Impostor

by L. J. Ross

  “I don’t know how I’ll ever face their families,” he said, and dropped his head into his hands. “Liam, Emily…they were our friends—”

  “You’re a victim and a survivor, too,” Gregory said. “Don’t forget that. You weren’t the perpetrator, Niall. You were the one to bring an end to this.”

  The other man looked up at the sky, which was dark and forbidding as the storm raged on.

  “We’re in for more rain,” he said.

  “Doesn’t seem so bad, when you’ve swallowed half a gallon of lough water,” Gregory replied, and brought a reluctant smile to the inspector’s face.

  He had one more thing he needed to say, before he went home to his son.

  “Thank you for stopping her,” he said. “I was out of reach, but you could have held back, or not bothered at all. But, even after everything she’s done, I wouldn’t wish it.”

  Gregory thought again of the many different kinds of people in the world, and then turned to shake the man’s hand.

  “You’ve got my number, Niall. If you ever need to talk, about anything at all, you know where I am.”

  For once, there were no jokes about head-doctors or mind-readers.

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  CHAPTER 43

  Monday

  The storm had broken in the early hours of the morning, heralding the dawn of a bright new day. In keeping with the best traditions of Irish hospitality, a small crowd had gathered in the bar at the Ballyfinny Castle Hotel to bid Alex farewell, before he braved the flight from Knock Airport to London for a final time.

  “Sláinte is táinte,” Connor said, and raised his glass. “To your health and wealth, Doc.”

  “Cheers,” Gregory said, and knocked back the last of his drink. “I guess it’ll be back to bar brawls and meetings with the Neighbourhood Watch, for you?”

  Connor grinned.

  “That’s a full-time occupation, around these parts.”

  Alex returned his grin.

  “I hope you weren’t planning to sneak off without a proper ‘goodbye’?”

  He turned at the sound of Maggie’s voice. The Mayor of Ballyfinny looked exhausted, and her eyes were dimmed by sadness, but it hadn’t prevented her from making a public address that morning, nor from coming to see him off.

  He thought, not for the first time, that she was quite a lady.

  “It’s been no bed of roses, but I’m glad to have met you, Alex,” she said, casting a maternal eye over the shadows beneath his eyes. There was something else, she thought. Some indefinable quality that set him apart from the rest of the world. “Thanks for everything.”

  “I meant what I said, yesterday. Your family are lucky to have you.”

  Caught off-guard, she blinked furiously.

  “There, now. You’re a good lad. Your Ma must be proud.”

  Gregory said nothing, but smiled and reached down to brush his lips against her cheek.

  “Take care of yourself, Lady Mayor.”

  * * *

  Gregory settled himself into the passenger seat of Padraig’s newly-refurbished Land Rover and looked across at his designated driver for the trip; a man who had clearly never kissed the Blarney Stone in all his life.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “As I’ll ever be,” Gregory replied.

  The car took off with a roar, leading him to wonder whether Padraig had added a little extra spice to the engine, when he’d rebuilt it.

  “Weather’s turned,” Alex said, to get the ball rolling.

  “Aye.”

  “I wonder if Ireland will win, at the rugby.”

  Padraig grunted.

  “You know, I’m going to miss these little chats of ours,” Gregory said.

  “I’ve heard it said that silence is golden,” Padraig replied.

  “In that case, you must shit solid gold nuggets,” Gregory threw back.

  They exchanged an appreciative smile, and passed the rest of the journey in a companionable silence.

  EPILOGUE

  Thursday

  Southmoor Hospital, London

  Alex used the remainder of his leave to visit Bill Douglas in Cambridge, where he found himself agreeing to accompany his friend to a conference on ‘Criminal Profiling and the Police’, to be held in Paris. It was no hardship to visit that beautiful city, but Alex was never more aware that with every acceptance, he fell further down the rabbit hole and back into the seductive realms of investigative profiling. To counteract the feeling, he was glad to return to his desk at Southmoor Hospital, and to fall back into a regular routine of patients and clinical care meetings, which included his regular Thursday afternoon session with Cathy Jones.

  However, when the allotted time came and went without any sign of her, Gregory set aside his notepad and went off in search of answers.

  His footsteps tapped a staccato rhythm against the floor as he made his way through a series of air-locked security doors separating his office and the residential ward where Cathy Jones lived.

  But, when he looked through the Perspex window, he found her room stripped bare.

  He unlocked the door and stepped inside, searching the space for any sign that she had once been there. Aside from the faintest scent of floral perfume still hanging on the air, there was nothing.

  Gregory walked swiftly towards the Clinical Director’s office, almost giving in to the temptation to run, but mindful of the rules they lived by in that secure environment.

  When he reached a door bearing a small brass plaque engraved, ‘DR PARMINDER AGGARWAL’, he knocked briskly.

  “Come in!”

  The Clinical Director was a thin woman with a big smile, who managed to project an air of boundless energy and enthusiasm; a characteristic that was highly desirable in a place like Southmoor, where the spectre of anti-psychotic medications and violent patients could take the shine off anybody’s day, and where cheerfulness was often in short supply.

  “Hi, Alex,” she said, smiling broadly. “Good to see you back from your travels. How was Ireland?”

  But he was in no mood for small talk.

  “Thanks, it’s good to be back. Actually, I wanted to ask you about a patient of mine, who I was expecting to see for a session this afternoon—Cathy Jones? She didn’t turn up, and I’ve just been along to check her room and found it empty. Has she been transferred to another facility?”

  Aggarwal removed the preposterously large glasses she wore, and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

  “Ah, yes. I’m sorry, you wouldn’t have heard, since you were away. I’m afraid we lost Cathy, in the early hours of Monday morning.”

  In the ensuing silence, Gregory realised she was expecting a response from him.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you mind if I read the Incident Report?” he asked, and then cleared his throat. “How—ah, how did it happen?”

  “It seems she managed to get hold of some rosary beads, which she used to hang herself,” Aggarwal explained. “We’re still trying to find out how she came by them. I’ll be interviewing the rest of the care staff today and tomorrow.”

  Gregory nodded in the right places, and made all the right noises. Then, when an acceptable amount of time had passed, he excused himself.

  “I haven’t been able to find a next of kin,” Aggarwal said, before he reached the door. “In her case, there was a husband and three children, wasn’t there?”

  “Divorced,” Gregory supplied. “The husband re-married, twice. She had three children, but two died by her hand.”

  “And the third?”

  “Leave it to me,” he said.

  * * *

  Alex didn’t think of it again until he had returned to the privacy of his own home, on the banks of the Thames. With slow and precise movements, he turned and locked his front door, then drew up the chair he kept beside it and tucked it beneath the handle, to be doubly sure.

  He stood in the middle of the living room and closed his eyes, drowning out the sounds of the c
ity that were normally so comforting.

  But not today.

  He moved to the spare room he used as an office, and pulled a key from a small locked box he kept in one of the filing cabinets, before retrieving a larger locked box he kept on the bottom shelf of his wardrobe.

  The box gave nothing away about the enormity of its contents, being a plain, black metal affair with a silver lock. He sank down onto the edge of his bed and set it on his lap, giving himself a moment to prepare before unlocking it.

  Inside, there was a stack of papers, photographs and small trinkets salvaged from his early years. His fingers hovered above it, wary even to touch the physical evidence of who he had once been. Eventually, he sifted through the papers until he found a birth certificate, yellowed with age, belonging to the boy who had been Michael Alexander Jones, eldest son of Cathy.

  He passed over Change of Name documents and court papers, until he came to the only photograph he’d chosen to keep of them all together. It had been taken sometime in the weeks after his sister Emily was born, and showed a mother, a father and three smiling children sitting on the lawn of a large country house near Richmond, in one of London’s most affluent suburbs.

  It was, perhaps, the last happy memory he had of his mother.

  Alex shoved the papers onto the bed and stood up again, moving directly to the window overlooking the river. He opened it and stood there for a long time, watching the people passing by, listening to the sound of the city where he’d been born.

  He thought back to the day his mother’s name had appeared on the list of new patients at Southmoor Hospital, and of the choice he’d made. All his life, he had wondered why. He’d followed a career in psychology to try to understand the workings of the human mind, all the while hoping it might bring him closer to understanding the woman who’d given him life.

  Then, one day, she was presented to him as a patient.

  It seemed like a gift; a perfect opportunity to understand his mother’s motivations, directly from the source. He could ask her all the questions he’d longed to ask, and be given all the answers that would help him to forgive her.

  She’d never given him any answers, but he’d held onto the hope that, one day, she would improve. Just enough to show even one moment of remorse.

  Now, she never would.

  Alex Gregory will return in—

  HYSTERIA

  In a beautiful world, murder is always ugly…

  Recently returned from his last case in Ireland, elite forensic psychologist and criminal profiler Dr Alexander Gregory receives a call from the French police that he can’t ignore. It’s Paris fashion week and some of the world’s most beautiful women are turning up dead, their faces slashed in a series of frenzied attacks while the world’s press looks on.

  Amidst the carnage, one victim has survived but she’s too traumatised to talk. Without her help, the police are powerless to stop the killer before he strikes again—can Gregory unlock the secrets of her mind, before it’s too late?

  Murder and mystery are peppered with dark humour in this fast-paced thriller set amidst the spectacular Parisian landscape.

  Don’t miss book #2 of the Alexander Gregory Thrillers—

  available in December 2019!

  If you would like to be kept up to date with new releases from LJ Ross, please complete an e-mail contact form on her Facebook page or website, www.ljrossauthor.com

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  LJ Ross is an international bestselling author, best known for creating atmospheric mystery and thriller novels, including the DCI Ryan series of Northumbrian murder mysteries which have sold over four million copies worldwide.

  Her debut, Holy Island, was released in January 2015 and reached number one in the UK and Australian charts. Since then, she has released a further fourteen novels, all of which have been top three global bestsellers and twelve of which have been UK #1 bestsellers. Louise has garnered an army of loyal readers through her storytelling and, thanks to them, several of her books reached the coveted spot whilst only available to pre-order ahead of release.

  Louise was born in Northumberland, England. She studied undergraduate and postgraduate Law at King’s College, University of London and then abroad in Paris and Florence. She spent much of her working life in London, where she was a lawyer for a number of years until taking the decision to change career and pursue her dream to write. Now, she writes full time and lives with her husband and son in Northumberland. She enjoys reading all manner of books, travelling and spending time with family and friends.

  If you enjoyed Impostor, please consider leaving a review online:

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  If you would like to be kept up to date with new releases from LJ Ross, please complete an e-mail contact form on her Facebook page or website, www.ljrossauthor.com

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My interest in psychology was first sparked by my lovely mum, Susan, who was (and is still) a psychologist herself. I remember many a lively discussion around the nature-nurture debate and, as I was growing up, it was moving to see the impact she could make on people’s lives. It was a vicarious lesson in how to treat one’s fellow humans; namely, with understanding, tolerance and compassion. I went on to become a barrister but, when I decided to change from the legal profession in 2012, I seriously considered a career as a forensic psychologist. While I was pregnant with my son, I completed a fast-track Postgraduate Diploma in Psychology and have fond memories of hopping (or waddling) onto the bus from London to Oxford and reading enormous textbooks about neuropsychology on the journey. However, at the same time, I wrote Holy Island (my debut novel, and the first in my series of DCI Ryan mysteries) and the rest is history, as they say.

  However, I have always maintained an interest in psychology and its application to criminal behaviour. I began to imagine a character who was—first and last—a healer, with a unique capacity to understand criminal behaviour. To that end, I must thank all the eminent psychologists who have provided inspiration through their work in the area, including Paul Britton, David Canter and David Wilson, all of whose books I have greatly enjoyed.

  There are numerous other people who have supported me in the making of this book, but none more so than my wonderful husband, James. Impostor was a hard book to write; not only because of its content, but because it represents the first book in a new series and a step away from my usual characters. James has been a rock throughout and rightly deserves to be the ‘J’ in ‘LJ Ross’ as a permanent thank you for all his help, love, guidance and encouragement.

  Thank you to all my family, friends, book bloggers and readers who have followed me over the past four years—I hope you enjoy the story!

  If you enjoyed Imposter, why not try the bestselling DCI Ryan Mysteries by LJ Ross?

  HOLY ISLAND

  A DCI RYAN MYSTERY (Book #1)

  Detective Chief Inspector Ryan retreats to Holy Island seeking sanctuary when he is forced to take sabbatical leave from his duties as a homicide detective. A few days before Christmas, his peace is shattered, and he is thrust back into the murky world of murder when a young woman is found dead amongst the ancient ruins of the nearby Priory.

  When former local girl Dr Anna Taylor arrives back on the island as a police consultant, old memories swim to the surface making her confront her difficult past. She and Ryan struggle to work together to hunt a killer who hides in plain sight, while pagan ritual and small-town politics muddy the waters of their investigation.

  Murder and mystery are peppered with a sprinkling of romance and humour in this fast-paced crime whodunnit set on the spectacular Northumbrian island of Lindisfarne, cut off from the English mainland by a tidal causeway.

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