Don't Turn Around: A dark, thrilling, page-turner of a crime novel (Detective Jennifer Knight Crime Thriller Series Book 1)

by Caroline Mitchell

  Will squeezed her fingers. ‘You’ve had a tough childhood. It’s possible you suffered post-trauma from it. The mind is an amazing thing, you think you’re coping really well then bam, it hits you out of the blue.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s pretty much it,’ Jennifer said, withdrawing her hand and looking at her watch.

  Will stared at her, willing her to carry on.

  Jennifer opened her mouth to speak and was interrupted by the vibration of her mobile phone. She frowned as she put it to her ear. ‘Hello? … Hello? Anyone there?’

  ‘Everything all right?’ Will said.

  She rejected the call and slid the phone back into her pocket. ‘Yeah, lately I’ve been getting silent calls. It feels like I’m being watched, but I’ve nothing to back it up.’

  She massaged her forehead. ‘I’ve got a pounding headache, do you mind if I call it a night?’

  ‘No problem. It’s probably all the stress you’re under. Why don’t you give your counsellor a call in the morning?’

  Jennifer forced a smile as she delivered a lie. ‘I’ve already set up an appointment. Are you all right getting home?’

  ’The rain doesn’t bother me, I’ll walk.’

  Jennifer finished her drink and placed her glass on the table. ‘In that case I’ll be off.’

  ‘Want me to walk you to your car?’ Will said, pushing his chair back under the table.

  ‘I’m parked right outside, you numpty,’ Jennifer said, giving him a peck on the cheek, his soft bristles tickling her lips.

  Will held her elbow briefly. ‘Any problems, give me a call?’

  ‘I’ll be fine, and not a word to anyone.’

  Jennifer watched through the windscreen of her parked car as Will loped down the dimly lit street, leaning against the splatters of rain. Curling her fingers around the door handle, she leaned forward to offer him a lift when an icy whisper drew her back … Jenn-i-fer … She stiffened as a thin frost crept up the inner windows, sealing the doors and cutting her off from outside world. … Jenn-i-fer … The deathly whisper spoke with decaying breaths, immobilising her body as corpse-like fingers caressed the nape of her neck. It’s not really there, it’s not really there, she whimpered, gulping back breaths as her heartbeat thundered in her ears. A chill froze the back of her neck as she repeated her mantra, her limbs trembling under the weight of malevolence. Seconds passed, each one an eternity. She exhaled in relief as the sensation ebbed. Another brick in her defences crumbled into dust.

  10 Chapter Ten

  Long shadows fell in the living room of the ex-teacher who had given up on life. His house was nothing more than a shrine, haunted with memories. The small golden carriage clock ticked silently from its place on top of the large box-shaped television. But he could hear it. Ticking the minutes. Each one that passed brought him closer to oblivion. And that suited him just fine.

  Charlie Taylor gazed lovingly at the faded photograph, flicking it over to re-read the blue inked inscription. Rosie, aged four, Frampton-on-Sea. It didn’t matter that the photo was in black and white. To him, it was alive with colour. He could almost smell the sea as they sat underneath the buttermilk sky. Seagulls crying overhead, the salty wind catching his deckchair as he lowered himself in. Shrieks of laughter as it collapsed in the sand. Charlie’s heart ached as he relived the memories, the pain tightening his throat as his body shuddered with another jerking sob. But still the memories came, each one striking a dagger into his already bleeding heart. Charlie blinked as he focused on the picture of his daughter, her tongue catching the dribbles of ice cream trailing down her chin. Photographs of his only child were so rare and precious, if only they had more … or a portrait … a portrait would have been nice. He closed his eyes as the pain created fresh tears. He had lost part of himself when his daughter died, on this day so many years ago. Since then he had become fragmented, piece by piece crumbling away like a cliff edge under the weight of the hammering sea. He tried to carry on, but life pounded against him in waves, and he just couldn’t take it anymore.

  ‘Your daughter has leukemia.’ Bam! ‘I’m leaving, Charlie … I just don’t love you anymore.’ Bam! On and on it went, eroding his soul until there was nothing left but sand and water. And still the clock ticked. It was three years since he had welcomed the news that his drinking would kill him within twelve months. Three years on, and he was still alive. Others had passed before him, people who deserved to live. But the world wasn’t finished with him yet. His wounded soul was an attractive meal to the vultures circling overhead.

  The figure watched from the hall as Charlie drank himself into oblivion. It would have been easy to leave him to finish the deed. But the plan was not to watch a man drink himself into the arms of death. The plan was to send a message. It was just like old times. The thought of sending the old man up in flames sent a thrill of delight through the watcher’s festered soul. This time it would be easy. Matches or accelerant were not necessary. Spontaneous combustion was a gift from the realms of the supernatural. The cloaked figure grinned as they cracked their knuckles. They promised they would send a message. And they always kept their promises.

  11 Chapter Eleven

  Elizabeth - 1978

  Elizabeth picked a piece of cotton from her uniform skirt as she listened to the woman at the front counter. She would be of more use on the streets than sitting here, taking complaints. Being volunteered for desk duties was the thanks she got for catching up with her work so quickly. She couldn’t wait to start her new role, which would make her the youngest female sergeant in the county. The raspy voice of the woman on the other side of the counter interrupted into her thoughts.

  ‘I know he gives me nothing but grief, but I’m worried. Ozzy usually taps me up once a week and I’ve heard nothing from him for a month now. Can’t you find him?’ Maude broke into a cough. She was small, fierce woman, with deep-set eyes and wiry hair dragged into a bun.

  Elizabeth discreetly inched herself further away from the wheezing woman. Drops of spittle landed on the counter as the coughing attack subsided. ‘Maude, usually you’re in here making reports that he’s stealing from you. I would have thought you’d enjoy the peace and quiet. It’s almost Christmas. Make the most of it while you can.’

  The woman pointed a nicotine stained finger in her direction. ‘There’s something wrong. I can feel it in my bones. Now are you going to take my report or not?’

  ‘I never said I wasn’t. But how do you expect us to find him if he’s homeless? Do you know where he sleeps?’

  ‘I do, as it happens. Last I heard he was sleeping in that derelict house in Burkley Road, off the old Barnes Estate, number 104. I would go down there myself, but with my arthritis …’ Maude spit into a hanky and wiped her mouth. ‘My legs aren’t what they used to be.’

  ‘You need to give up the cigarettes before they kill you. Look, officers are busy right now but I’m finished in a minute. I’ll go down there myself if I have to.’

  Narrowing her eyes, Maude grasped the handles of her handbag and leaned forward. ‘Good. And if you see him, tell him not to waste his time looking for money. I don’t have none. I just want to know he’s all right.’

  ‘Yes yes, now you go off home and make yourself a cuppa. You look like you need it.’

  She watched as Maude shuffled out the door, dragging her shopping trolley behind her. Speak to people in their own language was a rule Elizabeth went by, and people respected her for it. It was one of the things she loved about being a uniformed officer. A detective role wasn’t for her, it would take her away from the streets she loved. But she couldn’t wait to rise in the ranks as a female uniformed officer, and she wore her uniform with pride.

  Elizabeth smiled at the burly police officer that took her seat. ‘I’ve had all sorts here today, I’ll be glad to get some foot patrol in for some air.’

  ‘Two hours left on your shift; it’s hardly worth it.’

  ‘That,’ Elizabeth grinned, ‘is why I am in fine shape
, and you are not.’

  ‘Get out of it!’ the officer smirked as he flapped her backside with his clipboard.

  The full moon shone down on Burkley Road as Elizabeth approached number 104. PC Hargreaves had arranged to meet her there, but she guessed he had been called away as there was no sign of a police car at the address. A group of boys pedalled past, fascinated by the sight of a lone police officer walking down their estate, much less a female one. Elizabeth stood tall, refusing to be intimidated. She knocked on the door of the end terrace house, shrouded in darkness. The last tenants had long since vacated, and the owners had yet to spend money on making it habitable again. In the meantime, it was a haven for squatters and errant teenagers. She gave up rapping on the front door and walked through the overgrown vegetation to the back, frowning at the sight of the unhinged door.

  She exhaled in relief as car headlights lit the front of the two-story building. PC Hargreaves was not going to let her down after all. She flashed her torch to draw his attention. The break in was most likely caused by Ozzy, but she trusted her senses, and they were screaming at her not to enter the building alone.

  The officer’s familiar broad figure came around the corner, stamping his heavy boots through the vegetation. ‘What’s up, Liz?’

  ‘I came here to check on Ozzy. His mother reported him missing. I was going to go in, but something didn’t feel right.’

  ‘Good thinking. A young girl like you shouldn’t be going in places like this alone.’

  Elizabeth fought the urge to say that female officers were just as capable as male officers on the beat. The look of concern on his face softened her response. ‘Thanks. The back door is insecure. You ready to go in?’

  ‘Sure.’ He led the way through the back kitchen, their feet crunching on the broken glass. Slowly, they crept into the hall, listening for sounds. He flicked the light switch, but there was no response.

  Elizabeth gripped her torch. She would use it as a weapon if she needed to, although it would take a lot to get through PC Hargreaves. If there was one officer you wanted in your corner when things got rough, it was him.

  His voice broke the silence in a whisper. ‘If he is here, he must be frozen to death.’

  Elizabeth raised a hand to her nose. ‘Smell that? You may be right.’

  The officers looked at each other and followed the smell into the vacant living room. Their flashlights beamed on a figure hanging from the rafters.

  ‘Ozzy, you bloody idiot.’ PC Hargreaves murmured as he approached the body.

  Elizabeth scanned the room while PC Hargreaves called it in. His voice blended into the background as she looked over the dirty mattress and used needles.

  ‘Yes sir, it looks like suicide, but we would be grateful if you could visit, as entry to the building appears to be forced.’ PC Hargreaves absently nodded his head as he leaned into his radio, ‘Yes he is a well known drug user … no sir, no sign of a disturbance apart from forced entry … we’ve checked his pockets and there’s some cash in there …’

  Two rats scuttled in the corner of the room, startled by the beam of the flashlight. No doubt there was a nest of them nearby. It was probably a good thing he had hanged himself. If he’d died on the bed … Elizabeth shuddered.

  ‘Too cold for you, lassie? I can wait for the undertakers if you want to get off.’

  ‘Isn’t the inspector coming out?’

  PC Hargreaves clasped his hands together and rocked on his heels. ‘It seems not. He’s busy on another job and doesn’t deem it to be suspicious.’

  ‘That’s a bit chancey isn’t it? After all, it’s forced entry.’

  ‘Aye maybe, but Ozzy’s a squatter. He didn’t exactly let himself in with a key. With the money in his pocket and drugs still under his pillow, it’s unlikely anyone else was responsible.’

  ‘All the same, I’ll feel happier if I search the rest of the house. I won’t be long.’ PC Hargreaves shrugged his shoulders as he lit a cigarette. ‘You won’t find much up there apart from rats and spiders, but be my guest. If you need me, just shout.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I will,’ she said, with mock bravado. PC Hargreaves was a nice man, but his view that a woman’s place was in the home was painfully evident. It was nothing new for Elizabeth, who fought hard to prove her worth in the team.

  The wooden stairwell creaked as she climbed upwards, shining a light onto the upstairs landing. Mottled wallpaper hung off the walls and dangled onto the floor. The damp pores caught the back of her throat and she stifled a cough.

  The layer of cobwebs covering the loft hatch was a welcome sight. It meant she did not have to climb up there to investigate. Pushing open the bedroom doors, she stood to one side and flashed her torch before entering. Her police training had taught her not to enter head on, in case someone was waiting on the other side. She listened for the slightest sound as she entered each room. This house had sheltered a family once, children perhaps. But there was no sign of children here now. It was abandoned to decay and ruin, its only occupants an army of rats, spiders and a decaying body hanging from the rafters downstairs.

  A car door slammed outside, most likely the undertakers. She returned downstairs, vowing that when she was made an inspector she would attend every death she was called out for. Ozzy’s demise had all the trademarks of a suicide, but it didn’t sit right, and she knew it would churn in her thoughts when sleep evaded her.

  Elizabeth volunteered to deliver the agony, feeling guilty for being so dismissive to Maude earlier on. Informing family of the death of a loved one was termed by police as an ‘agony’ for a reason. For all her bravado, Elizabeth knew Osborne’s mother would be heartbroken with the news.

  ‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’ Maude said, in response to Elizabeth’s presence at her doorstep. The little cottage was nicer than Elizabeth had expected, and she wondered what had happened in Osborne’s life to make him cause so much trouble.

  ‘It seems that way. I’m sorry Maude.’

  ‘Seems that way? He is or he isn’t,’ Maude scowled.

  Elizabeth removed her hat and swept a hand across her hair. It had been a long night. ‘May I come in?’

  Maude opened the door allowing Elizabeth inside. The smell of stew hung in the air and Elizabeth’s stomach rumbled. Family photos graced the fireplace of the cozy home, and three ceramic ducks were displayed on the wall overhead, frozen in flight.

  ‘Drugs, was it?’ Maude asked, as Elizabeth perched on the small green sofa. It was low to the ground and she moved forward to balance herself. ‘No Maude, it seems as if he hung himself.’

  ‘Nah, he wouldn’t have done that. Not Ozzy. Are you sure it was him?’

  ‘We identified him from paperwork in his trouser pocket. I’m afraid he’d been there for some time, but … it does seem to be him. The coroner will examine the body in due course.’ A cat rubbed itself against her legs, covering her black tights in a pattern of grey hairs.

  ‘In due course? Well, I can save them a job. He would never have hung himself. Never. He was too much of a coward.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Maude. We will keep you updated with the coroner’s report. But you should brace yourself for the worst.’

  ‘Worst? I’m over the worst. At least now I’ll get some peace. The little sod, why …’ Her voice choked into a sob and Elizabeth rested a hand on her shoulder.

  Maude’s words rang in her ears when the coroner’s report came back. M. Osborne. Male died of asphyxiation. Secondary injuries consisted of a broken nose and fractured wrist. The injuries may have been obtained prior to his death and due to body decomposition it was impossible to tell if foul play was involved.

  An open verdict was called. Elizabeth stared at the paperwork, the far-reaching consequences of Osborne’s demise beyond her comprehension.

  12 Chapter Twelve

  Despite the assault on her senses, Jennifer fell into a fitful night’s sleep. Her first thoughts were about Charlie, and she wondered how she could attempt to sol
ve the mystery unravelling around her. Just who had spoken to her during her phone conversation in the car, and was it the same entity that had spoken to her in the confines of the cell? The conversations with both Johnny and Charlie were vague and rambling, but interconnected in ways she did not yet understand.

  Rifling through her wardrobe, she pulled out a knee length black skirt, which she offset with a mink top. She dragged a brush through her damp hair, vowing to check their custody records when she went into work that afternoon. Such records could be accessed on the force computer long after the prisoner had left, and they held all sorts of useful information, such as what they ate, what they said, and any medical examinations. She wound her hair into a bun. If anyone asked, she would say she was checking to see if her contact with the prisoners had been recorded. It wasn’t as if she was lying.

  The office bustled with people and a sense of excitement filled the air. Steph approached her with a look of determination. ‘Jennifer, can I see you for a minute in the inspector’s office? Something’s come up.’

  ‘Never a dull moment,’ Jennifer mumbled under her breath as she followed Steph, whose swift waddle was causing her trousers to strain at the seams.

  Jennifer took up a spare swivel chair next to the expansive wooden desk. Despite being a sergeant, Steph was not granted an office of her own, and she shared the DI’s space when private matters needed to be discussed. The fluorescent strips overhead cast a gloomy light. A battered filing cabinet in the corner housed personnel records and, it was rumoured, a bottle of scotch in the bottom drawer. It was more for posterity than anything else, a throwback to the time when a drink and a cigarette after a long day’s work was accepted. Jennifer sat back, wondering why DI Allison never displayed any family photos on his desk.