Starting with the death of Greg Fisher.
I think once Forbes started to look into Simon’s death and questioned all of us, Hayley began to wonder what had really happened in the lake that night.
Why David had urged her to swim away, to leave him with Greg.
The police divers spent a day and a night trawling the thick silt and debris that lined the lakebed, with more care than had been taken the last time. I chewed my nails to the quick as I waited in my cell for news and wondered what could have been if Greg hadn’t died.
My mind played tricks – what if he wasn’t dead? What if he had simply disappeared? What if it was an accident?
It was Forbes who came to the remand wing of the prison and sat opposite me and my solicitor to break the news.
A body had been recovered, too rotten and decomposed to be identifiable by anything other than dental records after being found snagged on an old iron post lodged in the bottom of the former gravel pit. His parents had been informed by Police Scotland, and a funeral service was to be held in Glasgow. They had never moved away, terrified that if they did, their missing son wouldn’t know where to return.
I cried myself to sleep that night.
Dread replaced hope four weeks ago as my solicitor began to report back from the other hearings.
David has already been sentenced; the jury took less than two hours to reach their verdict according to my mum.
Hayley didn’t fare much better and is now serving her sentence at a women’s prison in Peterborough, and, like me, Bec is being held on remand while she waits for a sentencing date.
At least I have the cell to myself, and for that I’m grateful. It gives me time to think.
As the preparation for my trial progressed, the memories gradually returned. Not all of them; I still don’t remember everything that went on in the escape room, despite seeing the CCTV evidence from the Ragamuffin Bar.
My solicitor has drawn heavily on the fact that Simon’s drink was spiked without my knowledge in order to try and win some sympathy from those who hold my future in their hands.
Whether they will forgive me for remaining silent about Greg’s disappearance remains to be seen, especially after what has come to light about David’s involvement in his death.
I think Hayley started to have second thoughts about the plan to kill Simon; that’s why his dad saw her arguing with him outside the café the day before his death. Perhaps it was her last attempt to make him see sense, to offer him life instead of the death sentence she knew had been planned for him.
If only he’d agreed to be a living donor.
I don’t think she had the strength to stand up to David, to tell him to stop, to tell him the idea she said she’d thought he’d first suggested as a joke had gone too far.
If Forbes hadn’t turned up at Mum and Dad’s house when she did, I’m sure I’d be dead, too and that David would have gone in search of Hayley next, because by then she’d told him I was desperate for information about the exact circumstances of Greg’s death and in danger of exposing his darkest secret without even realising it.
What about Bec, then?
Simon had been gaslighting her for years, ever since they’d first started going out. Coercing her into handing over her life savings only to lose the lot had taken her to breaking point. When David suggested a permanent solution, she realised she had a way out.
She simply didn’t expect the guilt to catch up with her quite so quickly afterwards, or realise that David could no longer be trusted as a confidant.
When David realised she was a liability, he attempted to kill her as well, to stop her going back to the police and telling Forbes about her suspicions regarding a missing persons case involving Greg Fisher.
The truth about why David attacked me hit me hard when my solicitor told me an hour ago, and I scratch at my skin to try to alleviate the crawling sensation across my flesh.
David has had me in his sights for years, according to his statement. Biding his time while he tried to summon enough courage to share his feelings.
Because David wanted me.
Because Simon knew that, laughed at him, and told him he didn’t stand a chance. And then two years ago had an affair with me to prove it.
David never forgave him.
He’d already killed once to remove someone who he saw as a competitor for my attention, and it seems another death caused him no concern at all if it meant saving me. He simply had to coerce Hayley and Bec into believing it was for the best.
And, because of how Simon had treated them, they did.
Afterwards, he spent the days after Simon’s death sowing the seeds of doubt in my mind, creating a chasm between Hayley, Bec and me so in the end I was estranged from them and only had David to turn to.
It nearly worked, except I told him my life expectancy was still shortened, despite the transplant, which wouldn’t last for ever.
Despite his killing Simon.
Despite his trying to save my life.
And it seemed that he was tired of waiting for me and too scared to lose me forever, so he attacked.
According to my solicitor, the judge told David he’d be lucky to be free by his sixtieth birthday, and I wonder how I will manage to cover my tracks after all this so he can’t find me when he gets out.
Because he scares me.
I’ve realised, listening to my solicitor, that David has been obsessed with me for over seven years and I haven’t even realised. Who else might he have harmed if they’d stood in his way? What would have happened if I’d fallen for someone else if my life hadn’t been turned upside down by my illness?
And so, to me.
Because, even though I didn’t see what David did to Simon’s drink, I should have warned him. I had no idea what David had put in it and yet I was the one who encouraged Simon to finish it.
And I was the one who benefited from his death.
The jury is out now, contemplating my future. In the meantime, I have to sit here and wait to be sentenced. There are procedures to follow, paperwork to file, promises to make.
My solicitor tells me I’ll get a light sentence. Maybe four years for good behaviour.
That’s okay.
I can live with that.
* * *
THE END
* * *
Read on for your your exclusive introduction to the Detective Kay Hunter series and details about how you can download a free Official Reading Guide and Checklist to Rachel’s other books…
Download your FREE Official Reading Order and Checklist and discover more books by Rachel Amphlett. Includes:
Series order
Publication order
Sample chapters from over 15 crime fiction titles
Behind the scenes commentary from the author
CLICK HERE FOR YOUR GUIDE
Detective Kay Hunter crime thrillers, book 1
Chapter 1
Yvonne Richards grasped the notepaper in her hands, the page creased within her grip. The writing had been scrawled in haste, slipping over the faint blue lines that intersected the sheet.
‘Tony? Hurry.’
‘I’m going as fast as I can,’ he said, through gritted teeth.
The retort brought tears to her eyes as he cleared his throat.
‘What’s the name of the street again?’
She lifted her thumb off the paper, noticing the warmth from her skin had blurred the ink, and squinted at the handwriting.
‘Innovation Way.’
She lifted the notepaper from where her hand had been resting on her leg, and peered at it once more. Tony’s writing was appalling at the best of times, but now she struggled to read it. The writing had deteriorated because his hands had been shaking so much when he’d heard the caller’s voice.
‘East or West?’
‘West.’
He turned too early, the car hitting a dead end within a few yards.
He hit the brakes, both of them straining
against the seatbelts across their chests.
‘No, no. The next one!’
‘You said it was this one.’
‘No – I said West. Innovation Way West.’
He swore under his breath, slammed the car into reverse, and swung it onto the main thoroughfare before turning at the next junction.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry.’
She let her hand drop to her lap, clutching the page for fear she would lose it before they could reach their destination, and stifled a sob.
A hand reached out for hers, and she wound her fingers around his, seeking strength.
She found none.
His hands were as clammy as hers, and he was still shaking.
‘Both hands on the wheel, Tony,’ she murmured, and squeezed his fingers.
She swallowed as her eyes swept across his tanned skin.
Even his hair had lightened in the glare of the Italian sun. Her own hair was frizzy from the humidity, her skin pale by comparison, and she’d envied him that healthy glow as they stepped off the plane three days ago.
Before they’d reached the house.
Before the phone call.
His hand retreated, and the car accelerated towards a mini-roundabout set into the road.
Yvonne tore her eyes away from the address written on the paper, and stared out the passenger window.
The industrial estate had never fully recovered from the recession, with only a few small businesses eking out a living on the outer fringes of the area. The glass and concrete superstructures of the bigger enterprises that had lined the inner sanctum of the centre of the estate lay dormant, while empty windows stared accusingly at the quiet roads that encircled them, and faded letting agency signs flapped forlornly against mesh fencing.
The ornamental landscaping that had been so carefully tended now resembled a hodgepodge of ill-placed tropical plants fighting off common weeds determined to reclaim their territory.
Yvonne shivered, and tore her eyes away, then cried out and wrapped her hand around the armrest.
Tony corrected the wheel as the rear tyre clipped a kerbstone before they exited the roundabout, then exhaled.
She relaxed her grip, and retrieved the notepaper from the foot well, smoothing it over her knee.
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s okay.’
He’d never been a great driver, and Yvonne realised he’d probably never driven as fast as this in his entire life. Certainly not in the nearly twenty years they’d been together.
Melanie had already informed them she was taking over the organisation of the anniversary party.
‘It’ll be great,’ she’d said.
Yvonne blinked, and wiped a tear away.
‘It’ll be okay.’
She didn’t reply, and instead focused on the road in front of them.
‘What number?’
‘Thirty-five.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘It could be thirty-six.’
Tony swore under his breath.
‘It’s thirty-five. I’m sure.’
The car slowed to a crawl, and she peered through the window.
‘I can’t see any numbers.’
‘Keep looking.’
Yvonne shaded her eyes from the sunlight cresting the buildings, and strained to find a clue to their whereabouts.
Here and there, kids had taken to the walls of the industrial spaces with spray cans, familiar graffiti tags dotted across doorways and signs that warned of CCTV cameras and security guards with dogs, which hadn’t been seen on the estate for over two years.
‘Fifteen,’ Tony called out.
She spun around to face him, but he was peering through his window as he kept the car at a steady pace, his knuckles white as he grasped the steering wheel.
As the derelict buildings passed by, her mouth ran dry while she tried to push away thoughts of Melanie held captive within the confines of one of them.
She’d only been wearing a thin vest top and jeans when Yvonne had last seen her five days ago.
Five days.
The phone had rung late last Friday night, four hours after they’d returned from the airport. Tony had been sitting on one of the barstools at the kitchen worktop, an open bottle of wine next to him, a glass of red between his fingers while he’d flicked through the free newspaper. She’d dropped her bag on the surface, and accepted the second glass he’d held out to her.
‘Where’s Mel?’
‘Not home yet.’
Yvonne had checked her watch. ‘She’d better hurry up, or she’ll get no dinner.’
Tony had grunted non-committedly, and topped up his own wine. ‘Probably hanging out with that Thomas girl.’
‘I wish she wouldn’t.’
‘Yeah, but you tell her that, and she’ll do it anyway.’
Then the phone had interrupted them, and their lives had changed forever.
Now, Yvonne leaned forward in her seat, resting her hand on the dashboard as the car eased past the next padlocked fence. ‘That’s it. That’s the one.’
Tony swerved the car over to the kerbside and cut the engine.
She heard his breathing, heavy on his lips, and wondered if she sounded the same to him. She couldn’t tell – her heartbeat was hammering so hard, the sound of her blood roared in her ears.
He reached for the door handle.
‘Wait.’ She grabbed his arm. ‘What if he’s still here?’
Tony glanced over his shoulder. ‘We just dropped a bag with twenty thousand pounds in it two miles away,’ he snapped. ‘Do you really think he’s going to hang around here to thank us?’
Yvonne pursed her lips, and shook her head.
‘Right, then.’
He shrugged her hand away, and she watched as he rocked his head from side to side, as if psyching himself up, before he placed his hand against the car door and pushed it open.
She launched herself out of the car after him.
When they approached the fence, Tony grasped the chain that looped through the wire openings.
It fell easily through his fingers.
‘It’s unlocked,’ said Yvonne.
‘He said it would be.’
She could hear it then, the fear crawling through his voice, replacing the brisk no-nonsense tone he’d tried to maintain since they’d left the house.
‘Did he say where—’
‘Yes. Follow me.’
Instinctively, she reached out for his hand, and he took hers between his fingers, gave it a squeeze, and then set off towards the side of the building.
She knew now how scared he really was. She couldn’t recall the last time they’d held hands. Lately all they’d done was bicker and snipe at each other over the smallest inconsequential things.
Melanie had always been a daddy’s girl, and Yvonne fought down the surge of jealousy that threatened.
She just wanted her back.
Now.
The building’s windows mirrored their reflection as they passed. A dark-coloured privacy sheen had been applied, preventing her seeing into the rooms beyond. She craned her neck, taking in the three-storey concrete monolith. Any corporate signage had been stripped away when the tenants had vacated the premises, and walls that had been stained an off-white tone when first built now resembled something closer to off-grey. Dirt and grime fought an equal battle with graffiti, and faded signs depicting evacuation zones and fire exits hung to the surface in places, the doors boarded up and unwelcoming.
‘How are we going to get in?’
‘He said one of these would be open.’
Sure enough, towards the rear of the building, they discovered a solid steel door. Although it was closed, a discarded padlock lay on the pockmarked asphalt of the perimeter.
Tony reached out for the handle.
‘Wait.’
He frowned. ‘What?’
She swallowed. ‘Shouldn’t you cover your hand?
In case the police want to check it for fingerprints?’
‘I want my daughter back,’ he said, and twisted the handle.
She paused while he stepped over the threshold, then took a deep breath and followed him. She shared Melanie’s fear of enclosed spaces, and bile rose in her throat as she imagined the terror her daughter would feel at being held here.
She squinted as Tony pulled a torch from his pocket and switched it on, the beam blinding her before he lowered it, the light falling on discarded office furniture. She turned away, and blinked as she tried to adjust her eyes to the gloom beyond the torch beam once more. The pungent smell of rat droppings and damp from a leaking roof filled her senses, and she choked back the urge to vomit.
Tony had already begun to hurry towards the inner door, and she followed him through the derelict office into a narrow corridor that ran lengthways through the building.
Tony turned left, shining the torch ahead.
At the end of the corridor, a set of double doors blocked their path.
She leaned against them, and pushed.
They opened smoothly, and she breathed a sigh of relief before goose bumps prickled her skin as the door hissed shut behind them. She turned, touched the handle and pushed again, terrified that they wouldn’t be able to get out.
It swung open with ease.
‘It’s on an automatic closer,’ said Tony, and pointed to the upper framework. ‘Come on. Hurry.’
Yvonne bit her lower lip, but followed, her arms hugging her chest. ‘What was this place?’
‘A biosciences company was here. Remember the protestors always used to gather at the town hall?’
Confusion filled her, then dread. ‘The animal testing place?’
He didn’t reply, but simply nodded and shone the torch around the walls.
The European-headquartered animal testing company had moved in over a decade ago, despite a several-thousand-signature petition being delivered to the local council within weeks of the original planning application.
Aluminium sinks were bolted to one wall, white tiles grimy through neglect above each. Shelving units dotted another wall, the splintered remains of glass crunching under their feet as they progressed through the room.
The Friend Who Lied Page 20