No Safe Home: the gripping new crime thriller everybody is talking about

by Tara Lyons

  He followed the officers into the cluttered kitchen, and was greeted by unwashed cutlery and dusty work surfaces. The smell of mould struck him hard and Hamilton clamped his jaw shut, swearing to himself, and swiftly retreating. The team continued searching each room of the house. Each one empty. On the patio, he lifted his head to the dark sky and groaned. Somewhere in the distance, metal clattered and he shone his torch around, following its beam to a large, wooden shed at the far end of the garden.

  “Get me something to open this lock,” Hamilton shouted.

  Within minutes, a uniformed officer had made light work of the padlock with a pair of bolt cutters, and the door swung open. Hamilton pulled a cord, flooding the area with light, and came face-to-face with a horrifying discovery. The old tool shed was more of a lair. He instructed the officer to inform the forensic team and called out to his colleagues as they exited Campbell’s home. Clarke whistled as he stepped inside the shed. The four of them stood uncomfortably in the space, studying the walls and work space.

  “Campbell’s been stalking our victims for some time,” Hamilton broke the silence, and examined one wall in particular. “I’d say years for Katy Royal, as her son is still in a pushchair in this photograph. There she is leaving the hairdresser’s, images of her as a blonde and brunette, and then exiting The Tavern.”

  “Have a look at this, sir,” Rocky said.

  “What is it?”

  “Bunch of blank keys and a Dremel multi-tool.”

  Hamilton scanned the printouts attached to the corkboard above the workstation. They depicted step-by-step instructions of how to copy a key using just a camera, printer and Dremel. Images from Google Earth of Scarlett Mitchell and Emma Jones’s properties sat alongside another two unknown houses.

  Fraser visibly shuddered. “Is it really that simple to copy keys?”

  “Do we know who owns or lives in these two properties?” Hamilton asked, bypassing his colleague’s question.

  Rocky pointed to one picture. “That’s Welwyn, Katy Royal’s address. I’m not sure about the other one.”

  Hamilton slowly gazed around the room while his colleagues discussed how Campbell had entered the victims’ buildings. Some of the photographs focused on the women with their sons, some captured them enjoying a lunch out, or playing in the park. But, the majority portrayed them near their homes. He spun back to the workstation and thought of Brad Royal’s last words to them.

  “She’s probably gone home…”

  “What’s that, gov?” Clarke asked.

  “Katy Royal… she is at home. In London.” Hamilton yelled his orders as he raced from the garden, back along the side entrance and onto the now crowded street. “Get units to this London address straightaway, and tell them we’re on our way. Clarke, I’ll drive.”

  Hamilton flipped on the sirens and sped away from the nosey neighbours. Fraser and Rocky tailed close behind. Once Clarke had ended the call to Charing Cross station, he turned to his partner.

  “Gov, how do you know it’s Katy and Brad Royal’s place? There’s no co-ordinates or other details on the printouts.”

  “No, but a picture paints a thousand words, and when you know London like I do… Look, it’s Bayswater Road, alright.” He turned briefly to see Clarke’s confused expression. “Every Sunday, come rain or shine, the Royal Park railings are decorated with paintings. Artists come from all over the country to hang their work. Google Earth obviously snapped their shot of the road on a weekend.”

  Clarke snorted. “Have to say, I never realised you were so cultured, gov.”

  “I’m not, but the wife is.”

  Hamilton concentrated on the road, pushing the accelerator as far as safely possible, occasionally inching it further down in deserted areas. A down pouring of guilt flooded him. He’d made the wrong decision sending the teams to Campbell’s home, and the hope he’d clung to so tightly began to slip away.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Matthew slipped into the bedroom unnoticed and reached for the silver moneybox on the shelf. Struggling through his own pain, he lifted the heavy object into the air and took a step forward. The ancient floorboards creaked under his weight and the attacker, who now resembled a deranged alopecia patient, released his chokehold on Katy and spun around. Instinctively, Matthew walloped the keepsake down and across the man’s skull. Pete slumped forward under the crushing blow, and blood poured from a dark patch of badly shaven hair. Matthew dragged the man to the floor and scooped Katy’s limp body into his trembling arms, calling her name over and over again. He lowered his ear to her mouth, desperate to feel the warmth of her breath.

  As a child, Matthew had discovered his mother’s body knocked out from the brutal force of his father’s fist more than once. It had prompted him to enrol in an introductory course to first aid at the age of thirteen; a month later it helped him save his mother’s life after she’d been strangled.

  Visions of the elderly woman on her deathbed returned to him now and, for the first time in a long time, he felt compelled to save another person’s life.

  Matthew tipped Katy’s head back and pressed against her nose with his thumb and forefinger. He inhaled and lowered his mouth to hers, slowly exhaling and counting to five, then he stopped, repeated the action and reassessed Katy’s condition. Ignoring the mumbling groans from behind, he continued. Moments later, he was stunned when a fist connected with his jaw and knocked him backwards.

  “She’s mine!” the crazed kidnapper roared. “And for that, you will watch her die.”

  Pinned to the floor, Matthew was dazed, the blows coming hard and fast down into his ribcage; left and right, left and right. He cried out, the pain of his previous injuries awoken by the new attack. Blood trickled down his throat.

  “Pete! Stop, please!” Katy’s tiny voice shrilled between croaky coughs.

  A wave of relief washed over Matthew. As the thug’s attention moved to his face, and Pete’s knuckles pummelled down, Matthew threw his head sideways and missed the jab. The moment of confusion gave him a chance to retaliate, and he threw his arms up, grabbed Pete and forced the man off his chest. Katy’s stifled cries wailed behind them like a theme tune to a movie, and Matthew knew he had to stop this man before he attacked her again. He reciprocated the attack and landed punches into Pete’s face until blood oozed from the monster’s mouth and nose. Pete’s head flopped from side to side like a ragdoll with every strike.

  Katy gently pulled back on his shoulder. “Matthew, Matthew... you need to stop.”

  He clambered off Pete and a stinging agony torched his body. He not only tasted blood, but he could smell it too. Matthew managed to stand, half-bent, but had to stop and rest before moving any further. The urge to wrap his arms around Katy, and explain what he had done, was overwhelming. Yet, his body didn’t respond to the messages his brain sent.

  “Katy… I…”

  “Matthew, I’m sorry, I have to leave you. Frankie is –”

  “He’s fine! I told him to get out.”

  “What?” she screamed, and turned to leave the room.

  He held her arm weakly. “He helped untie me from the chair and I told him to go and find help.”

  Katy’s ocean blue eyes widened, her already pale face dropped another shade closer to transparent.

  “No. No. No. He’s hiding… he has a special hiding place in my bedroom… I told him,” she said.

  Matthew winced as his body straightened. Katy tucked her arm around his waist for support and led him into the hallway. He knew he had to get her out of the house, but he wondered if he truly had the strength to do it.

  “I’m sorry, Katy. The keys were in the living room. Frankie didn’t want to leave you, but I explained it was the only way he could help you. I insisted he go and knock on a neighbour’s house and call the police. Come on, he can’t have gone too far. We’ll find him together.”

  She looked around the house, visibly confused and unsure. But, when Matthew reached out and opened the front do
or with ease, Katy quickly hobbled outside with him onto the street.

  The shadows of the night camouflaged their inability to move, and together they froze in the middle of the road. He wanted to ask questions about Pete, and understand why he had been dragged into this nightmare, but he could see Katy’s thoughts were elsewhere.

  The wind whistled through the trees, blowing around their weak bodies. It seemed to spur Katy on. She dropped her arm from his waist and frantically spun in a circle, wildly searching through the darkness. Matthew knew now was not the time for explanations.

  “Let’s start looking,” he said. “Frankie’s bound to be in one of these houses.”

  Matthew crossed the road to the adjacent front door but Katy stood firm, calling Frankie’s name over and over until her scream became a mere cry. Lights flickered on in different homes, with neighbours standing at the windows, twitching their curtains, and then a front door finally opened.

  “Is he here? Is my son in there?” Katy ran past Matthew on the driveway and shouted into the face of a large, stocky man.

  “Is who here, love?”

  “My son. Frankie.”

  “No. Are you okay? Shall I call the police?”

  Matthew stepped between them. “Yes, please call the police.”

  Katy ignored the man and returned to the pathway, gazing up and down the street.

  “We’ve been attacked… in that house over there,” Matthew continued, pointing in the direction behind him. “We’ll need an ambulance too.”

  “No problem! Look, mate, I’ll leave the door open for you while I go back in and grab my phone. I suggest you get her inside, she looks awful. You don’t look too good yourself.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate your help.”

  Matthew thought back to the time he’d wandered away from his mother in Waitrose. He’d only been six or seven, and was bored of waiting at the meat counter, where his mother was requesting freshly cut slices of cured ham for her husband. Matthew had been lured by the thought of sweets and chocolates a few aisles away. He had toddled off, relishing in the choice on offer. A few moments later, the stomach-turning shriek of his name filled the large supermarket. He ran back to his mother to find her pacing the floor, unsure which direction to take to find her son, until her eyes landed on Matthew and she fell to her knees sobbing. His mother had never held him so tight in public, and he realised the few minutes he’d been gone had felt like hours to his mother. After that, she rarely let go of his hand when they were out shopping.

  Matthew walked to the kerb, stopped and clutched his aching ribs. He imagined there was nothing more Katy wanted right now than for her son to pop out from behind the bushes of a neighbouring home and yell, ‘here I am.’ Indebted to Frankie for rescuing him from the restraints of the rope, Matthew needed to repay the favour and reunite mother and son. He scanned the street and, although curiosity was winning and people were opening their front doors, he couldn’t spot Katy.

  The throbbing sensation in his temples increased as he tried to decipher the fuzzy memories of when and how he was attacked. His eyes fell on the building he’d escaped from, with its sparkling white bay windows and glossed front door. From the outside, it was easy to believe it was a perfect home for a perfect family. Just as his own home had once looked. Undecided if he could be drawn into another hostile family life, Matthew hesitated. But, regardless of what his mind thought, he was inexplicable drawn to Katy Royal.

  A dark figure in Frankie’s bedroom window caught his attention. His body stiffened at the thought of the strange man’s bloodstained body lying on the floor. He spun around, searching again for Katy or Frankie. He was alone. Matthew focused on the house again but he was too late, the net curtain of the boy’s room fell slowly back into place, concealing his view of inside the house.

  Another shadow moved swiftly across the living room. Matthew stepped closer, but an explosion of glass knocked him flying back. He clamped his eyes shut and covered his head, a ringing noise shattering his eardrums. Finding the strength to pull himself up, Matthew sat on the ground and watched the clouds of smoke and dancing flames scorch the front of the house.

  Matthew ignored the pain and crawled closer to the open front door, towards the radiating fire, driven onwards by a tremendous urge to protect the mother and her son from this violent man. He contemplated whether or not Katy had returned to the house, impelled by her doubt of Frankie’s escape, or if indeed their attacker had dragged her back into the building while Matthew wasn’t paying attention.

  Sirens rang out in the distance, their distinctive danger signal growing closer and closer. Voices of concern and caution shrieked in the background, but Matthew understood nothing. His surroundings became a fog of chaos. He blocked it out and, seeing only Katy’s beautiful face and hearing only her son’s sweet voice, he knew he had to save them.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Hamilton slammed his foot on the brake, coming to an emergency halt at the entrance of Bayswater Road. Screams and sirens mingled together, as onlookers gathered in their nightwear to watch those running from the homes either side of the spreading fire. Checking the address, he realised it was the home of Katy and Brad Royal, and sprinted down the street. The descending full moon illuminated the horror etched on the faces of the people as he pushed them further away from the flames. Clarke, Fraser and Rocky created a perimeter around the maisonette, ensuring every civilian stood behind the barrier, and squad cars arrived from various directions. Hamilton jogged over to the nearest uniformed officer.

  “I’m Detective Inspector Hamilton. Do we know what’s going on?”

  “No, not quite, sir. We were called by one of the neighbours for an alleged attack and, while he was on the phone, he informed the operator of the fire.”

  “Fire brigade and ambulance en route?”

  “Of course, sir. ETA is five minutes.”

  The young man adjusted his hat and rushed past Hamilton to help his team with the crowd control. As had become the norm, people stood amidst a tragedy with their phones primed. They shouted and demanded answers he couldn’t give them. Katy’s name was repeatedly called out and the fear he’d arrived too late smacked him across the face.

  “You can’t go in there!” yelled the uniformed officer. “No!”

  Hamilton spun around and watched a wounded man run through the front door, swallowed by the black smoke. The living room window ledge fell to the ground, exposing the house with another blast of fire. Renewed cries erupted from the assembled crowd; they flinched and shifted backwards. Hamilton leapt through the barrier, shed himself of his long, tailored coat and ran into the house.

  The fire was contained, trapped behind the living room door. But the thick smoke choked him and his eyes watered instantly. Hamilton dipped his head, coughed and swung his arm over his face, protecting himself as much as possible. His fingers trailed along the wall as he walked further into the burning home.

  He peered into the first room on the left. It was difficult to see clearly, but easy to assume it was a child’s bedroom. His chest tightened at the thought of Frankie, but he was distracted by a horrifying wail resonating through the house. He followed the cries of a banshee, walking past the living room door. He flinched at the distant heat as it attacked his skin, and the sound of wood as it popped and sizzled under the weight of the flames. The front door was in his eyeline, a mere five feet away, and a breeze of fresh air drifted through the entrance. Hamilton took a deep, muffled breath, pulled his arm closer across his mouth and ploughed on along his path. He slowly pushed open a door, and the howls and protests grew stronger and louder.

  “Let me go!” a woman objected.

  The room was barely lit by a small lamp, and the smoke had begun its journey inside. The unidentified male gripped Katy Royal by the arms and yanked her around the room. Despite the cosmetic change, Hamilton recognised the woman from the photographs in the incident room.

  “Katy… my name is Detective Inspector Hamilton. I
’m here to help.” His eyes remained on the bruised man’s face, eager to study the reaction his arrival prompted.

  “Frankie! Frankie!” she continued to cry.

  The man faced Hamilton, without releasing his hold of Katy. “Help me, please… I’m trying to get her out…”

  Hamilton raised his hand to stop the man coming any further. Katy thrashed around on the floor calling her son’s name, straining herself in an attempt to break free. The inferno whistled around them.

  “Sir, who are you?”

  “Matthew Webb. A friend of Katy’s. I was taken by that madman too. Please!”

  Hamilton registered the man’s speedy response and believed him; it really wasn’t the time to dither. He rushed to the man’s side, placed his hands under Katy and helped haul her onto her feet.

  “Please… Please! My son, he’s in the house!”

  “No, Katy, listen to me! He got out before us,” Matthew said.

  While the man’s authoritative voice was convincing, Hamilton understood why Katy was reluctant to leave her home. It’s a parent’s duty to guarantee their child’s safety, a job that comes with no instructions. But, in challenging times, an overwhelming instinct is ignited. Hamilton sensed that parental reflex, as strongly as the failure he suffered.

  “Katy, we will find your son, I promise you that,” he uttered in her ear. “But we’ll be no use to him if we do not get out of this house now.”

  She finally stopped resisting and looked up at Hamilton. Her red, swollen eyes stared into his for a few moments and her breathing steadied. He wondered if the scars of unspeakable loss were visible to another parent in turmoil. If they were, she didn’t comment. Silently, she nodded her head and used the two men as crutches to lead her from the bedroom.

  The hallway was full of commotion. Flashlights shone in Hamilton’s eyes, instructions were yelled through the smoke, and flashes of yellow from the firefighters’ protective uniforms became a beacon to follow. Hamilton freed Katy’s arms, and allowed Matthew and the firefighter to escort her out of the front door. He stood adjacent to the smaller bedroom and moved to cross over the doorway.