘Thank you again for both the flowers and your assistance when I was incapacitated but I have work to do.’

  She watched him walk out of the office and, shrugging her shoulders, turned the card over with a sigh. The flowers were beautiful and would look lovely in her lounge. The card … She stared at the bin before tucking it into her phone case instead, a small smile hovering.

  It looked as if work was going to get interesting.

  If Darkest Night had you gripped, you won’t want to miss Gaby’s next case in Fallen Angel. A young woman is found dead in a local beauty spot, posed as if she’s sleeping, in a pure white nightgown – can Gaby find her killer? Available now!

  Click here if you’re in the US

  Click here if you’re in the UK


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  Acknowledgements

  Writing acknowledgements is one of the hardest parts of the book writing process but never more so currently. There are lots of people to thank, my only worry being that I miss one of them out!

  Firstly, I’d like to thank Abi Fenton, Chris Sturtivant, Dushi Horti, Loma Halden and all the team at HQ Digital for helping to make my dream come true. The work that goes into producing a book is huge and I know that all the staff at HarperCollins, along with the rest of the world, have been working under enormous pressure since Covid-19 hit, so thank you.

  I support Ernie’s Angels, a local children’s charity that raises funds for end of life care and funeral expenses. This book’s dedication has been chosen by the winner of a competition we held last year: Jenny Palmer, Principal of Elizabeth College and a huge supporter of the charity. Thank you, Jenny, for your contribution.

  Over the last twelve years I have forged strong friendships with other writers in the industry who help me almost on a daily basis. A huge thanks to my writing partner, Valerie Keogh and also to Susie Tullett, Sue Moorcroft and many others too numerous to mention but you know who you are.

  Writers wouldn’t get very far without readers. And book bloggers are instrumental in that process. These dedicated readers do much behind the scenes to help readers discover their next book so a huge thank you to Jo Robertson, Adele Blair, Grace Smith, Donna Maguire and Sany Garces Molina to name but a few.

  I also have a very small Dream Team, a group of readers who found me through social media and love my books. Without your support my writing day would be a lonely place. So a huge thank you to Beverley Hopper, Daniela Cole, Michele Turner, Susan Hall, Elaine Fryatt, Tracy Robinson, Clare Wakelin, Madeleine Harris, Natasha Orme and Pauline Millward. You ladies rock! By the way, if this is something you might be interested in, drop me a line via social media (ScribblerJB on most platforms).