Fuck it, he thinks. It’s just another holiday. I’ll work all the hours I can get, and I’ll read a few good books the rest of the time. Not a problem. It’s one less chimney for Santa to worry about.
He puts his key in the front door. Goes inside. Closes the door again. Rather than blind himself with the hall lights, he spends a moment allowing his eyes to adjust to the moon-glow filtering through the window at the top of the stairs.
He limps over to the staircase. Looks up it as though it were Everest.
Shit, he thinks. This is going to be slow and painful. I could really do with a Stannah Stairlift now.
He takes hold of the banister. Puts his foot on the bottom step.
And then he hears the door buzzer.
He knows this isn’t right. It’s about eleven o’clock at night. Nobody comes calling at this time of night. Nobody except—
And then he’s moving. Back towards the front door, as fast as his leg will allow. Because he’s going to catch the bastard this time. He’s going to yank open that door to see the fucker who isn’t expecting the occupant to get there so quickly, and leg be damned, because he’s going to kick the shit out of his night-caller, and then he’s going to drag him inside and make him spill whatever he knows about the people who killed Cody’s partner and made his own life such a misery.
And then Cody’s there, at the door, pulling it wide and expecting to have to give chase, expecting to have to destroy what’s left of his foot as he races after the deviant who has taken one risk too many, and who is now about to face the consequences.
But that isn’t what Cody gets. What he gets is a dark shape that leaps at him through the doorway. A shape that grabs him in a tight embrace and pushes him hard against the wall and starts to suffocate him . . .
. . . with a kiss.
He pulls his face away. Stares with shock into his assailant’s moonlit eyes.
‘Megan! What—?’
‘He told me,’ she says, and Cody can now see the tracks of tears on her cheeks. ‘He confessed. And now I know. Now I understand. You did it for me. You did it for me, you bastard.’
‘Megan, I—’
‘You don’t need to pretend any more. He told me everything. Parker told me.’
‘Told you what?’
‘How jealous he was of you. How he asked you to not to visit me when I was ill. And the dinner. God, the dinner! I can’t believe he actually came to see you and asked you to break off the dinner engagement with us. And you said nothing. You went along with it. Why did you do that?’
‘Because . . . because he’s the man you’re going to marry, and I didn’t want to get in the way of that.’
‘Get in the way? Why would you be getting in the way?’
‘I don’t know, but it’s what Parker believes. He thinks I want to take you away from him. I did it for him, but mostly I did it for you.’
Webley’s tears flow more freely. ‘Oh, Jesus Christ, Cody. You had me hating you. You had me thinking you didn’t want to know me any more. I can’t believe you were willing to sacrifice our friendship.’
‘Your happiness with Parker seemed more important.’
Webley puts a hand on Cody’s chest. ‘Oh, Cody. What am I going to do with you?’
He smiles. ‘Invite me to the wedding? I’ll wear a disguise if it helps Parker.’
She shakes her head. ‘There isn’t going to be a wedding. I’ve called it off.’
‘No. No, you can’t do that, Megan. He wants you. He’s obsessed with you.’
‘He went behind my back, Cody. He tried to break up a friendship. I can’t forgive him for that.’
Cody takes her hand in his. ‘Look, just give it time, okay? Mull it over. Parker was scared, that’s all. He didn’t want to lose you. He realises how much of a magnet I am to women.’
Webley laughs through her tears. She slaps Cody on the chest, pushing him away.
‘And still you’re defending him. You’re a good man, Cody.’
He thinks then that he could easily take her in his arms. He could easily return the kiss she planted on his lips. He could lead her upstairs. He could . . .
‘And Parker’s a good man, too,’ he says. ‘He will make you happy.’
Webley stares up at him, and for a few seconds he thinks that she is wishing he had said something else to her.
‘Thank you, Cody,’ she says. ‘For everything.’
She pulls away. Heads back out onto the street. On the doorstep she pauses.
‘It’s Christmas in a few days,’ she says. ‘You have got plans, haven’t you?’
He smiles. ‘Yes. I’ve got plans. Don’t worry about me.’
She nods, and he thinks he may have got away with it. They exchange soft goodnights. Cody closes the door and leans his forehead against it. He remains like that for a whole minute, just thinking.
Eventually he begins his ascent of the staircase. Drags himself up there like Quasimodo going up the bell tower.
When he gets to his flat, he goes straight into the kitchen. He finds some more painkillers and knocks them back with a glass of water. Then he slumps onto a chair. His plan was to eat something, but the pain in his foot has made him too tired. He needs sleep. Tomorrow he’ll see someone about the foot. Jumping off that gallery was not the best idea he’s ever had.
He stumbles through into his bedroom. Puts a light on.
And that’s when he sees it.
A Christmas present. Right in the middle of his bed.
Suddenly he’s wide awake. Someone has been in his flat.
He thinks back. The flat door was locked when he arrived at it a few minutes ago, he’s sure of it.
But somehow there has been an intruder.
His first thought is that he should call it in. Get the bomb squad or whatever over here.
He rejects that option. This is a message for him, for his eyes only. Anyone wanting to kill him could have done so in a much less convoluted way than this.
He moves to the bed. Stares down at the gift. It’s wrapped in green paper with pictures of Victorian toys on it: a jack-in-the-box; a rocking horse; one of those monkeys with brass cymbals between its paws.
Cautiously, he picks it up. It’s light and irregularly shaped. There is no writing on the paper, no card attached.
He grabs hold of the paper, rips it apart. The thing inside falls to the bed.
It looks back at him. Stares with empty eyes set in rotten flesh. Grins with its yellow-brown teeth framed by blood-coloured lips.
It’s the very mask worn by Waldo, the clown who snipped away Cody’s toes and murdered his partner.
Cody stares at it for a long time.
And then he screams until it feels his lungs will burst.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
David Jackson is the author of two series of crime thrillers. Pariah, his debut novel featuring New York Detective Callum Doyle, was Highly Commended in the Crime Writers’ Association Debut Dagger Awards. Cry Baby, a later novel in the same series, was an Amazon top ten bestseller and listed as one of Amazon’s Best Books of the Year. David works as a lecturer in a university science department in Liverpool, the setting for his new crime series featuring DS Nathan Cody. He lives on the Wirral peninsula with his wife and two daughters, and can be followed on Twitter as @Author_Dave.
Also by David Jackson
The DS Nathan Cody Series
A Tapping at my Door
The Callum Doyle Series
Pariah
The Helper
Marked
Cry Baby
Read on for an exclusive letter from
David Jackson and a chance to join his
Readers Club . . .
A message from David . . .
If you enjoyed Hope to Die, why not join the David Jackson Reader’s Club by visiting www.bit.ly/DavidJacksonClub
Dear Reader,
The Nathan Cody series of books is still a relatively new venture for me. My career
as a published author began with an entirely different series set far from home – New York, in fact! There are currently four books featuring NYPD Detective Callum Doyle, the most recent of which (Cry Baby) has done phenomenally well.
So why the change?Two reasons, really. The first was that I reached a stage where I wanted to move to another publishing house. Publishers don’t usually like to take on books mid-series, especially when the rights to the backlist are owned elsewhere. I knew that if I were to have any chance ofstimulating their interest, I needed a new, fresh idea.
The other reason relates to local support. I discovered quite early on that by setting my books in New York I was missing out on the invaluable push that can be given by UK shops and media to local authors.
And so Nathan Cody was born. Given what I’ve just said, putting him in Liverpool was a no-brainer. It’s the city of my birth, and I still travel there every day from my home on the other side of the Mersey. It’s a city of contrasts – sometimes of turmoil, but sometimes of shining example – and I love it. I hope that comes through in the books, with moments of intense darkness interspersed with the cheeky sense of humour for which Liverpool is famous. I like to think of this new series as ‘Luther with Scousers’.
I’m sure you’ll have come to realise by now that Cody is much more than a detective who helps to solve mysteries. He’s a complex character trying to cope with a traumatic past and an intriguing set of present circumstances and relationships. But what is even more interesting is what awaits him next (cue dramatic music) . . .
As the series progresses, we will see more evil clowns, more drama, more stress for Cody, and more of an insight into the lives of his colleagues and family. Characters like Megan Webley, Stella Blunt and Grace Meade have a lot more up their sleeves yet.
But I can’t do any of this without you, the reader. My words are mere marks on a page until you breathe life into them. For me, one of the biggest delights of writing is making contact with readers, and not just through my novels. A huge thrill for me is when a reader makes the effort to write to me, either via the contact page on my website, www.davidjacksonbooks.com, or on Twitter, where I exist as @Author_Dave.
If you’re interested in taking this a step further, I’d like to invite you to join my Reader’s Club. Don’t worry – it doesn’t commit you to anything, there’s no catch, and I won’t pass your details on to any third parties. It simply means you’ll receive occasional updates from me about my books, including offers, publication news, and even the occasional treat! For example, sign up now and I’ll send you an exclusive short story, completely free of charge. I won’t bombard you with emails, but if you ever get fed up of me, you can unsubscribe at any time. To register, all you have to do is visit www.bit.ly/DavidJacksonClub.
One way or another, I hope to hear from you soon, and that you continue to read and enjoy my books. Thank you for your support.
Very best wishes,
David
CLICK HERE TO JOIN
Don’t miss the first instalment of David Jackson’s new Nathan Cody series.
A TAPPING AT MY DOOR
IT’S CAT AND MOUSE ON THE STREETS OF LIVERPOOL, AND THE POLICE AREN’T THE ONES ON THE HUNT . . .
A woman at home in Liverpool is alarmed by a persistent tapping at her back door. She’s disturbed to discover the culprit is a raven, and tries to shoo it away. Which is when the killer strikes.
DS Nathan Cody, still bearing the scars of an undercover mission that went horrifyingly wrong, is put on the case. But the police have no leads, except the body of the bird – and the victim’s missing eyes.
As flashbacks from his past begin to intrude, Cody realises he is battling not just a murderer, but his own inner demons too.
And then the killer strikes again, and Cody realises the threat isn’t to the people of Liverpool after all – it’s to the police.
Available in paperback and eBook now
First published in Great Britain in 2017 by
ZAFFRE PUBLISHING
80-81 Wimpole St, London W1G 9RE
www.zaffrebooks.co.uk
Text copyright © David Jackson, 2017
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
The right of David Jackson to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978-1-78576-111-9
also available as an ebook
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Printed and bound by Clays Ltd, St Ives Plc
Zaffre Publishing is an imprint of Bonnier Zaffre, a Bonnier Publishing company
www.bonnierzaffre.co.uk
www.bonnierpublishing.co.uk
Hope to Die: A gripping new serial killer thriller (The DS Nathan Cody series) Page 31