An unforgivable crime. A murderous act of revenge. A killer with justice on their side.
Once, the infamous Dahlia Rapist terrorised young women – and their parents alike – with his brutal acts of violence and sinister calling card.
Today, Raymond Knox has shunned his former alias and is being released into society.
But someone suspects that a monster still lurks beneath the surface. And when Raymond Knox is found dead, mutilated to match his victims, DCI Claire Winters is called in to catch a killer the public are calling a hero.
It seems like an open-and-shut case of vigilante justice. But when another body is found, with the same shocking scars, Claire knows she must connect that dots – fast. Because she’s suddenly facing something much more complicated than she ever imagined: a serial killer, inspired by past crimes – and determined to leave their own bloody trail of devastation…
DCI Claire Winters faces her toughest challenge yet in Trial by Execution, book 3 in the DCI Claire Winters series.
What readers are saying about T.M.E. Walsh
‘[The Principle of Evil is a] fast paced psychological thriller which leaves your nerves on edge as it creeps towards the climax.’– Sharon Bairden, THE Book Club reviewer
‘Held me captivated from page 1. Gripping, fast – I just couldn't put it down!’ – Martha Brindley, Independent reviewer
‘I have been totally and utterly mesmerised by this book. Gripped from the very start.’ – Michelle Simons, Independent reviewer
‘A nicely paced, well written and suspenseful book. I'm certainly looking forward to reading The Principle of Evil, the next book in the series.’ – Petra on Goodreads
‘Cleverly written with lots of blood and gore and a maniacal murderer to satisfy any hardened serial killer crime thriller reader. I believe this is the first book in a new series and I look forward to reading more from T.M.E. Walsh.’ – Nolene Driscoll on Goodreads
‘I love a good gruesome crime novel and this did not disappoint.’ - Angela Oatham on Goodreads
‘As the book races toward its conclusion, there is a shocking plot twist that many readers will not see coming.’ – Sharon on Goodreads
Also by T.M.E. Walsh
For All Our Sins
The Principle of Evil
Trial by Execution
T.M.E. Walsh
Contents
Cover
Blurb
Praise
Book List
Title Page
Author Bio
Acknowledgements
Dedication
Prologue
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
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Epilogue
Excerpt
Copyright
TANIA (T.M.E.) WALSH began writing full-time after becoming a casualty of the recession in late 2008. She successfully self-published the first two novels in the DCI Claire Winters series before being picked up by HQ – a division of HarperCollins – in 2015. Tania is currently working on a standalone thriller and a fourth book in the DCI Claire Winters series. In 2011Tania was the winner of the Wannabe a Writer competition sponsored by Writing Magazine and judged by Matt Bates, the fiction buyer for WHSmith Travel.
Tania has previously produced digital artwork that was published on a DVD-ROM for ImagineFX magazine’s FXPosé section twice in the early and latter part of 2007, which has been published worldwide. Tania lives in Hertfordshire with her husband and young daughter. You can follow her on Twitter @tmewalsh, or visit her website www.tmewalsh.com and Facebook page www.facebook.com/tmewalsh
Thank you to the team at HQ, particularly my editor, Clio Cornish. I’m lucky to have your guidance and expertise. Also to Anna, for her brilliant design skills, yet again creating a fantastic DCI Claire Winters cover. Another canvas has been added to my wall!
To my fellow HQ Digital author buddies, (you know who you are), thanks for all the support. Special mention to Lisa Hall and Ann Troup, who completely understand the frustrations of penning that third book! It truly has been like ‘birthing a demon’, but our chats online and in person really gave me the support I needed to just get on with it. Special thanks to my friend Willow Thomas. So much has been made possible for me to live my dream because you were there from those early years and continue to be there with each book. I will always be eternally grateful to you.
Thanks to my husband Daniel, for everything you do that allows me to write full time. To my daughter (and best friend) Eden, you can never have too many books! One day I will let you read mine. My parents, Sandra and Stewart, thank you for the unwavering support and to my crazy in-laws, Jackie and Phil (with a little help from Kevin) Huge thanks for all the laughs!
For Willow.
There, but for the grace of God, go I.
Her face felt like it was on fire.
She remembered the first cut of the knife. It’d felt like her skin was being ripped over her cheeks, and salt poured over the tender flesh beneath.
She remembered she couldn’t scream.
Not like the ones that had come before her, but still she struggled to fight against it.
She heard the buzz of the flies before a couple landed on her face. It was the blood that had drawn them to her. The smell was too much to ignore. She flicked her head once, twice. Then she opened her green eyes just a crack and saw she was alone.
For now.
She remembered everything when both eyes finally fluttered wide open. They swivelled around in her skull, frantically searching for a way out of this nightmare. Then they filled with tears.
Sunlight punctured the canopy of leaves above her, sporadically illuminating the ground ahead with shafts of light. The trees seemed to be reaching for the heavens through the b
lue, cloudless sky above. Any other day and it would’ve been a beautiful sight.
But not today.
Her heart felt like it was ready to burst and she breathed, slowly, through her nose and not her mouth. If she used her mouth, she knew she’d make her face much, much worse than it was already.
She could feel a thin trickle of blood sliding down from each cut and the horror of what had been done forced a sharp intake of air.
Her lungs expanded but the ground felt like it would crush the life out of her if she didn’t find a way out fast. She glanced down, saw the dry soil just inches below her chin.
She was buried upright in the ground up to her neck, like the earth had tried to swallow her whole. Her arms were somewhere below, unbound, but growing more numb with every passing second.
She had cried for answers – why? why her? – to the one who had laughed when she had begged for her life. The one who had laughed as the soil was filled in around her after she’d dropped into the hole that had been made especially for her.
She closed her eyes.
The sounds of before seemed to echo in her ears. The noise of the shovel as it sliced through the earth. Then there was the other sound. The sound of teeth clashing and saliva spraying her face just before she’d passed out with the pain.
Her eyes shot open.
This is your last chance to save yourself.
Breathing laboured, she tried to move her arms, then her hands and her fingers. They felt numb but the dry earth gave a little. She didn’t care how long it took, she had to dig herself out of the ground. She only prayed she made it out in time.
Bracing herself, she tried to lift her right leg. It didn’t even stir. With despair creeping in, she shut her eyes, gritted her bloodstained teeth and tried to force her arms up towards the surface.
*
The last of the light had almost succumbed to the night by the time she had dragged her body from the earth. It’d taken her hours, clawing her way out, barely stopping despite exhaustion creeping in. Breathless, covered in mud and with spasms rippling through her body, she pushed herself onto all fours.
She pulled herself to her feet, bent double, hands resting on her knees, as she tried to catch her breath. Her head hung heavy between her legs. Her long hair was drenched with sweat and strands were glued to her face.
Her eyes shot towards the pit that had very nearly been her grave and a shudder tore through her body. The hours taken to break free from the earth had cost her precious time.
She looked through the trees around her and used the last remaining light as her guide. She stumbled ahead, tripping over unseen rocks and the roots of trees that had ventured above the earth.
Soon she saw a clearing beyond that led towards fields and, off in the distance, a village. The lights were like a homing beacon calling her to safety.
Ignoring the pain raging through her face, she headed towards the lights.
*
She fell forward onto the low wooden fence. The garden of a large house was just on the other side and she could see the light coming from the kitchen. She saw a figure, a woman at the sink.
Her eyes widened, and a moan vibrated in her throat. She was so close.
Her vision blurred. Any longer without help and she’d fall into a sleep she’d never wake from.
She pulled herself over the fence and stumbled towards the house. She reached the kitchen window and slammed her hands on the glass.
Inside, Ruth Cain jumped, shock registering on her face. She couldn’t see the figure properly – the kitchen light obscured the view to the garden. Ruth could only see her own reflection. She reached for the light switch on the wall and flicked it off, drowning herself in darkness.
She saw the silhouette of the woman outside and screamed.
Hands then pressed against the glass, sliding across it, low murmurs coming from her throat. She banged on the glass, just as Ruth flicked another switch, flooding the back garden in a bright, white light.
She staggered back, arms raised to shield her eyes, leaving the glass smeared with blood and cowered like a vampire exposed to sunlight.
She heard the woman in the house scream out for her husband.
She edged closer to the window again, her hands clasped together in silent prayer, shaking uncontrollably, begging for help.
Ruth took in the woman’s face, an image that would be burned into her soul for the rest of her life. She shut her eyes when her husband came down the stairs, but even with her eyes closed she could still see her.
It was the face that frightened her the most.
Outside, the woman’s eyes rolled back in her head and her body came crashing down to the ground, her mind passing into darkness. Had she been able to, she would have screamed, releasing the agony she felt inside as she fell.
The knife taken to her face, the damage done, had made screaming impossible without causing further trauma.
Across her face were deep lacerations, carved diagonally into her flesh. These wounds paled in comparison to the state of her mouth.
Ruth and her husband stepped out into the garden, almost regretting doing so when their worst fears were confirmed.
They looked down on the woman’s body. At her mouth.
A Glasgow Smile.
That’s what the newspapers had called it.
The slashing of someone’s face from both edges of the mouth up towards the ears. Like a crude, bloody smile, spread out over the face.
Except this girl wasn’t smiling and probably never would again, even if she did somehow survive.
PART ONE
‘Justice has been done this day.’
Author unknown
29th March, 2016 – Five weeks earlier
CHAPTER 1
Aberdeen International Airport, Scotland
Claire pulled her small suitcase along as she exited the airport. Strong, icy winds hit her, ripping through her blonde hair. She relished the cold air against her flushed cheeks. She breathed in deeply, and closed her eyes. She tried to remember when she was last here. Time tended to pass with a blink of an eye in her job. Devoted to it, she had little time for much else.
Her eyes fluttered open when she realised it had been just over two years since she’d set foot on Scottish soil.
She swallowed hard.
Shouldn’t she feel something?
He’d been dead over two years and this was the first time she’d been back since she’d buried him.
She tried to find something, any emotion, even guilt. There was simply nothing.
Claire checked her watch. It was after 2 pm. She could check in to the small hotel she’d made a reservation with any time now, but she was reluctant.
She found herself gripping the handle of her small suitcase tight.
She eased the tension in her fingers, but her feet remained firmly rooted to the spot. A part of her wanted to just turn back, get the next available flight back to Luton airport. She could take the National Express back home from there. It’d take a while, and part of her was afraid to be alone with her thoughts.
She reminded herself that she had taken a few days off work. She could do with some downtime, or so everyone had told her.
She made herself move.
Claire headed towards the taxi rank, and lined up. When she was next, the taxi driver loaded her suitcase into the boot as if on autopilot and nodded his head towards the car. Claire sat in the back and clasped her cold hands together.
Rain began to fall in an icy sheet from a sky drained of colour. When the driver was back in the driver’s seat, he turned to her.
‘Where to, then?’ His Scottish accent was harsh to Claire’s ears. When her eyes met his he gave her a look and glanced at his watch.
Claire knew she should go to the hotel first, but a big part of her was reluctant. Part of her still told herself that she would be going home straight after this anyway, so needn’t bother.
‘Where to?’ he said again, with a hardness that made Claire stare at him.
He raised his eyebrows.
‘Trinity Cemetery, please.’
*
The journey didn’t take long, and with her suitcase beside her, Claire took a few tentative steps towards the entrance to the cemetery, then waited until she heard the taxi drive off.
Did she really look as vulnerable as she felt right now?
Christ, she hoped not. Coping depended on giving the outward impression that she was a fortress of steel. Strong, never weak.
As the rain began to ease, she headed into the cemetery.
It didn’t take long to find him.
After all this time, she still remembered his final place of rest.
She had had to lift the suitcase around some old monuments and fallen headstones to get to the relevant plot, but now she was here, she let the case fall onto the soft, wet grass beside her.
She stared at the cream-coloured headstone, at each dark letter carved into it. She waited to feel something.
Nope. Still nothing.
She read the words set in stone.
Here lies Peter Winters.
08/01/1954 – 08/01/2014
Husband and father, remembered always.
Claire’s mouth twitched as she read that last part. Remembered always…
In many ways he would be, just not always fondly.
Peter Winters.
Claire’s father.
He’d left this world sixty years to the day after he’d entered it. Despite being crippled with arthritis, he had still been as strong as an ox. He could’ve lived until he was way into his eighties, like his own father, had it not been for his selfishness.
Selfishness right to the end.
He’d exited this world on his own terms, with maximum hurt caused to his daughter.
Claire lowered her eyes to the ground. Most of the other graves had flowers and mementoes left in memory of loved ones.
Peter’s grave had an empty flower vase built into the base of the headstone, its sheen long since gone.
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