Reach (The Blake Harte Mysteries Book 4)

by Robert Innes

  REACH

  The Blake Harte Mysteries Book 4

  By Robert Innes

  About This Book

  Released: July 18th 2017

  Words: 31,000

  Standalone: Yes

  Series: A Blake Harte Mystery Book 4

  Cliffhanger: No

  Seven years ago Thomas Frost was arrested for the murders of five women in the Manchester area and Detective Sergeant Blake Harte was the officer in charge of his arrest, saving the life of Kerry Nightingale in the process. Now, Frost has promised that Kerry was never safe and she'll be dead within a few days.

  Sure enough, somehow, Kerry is found dead in her top floor apartment - a place that was being guarded by Blake and the apartment's security. How is it possible for Kerry to have been murdered in her apartment when nobody could have gotten in or out?

  Did Thomas Frost somehow manage to murder Kerry from his prison cell? Who else could want to see her dead quite as much? As Blake and the team attempt to stop a killer who is seemingly capable of anything, he could never imagine that for somebody else in Harmschapel, time is also ticking....

  Copyright © Robert Innes

  Cover designed by Ashley Mcloughlin

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  For questions and comments about this book, please contact the author at rgwisox@aol.com.

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  Other Blake Harte Mystery Books By Robert Innes

  Untouchable (Out now)

  Confessional (Out now)

  Ripples (Out now)

  Reach (Out now)

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  The loud metallic slam of the steel door reverberated around the confined corridor. Blake waited for the guard to check that it was properly locked before they continued. He glanced up at the other cells. From all angles he could hear the sounds of jeers and shouts from the prisoners around him, but it was a cacophony that did not allow him to distinguish any particular words.

  “They can tell there’s a copper amongst them,” murmured the guard as they began walking along the corridor again. “You’re a braver man than me.”

  Blake gave him the smallest of insincere smiles, but said nothing. His mind was more concerned with who he was here to see. None of the thugs around him came close in their intentions to the man he was about to clap eyes on for the first time in seven years.

  As the sound of the other prisoners faded away, the corridor became darker as they made their way further down below the building to the high security wing. Blake’s stomach churned uncomfortably as they reached a final large steel door and the guard turned to him.

  “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you this, DS Harte, but still. Quite why you’ve agreed to see him, I have no idea, but here we are. There will be someone in the room with you at all times. This is non-negotiable, no matter what either you or he might say, but then he knows that. If you feel uncomfortable at any time, you give the signal and we get you out of there. All clear?”

  Blake nodded. “Is he cuffed?”

  “He is,” replied the guard. “Not that it’ll stop his mouth from working, so let me reiterate. If he crosses the line, we will get you out there.”

  “Good,” replied Blake, straightening his shirt and tie, more for something to do with his hands than for appearances sake. “Though, I’ll be the one who decides when it’s over, thanks. I don’t need saving. I was the one who put him here, remember.”

  “Exactly,” the guard said sternly, pulling a bolt across on the door. “And you’re not the only one who knows that. Alright, in you go.”

  The door squeaked loudly as it opened and Blake stepped inside the room. It was dark and chilly. The walls around him were made of solid grey stone, and a weak flickering optic light in the ceiling was the only thing stopping Blake stepping into complete blackness. In the centre of the otherwise empty room was a large table with two chairs opposite one another. The guard stepped in behind Blake and closed the door behind them and the echo resonated around the room. Blake barely noticed it. He was concentrating on the man sat at the table.

  Blake knew that the man was in his fifties, but his appearance gave the impression of somebody much older. His face was sallow and he appeared to be quite frail, but Blake was only too aware of what the man was capable of. Thomas Frost looked up at Blake and smiled.

  “Hello, Mr Harte,” he whispered, his voice silky and smooth. “It’s been a long time.”

  Blake didn’t reply. He merely walked across the room and sat down opposite Frost, crossing his arms, hoping that it was not an action that betrayed his own nervousness.

  The flickering light above them slightly illuminated Frost’s yellowing teeth and he continued smiling coldly at Blake. “Thank you for coming. I wasn’t sure if you would. Or even could.”

  “Neither was I,” replied Blake.

  “So, why did you?” Frost asked him, leaning forward slightly. Blake would have liked to be able to see for himself that Frost’s hands were cuffed, but he knew he was going to have to take the guard’s word for it.

  “I was curious,” Blake said.

  “Perhaps a little nostalgic?” Frost murmured. “From what I gather, I was your big break. The case that gave you those letters that you use so proudly before your name. I bet you found it irresistible to come and see me.”

  “Whatever my reasons, I’m here now,” Blake replied. “What do you want?”

  Frost’s smile faded slightly. Blake could tell he had been eager to toy with him further, but Blake knew that humouring him was something he needed to avoid. “I wanted to take a trip down memory lane with you.” He paused, perhaps to give Blake a chance to question him, but when he got no response, he continued. “Cast your mind back seven years. Seven years, six months and nineteen days, to be precise. The day that judge sent me here.”

  Blake remembered it well. The courtroom had been full, more so than any court Blake had ever stood in, mostly full of media and other policemen Blake had worked with on Frost’s case. Just before Frost had been taken away, he had stared straight at Blake; a stare that Blake graphically remembered making his blood run cold.

  “The day you were put in here for the rest of your life, and then some,” Blake answered. “I remember.”

  “Remind me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want you to.”

  “Tough.”

  Frost chuckled. “What’s the matter, Mr Harte? Is it the fact that here we are, sat at a table again, having a conversation about everything I did, all those women I killed. And yet, now, you don’t know what to say. You don’t like me being the one with the upper hand?”


  Blake rolled his eyes. “I’m clearly wasting my time.” He began to stand up. “Unlike you, I have a life to live. And I’m not going to waste it playing riddles with you.”

  He turned and walked back towards the door. The guard was about to unlock it when Frost stopped him in his tracks. “Kerry Nightingale will be dead by the end of the week.”

  Blake and the guard exchanged looks.

  “The one woman you thought you’d saved. But I promise you, I will see her dead by the end of the week. And there’s nothing you’ll be able to do to save her. She will die. Just like the rest. Just when you think she’s at her safest.”

  Blake bit his lip in regret before turning round. He was breaking his own promise about humouring him, but he needed to know what Frost was talking about.

  “Oh, I thought you were going?” Frost asked lightly as Blake walked back towards him.

  “Kerry Nightingale?”

  “You remember her, Mr Harte, don’t insult my intelligence.”

  “Of course I remember her.”

  “The one that got away,” Frost said in a singsong voice, looking up at Blake, the flickering light reflecting in his jet black eyes. “Or so she thought. So you thought. I came so tantalisingly close to throttling the life out of her, just like the others. But you got there just in time. Blake Harte, the white knight. The man who saves the damsels. But there’s nothing you can do this time.”

  “You’re bluffing,” Blake told him. “There’s nothing you can do trapped in here.”

  Again, Frost chuckled. “Oh, how little you know. She lives quite close to you these days, doesn’t she? A woman in her position is well publicised. I’ve seen her on the news. Doing very well for herself. Local politician, I expect the people of Clackton are so very reassured that she’s there, looking after them. But isn’t it amazing how freely prey thinks it can move when it thinks it’s safe? But she isn’t. She hasn’t been since I first clapped eyes on her all those years ago. Her day was always coming. Yes, Mr Harte. I know where she works. I know where she lives. I know everything about her. Including when she’s going to die. I just thought you’d like to know that. Put that in your interview records. Kerry Nightingale will be dead by the end of the week.”

  Blake sat in his car and sucked on his ecig. Now he was out of the prison, he could allow himself to acknowledge how unsettled and freaked out he felt from seeing Frost again after so long. Throughout his career, Blake had been responsible for sending his fair share of killers to prison, but Thomas Frost was one he still had the occasional nightmare about.

  Blake had heard rumblings from his old colleagues that Frost had wanted to see him, but he had always ignored them and now he was sincerely wishing he had continued doing just that. But something had finally made him relent and he was now cursing himself for being so stupid to give Frost what he wanted. Because it had clearly been his aim to unsettle Blake and he had achieved exactly that.

  How did he know so much about Kerry Nightingale? It was certainly true that she had been well covered by the media in recent months. She had won her local election by a landslide and was now regaled as one of the best things that had ever happened to Clackton, the nearest town to Harmschapel. But the question Blake now needed to work out was whether she was in any real danger. Frost was held in a high security prison. There was absolutely no way he would be able to get out without being seen, but he was also one of the most intelligent men Blake had ever met. During the original case, Blake had spoken to several psychiatrists who had stated that everything he did and said was with precise and methodical reasoning. Blake put the keys in the ignition and drove out of the car park.

  Try as he might, there was no way he was able to ignore Frost’s threats. Arriving at a T-junction, he glanced up at the road sign in front of him. One direction pointed him back home to Harmschapel, the other towards Clackton. He tapped the steering wheel in an agitated fashion. As a large lorry pulled up behind Blake, waiting for him to get out of the way, he made a decision. He flicked his indicator and put his foot down. He was going to Clackton.

  Kerry Nightingale lived in the exclusive area of Clackton. The apartments and houses were ranged from quite expensive to more a month than Blake earned in a year. As he arrived outside the Clayton apartments, he looked up at the building in front of him. It was a tall, towering structure that housed somewhere in the range of fifty apartments, the most expensive of which boasted balconies that allowed the owner to look down at the people below. A huge billboard on the side of the building showcasing the interior of some of the highest floored luxury apartments, demonstrating the sleek and modern marble kitchens and cosily lit living areas, along with beautifully tiled bathrooms, and enormous luxurious bedrooms caused Blake to sigh. He was rather fond of Juniper Cottage, his home in Harmschapel, but he had often wondered how it would feel to live somewhere like Clayton Apartments.

  Locking his car, he hurried across the road to the main entrance and peered through the glass door into the reception area. Behind the desk was a young security guard, reading a paper and sipping from a drinks can. He looked up as Blake knocked on the glass. The guard frowned when he caught sight of Blake’s police identification, pressing a button underneath his desk, which released the lock on the door, accompanied by a droning buzz as Blake opened the door and walked towards him.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, putting his newspaper out of sight under the desk.

  “Detective Sergeant Blake Harte. I’m looking for Kerry Nightingale. She does live here, doesn’t she?”

  The security guard’s face dropped. “Yeah, she does,” he replied flatly. “You’ve just missed her going up actually. One second.”

  He picked up a phone from behind the desk and put it to his ear as he quickly tapped on the keypad. “Kerry, it’s Jamie from security. There’s a man here to see you.” He glanced up at Blake. “What was the name again?”

  “DS Blake Harte.”

  “A Detective Sergeant Blake Harte,” Jamie repeated into the phone. He paused then nodded. “Will do.” He placed the phone back on the receiver and shook his head, exhaling in annoyance. “She’ll be down in a minute. Though, I warn you. If you’ve come asking her to sort you lot out an extra tea break or something, she’ll chew up to pieces.”

  Blake raised an eyebrow. “No, no, it’s not about that.”

  Jamie shrugged and pulled his newspaper out from underneath the desk and resumed reading. Blake watched him while he waited for Kerry to come and meet him. Jamie was very handsome, in fact, Blake would even go as far to call him pretty. He had mousy brown hair that had clearly been straightened and visible through a gap in the top buttons of his shirt was a necklace with a ying and yang symbol in the centre.

  “Worked here long?” Blake asked him lightly, to pass the time.

  Jamie glanced up from his paper. “Me? No, not really. A few months. It’s a pretty cushy job to be honest. There’s a few of us on security, but they could probably do away with us altogether. There’s barely anything to do. Still, I’m not complaining. The money is decent.”

  Blake nodded, but was slightly relieved when the lift bell rang and Kerry Nightingale stepped out. She was a slender bodied lady, with shoulder length brown hair, and a slightly pale complexion.

  “Kerry?” Blake asked as she stepped into reception.

  Kerry turned to face Blake and frowned. “Do I know you?”

  “We have met before, yes,” Blake replied delicately. “I was hoping to have a chat with you. I’m Detective Sergeant Blake Harte.”

  “I do hope you haven’t come to try and twist my arm about anything,” Kerry replied, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t give personal meetings without an appointment.”

  “It’s nothing like that, no,” Blake said, glancing at Jamie who was watching the conversation with mild interest. “I’m here on a slightly more official capacity.”

  Kerry’s eyebrows suddenly shot up. “Just a minute,” she said, pointing vaguely at him. “I do kn
ow you, don’t I? Blake Harte, did you say your name was?”

  “That’s right,” Blake said, ushering her back towards the lift before she fully remembered where she had seen him last. “Can we go somewhere more private?”

  The look in Kerry’s eyes told Blake that she was beginning to cotton on as to who he was, but she nodded, and with a last fervent glance at Jamie, she pressed the button on the elevator door. As the doors slid open, they stepped inside, and she stabbed the button to the top floor with her thumb.

  “You’re one of the officers who worked on the Thomas Frost case, aren’t you?” she asked quietly, once the lift was moving, fear evident in her eyes.

  “That’s right,” Blake replied.

  “Why do you want to see me? I thought that was all over and done with? Is that what this is about?”

  “It is, yes.”

  Kerry put her hands to her mouth as the lift reached the top floor. “He’s escaped hasn’t he?”

  “No, I can categorically tell you that he is still in prison where he belongs, under constant observation,” Blake said as the lift doors opened and they stepped out.

  “Then why are you here?”

  Blake took a deep breath, trying to decide how best to phrase what he was going to say. “He’s been making threats. I know that might sound alarming, but you must be reassured that there is absolutely no way for him to get to you.”

  They reached the door to Kerry’s apartment and walked inside. As the banner outside had promised, it was lush and spacious. The kitchen area was awash with black marble counters and a silver stained oven protruded out of the wall. Kerry walked straight to the fridge, which at first looked like another marble panel in the wall. Inside, Blake could see several bottles of white wine waiting to be opened, reminding him of the cider he had waiting for him back in Harmschapel.