Don’t Turn Around
A dark, thrilling, page-turner of a crime novel
Caroline Mitchell
Contents
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Prologue
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
13. Chapter Thirteen
14. Chapter Fourteen
15. Chapter Fifteen
16. Chapter Sixteen
17. Chapter Seventeen
18. Chapter Eighteen
19. Chapter Nineteen
20. Chapter Twenty
21. Chapter Twenty-one
22. Chapter Twenty-two
23. Chapter Twenty-three
24. Chapter Twenty-four
25. Chapter Twenty-five
26. Chapter Twenty-six
27. Chapter Twenty-seven
28. Chapter Twenty-eight
29. Chapter Twenty-nine
30. Chapter Thirty
31. Chapter Thirty-one
32. Chapter Thirty-two
33. Chapter Thirty-three
34. Chapter Thirty-four
35. Chapter Thirty-five
36. Chapter Thirty-six
37. Chapter Thirty-seven
Letter from Caroline
Also by Caroline Mitchell
Published by Bookouture - an imprint of StoryFire Ltd.
23 Sussex Road, Ickenham, UB10 8PN, United Kingdom
www.bookouture.com
Copyright © Caroline Mitchell 2015
Caroline Mitchell has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-909490-97-0
Acknowledgments
I am hugely grateful to all of the people who have helped bring this book to fruition.
To Oliver Rhodes, Claire Bord, Kim Nash and my editor Keshini Naidoo of Bookouture. I still pinch myself because I cannot believe I’m fortunate enough to be working with such fantastic people. To Angie, Lindsay, Renita and all the other fellow authors, thank you for your warm welcome into the Bookouture family and the late-night tweets that have me in stitches.
To Shelly Tegan and Holly Kammier, thank you for turning my piece of coal into a rough diamond and for all your encouragement along the way.
A huge thank you to my friends and extended family, there’s not enough room to name you all here, but the good news is there are more books in the series.
My sisters Ann, Louise, Bridie, my brother Robbie and of course Freddie and Dad, our recent loss has been hard to bear but I’m sure you’ll agree with the dedication.
To my children Paul, Aoife, Jessica and Benjamin; you are growing up and finding your own way in the world. Thank you for being mine.
To my husband Neil, this tiny space is not enough to thank you for being such a huge part of my life, so let’s renew our vows on a beach and talk about it then.
To my readers, suspend your beliefs and open your mind as you prepare for the journey. My gratitude to you is never-ending.
To my mother, Bridie Mitchell; I haven’t really lost you because you’re always in my heart.
Prologue
Jennifer Knight would not have walked home alone had she known the eyes of a serial killer were upon her. He retreated into the shadows as she strode down the moonlit path, her slender legs accentuated by five-inch heels. He licked his lips, stoked by his heavy breath. Jennifer’s footsteps grew louder as she approached, and his gloved fingers gripped the handle of the jagged hunting knife. He could almost hear her heartbeat accelerate as the weight of his stare bore down on her. The smell of her perfume reached his senses and he inhaled her fragrance. Turn around pretty girl, come see what I have for you, he thought, intoxicated by her presence. He watched as the young woman paused to fiddle in her bag. It brought forth the jangle of keys, and she quickened her pace.
Immeasurable boundaries were crossed to find her, to make good the sweet promise he had made. The others were irrelevant, and served only to whet his appetite for what lay ahead. His lips drew back in a sneer. Soon he would be able to touch her, to feel the warmth of her blood. And when the time came, no one would stop him.
1 Chapter One
The concept of a paperless office was lost on Haven CID. Each desk carried the burden of dusty box files, frayed spiral notepads and reams of open cases demanding attention. All except DC Jennifer Knight’s, whose neatly stacked paperwork was filed in order of importance, and coordinating stationery locked firmly away in her desk drawer.
Jennifer pushed open the door, casting an eye at the clock on the wall. It was a choice between arriving at work unwashed and on time, or suitably preened and late. She glanced at her colleague DC Dunston, guessing he had gone for the first option.
Will threw her a weary look. ‘You’ve missed briefing.’
‘Tell me something new,’ she said, pointing at the yellow stain on Will’s tie. ‘Eggy soldiers for breakfast?’
‘Egg McMuffin, if you must know,’ he said, patting his beard to dislodge the errant crumbs in his blond whiskers.
‘McDonalds at this hour? Here, let me.’ Jennifer pulled a sterile wipe from her bag as she crossed the room to inspect his tie. ‘You need to start looking after yourself. No wonder you look so tired.’
Will sighed as she picked away at the offending stain. ‘For God’s sake, you’re worse than my mother.’
‘If I was your mother I’d be down the pub every night drowning my sorrows. Now, what jobs have we lined up for today?’ Jennifer threw the wipe in the bin and rubbed her hands on her skirt.
‘Would you believe a grievous bodily harm? They’re finally trusting us with something decent’, he said, handing her a wad of paper bound together with a large black clip.
‘How come?’ Jennifer's eyes greedily scanned the page. Like any typical police station, Haven had a pecking order, and Jennifer was no longer given precedence when it came to serious crime.
‘Steph’s assisting the others with a raid so they’re tied up for the morning.’
Jennifer was glad her sergeant was out. Steph was a stickler for timekeeping, and Jennifer’s lateness had got up her nose on more than one occasion.
Jennifer froze as she stared in disbelief at the file. ‘Is this a wind-up? Johnny Mallet’s been nicked for stabbing Mike Stone?’
The small town of Haven had changed when ‘Man Mountain’ Mike Stone took up residence. An ex-boxer well known in the criminal underworld, he was purported to have retired from the drug scene, having amassed his fortune. But the pull seemed too strong, and his newly o
pened nightclub, Klass, covered for an increasing network of users in the area. Users like Johnny, a scrawny lowlife who funded his drug habit through petty crime.
Will grabbed his interview folder. ‘Apparently Mike called around there to recover a drug debt, and Johnny shanked him. We’ve recovered a knife. The forensics aren’t in yet, but Steph suggested we conduct an initial interview to see if Johnny would cough to it.’
‘Have you read through the package?’
‘Yep,’ Will said.
Jennifer clipped the papers back into order and grabbed a notebook and pen. ‘No time like the present then, let’s interview now.’
‘Don’t you want to read through it?’ Will asked, downing his coffee, now cold.
‘I’ve seen enough. You lead the interview, I’ll pick it up along the way.’ She strode down the narrow corridor, her heels clacking on the thinly carpeted floor. A faint smell of cannabis tainted the air, a seized harvest from the day before.
Will half walked, half trotted to keep up. ‘I wish you’d wear flat shoes. It doesn’t do much for my ego when you’re towering over me every day.’
‘It’s not my fault you’re a short arse,’ Jennifer grinned.
‘I’m taller than you if you wore proper bloody shoes.’
Jennifer didn’t miss a beat. ‘Is that with or without your Cuban heels?’
Will feigned indignation. Their banter was a coping mechanism. It had seen them through probation as idealistic eighteen-year-olds, then through the never-ending nights investigating what followed; broken victims, fractured lives, and the brutal violence that lingered, surfacing lead-footed in the dead of night when sleep betrayed them. They had joined the job to save the world, and twelve years later had settled for keeping the streets of Haven clean. But even that was a battle, and as Jennifer approached the custody block she hoped that today she would be on the winning team.
She pressed her tag against the scanner on the wall and pushed the heavy custody door ajar. A film of water glistened on the freshly mopped cement floor, and she narrowly missed colliding with the yellow hazard sign.
‘All right, Sarge?’ Jennifer nodded at the harassed-looking custody sergeant. His platformed desk lent him an air of authority, and the clear plastic screen protecting his computer was a necessary precaution against prisoners that either wanted to spit at or punch it, depending on the charge against them.
He replied without taking his eyes off his computer screen, his glasses perched halfway down his nose. ‘Mallet’s in cell nine. He doesn’t want a solicitor, so he’s all yours.’
Will followed the detention officer to the cell, while Jennifer made three cups of watery tea in the custody kitchen.
Walking down the narrow corridor to the interview rooms, Jennifer juggled the polystyrene cups, a pen in her mouth, and paperwork under her arm. She leaned against the door with her bottom, pushing it open. Shaking the spilled tea from her fingers, she placed the cups on a small wooden table in the corner of the pokey room. Looking around the windowless space she found an air freshener. Voices echoed down the corridor outside, and she quickly squirted a burst of lavender and lily into the air.
Will wrinkled his nose as he entered with his prisoner.
‘Johnny. Nice of you to grace us with your presence today,’ Jennifer said, trying not to inhale the smell as sweat and cheap air freshener assailed her nostrils.
No answer. Johnny stared at the floor. His pockmarked face turned downwards in a scowl, as he stood rooted to the spot. A pathetic creature, he stood at five foot five and weighed about seven stone.
‘C’mon Johnny, you know the drill. Have a seat.’ Will gestured to the padded chair in the corner. Bits of yellow foam peeped through the blue material, holes picked by nervous suspects. Johnny pulled back the chair and glanced furtively around the room as if someone was going to jump out on him at any second.
Jennifer pushed the tea towards him, hoping it would calm him down. She leaned into Will, pulling her seat close. ‘He’s a bit jumpy. Has he been checked by the FME?’ The force medical examiner was kept busy with the steady stream of drug users and mental health cases that graced their custody block.
‘Yeah, they said he’s fit for interview. Doesn’t seem himself though.’
Jennifer noted that Johnny was born the year after her, which made him thirty-one, but his pale-lipped gaunt face appeared twenty years older. ‘Are you OK, Johnny? Can I get you anything?’
He smiled, revealing a row of rotten teeth with the breath to match. ‘Fuck off, bitch.’
Fuck off yourself you ugly sod, Jennifer thought, as she donned her most professional smile and turned on the tapes.
Johnny gave a short laugh, raised one buttock, and broke wind. A stench of rotten cabbage filled the already stinking room.
Will clenched his fists. ‘You dirty …’
‘Right!’ Jennifer interrupted. ‘This interview is being tape-recorded. My colleague is going to explain the process, read out your rights and entitlements, and then we can talk about why you’re here.’
Jennifer leaned back in her chair as Will read through the pro forma that preceded every interview. He had been in the job for twelve years but still insisted on using his procedural ‘dummies guide’, something that earned him endless teasing from his colleagues. Today Jennifer was grateful for it, and used the spare time to compose herself. She rubbed her arms as the cold bit through the sleeves of her jacket. Johnny stared at her intently, his red-rimmed eyes boring into her skull. The beat of a headache began to throb, and she kneaded her forehead to ease the building pressure.
‘Johnny, I said, “can you confirm you are happy to proceed without a solicitor?”’ Will took a swig of his tea and made a face that said he wished he hadn’t.
Johnny’s eyes set firmly on Jennifer. ‘Fuck you.’
She looked at her watch. At this rate, it was going to take forever. She gave Will a nudge. ‘Just carry on Will, um, DC Dunston. Johnny has given his reasons for declining a solicitor on the custody record.’
Will continued his interrogation and Johnny answered every question with a profanity.
‘Is there anything else you’d like to say before we end the interview?’ Jennifer said, having exhausted her armoury of questions. ‘As I mentioned, we’ll have the forensics from the knife so you’re better off coming clean.’ She returned her hand to her head. The growing pressure was more than a headache, and a feeling of dread grew as an insistent dark energy tapped into her senses.
‘Well DC Knight, to be honest I find this all very tiresome. Do you think we could get rid of your ineffectual sidekick in order for me to speak to you alone?’ Johnny’s sudden change of accent was relayed with such eloquence it was as if someone else had entered the room.
His words hung in the air as the room fell silent; the only noise the faint squeaks of the tapes turning in the battered machine. The unnatural voice threw Jennifer off guard, and she replied with an automatic response.
‘The time is nine-fifteen. If there’s anything you’d like to say relating to this offence, then do so now, before we conclude the interview and my colleague switches off the tapes.’
‘You are so masterful, just like your mother. Elizabeth sends her regards, by the way.’ Johnny straightened his posture and crossed his legs, resting his clasped hands on his knee.
Jennifer flinched at the mention of her dead mother’s name. She sat back, at a complete loss for words.
‘This interview is concluded,’ Will said, hastily switching off the tapes.
Jennifer felt a trickle of anger mounting within. ‘What the hell is wrong with you, Johnny?’
‘Have I touched a nerve? Sorry, it was not my intention.’
‘C’mon, back to your cell. We’ve got more than enough to charge you anyway,’ Will said, knowing that the spell inside would do nothing more than provide Johnny with a decent meal and bed for the night.
‘Because I could not stop for Death, he kindly stopped for me,’ he s
aid, in an oddly cheery manner.
Johnny’s words echoed down the corridor as Will returned him to his cell.
Will met Jennifer back in the office after he had updated the custody sergeant with the results of the interview. Her wavy brown hair shadowed her face as she sat at her desk, poring over the paperwork.
‘You all right mate?’ Will said, standing behind her with his hand on the back of her chair
‘None of this makes any sense. How dare he …?’ She gulped back the words as she tried to maintain control. The mention of her mother’s name had sent her mind racing with questions.
Will squeezed her shoulder. ‘Don’t let him get to you. He’s just trying it on. He probably wants to be declared unfit for interview.’
‘Emily Dickinson.’ Jennifer said, pushing her hair back off her face.
‘What?’
‘What he said earlier, it was a quote from a poem by Emily Dickinson. How would he know that? He can’t read or write.’
‘He probably planned it just to mess with your head. Don’t waste your time worrying about it.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’ Jennifer said. ‘Have you got any painkillers? I’ve got a stinking headache.’
Will searched his drawer and pushed two tablets out of a foiled pack. ‘Here you go. Anything else I can do for you?’
‘There is, actually. Can you come with me to take a statement from the victim? I’ve rung the hospital, he’s fit to see us now.’
Will scratched his beard as he glanced over at the growing stack of paperwork on his desk. ‘Yeah sure, paperwork can wait.’
Jennifer was glad of the respite as they drove the battered Ford Focus to Haven Hospital. Will tapped the steering wheel as he hummed along to the tunes provided by their local eighties station. It was certainly more cheerful than the built-in police radio competing for their attention. Crime was on the increase in Haven, and she felt for the uniformed officers putting their heads above the parapet on a daily basis. But shoplifting and break-ins were minor compared to the worries weighing heavy on her mind. A cloak of foreboding had consumed her since Johnny’s interview. It made her feel like she was underwater, unable to get to the surface for air. Just what darkness was Johnny carrying? And why bring it to her door? She wound the window down an inch and breathed in the cool winter breeze. But it could not dismiss the feeling of unease growing inside her.
Don't Turn Around: A dark, thrilling, page-turner of a crime novel (Detective Jennifer Knight Crime Thriller Series Book 1) Page 1