DI Allison’s mobile phone vibrated on the table and Jennifer stood up to leave. ‘Of course. Thanks for your time. I’ll let you get back to work.’ The DI nodded a goodbye and picked up his phone.
She strode back to her computer and Susie came scurrying over, her cleavage overflowing in her tight pink dress. Hardly appropriate wear for a police detective. Jennifer’s cheeks still burned from her telling off, and she wished Susie would go away.
‘I wish I could have intercepted you before you went in. He’s in one hell of a bad mood,’ Susie whispered, revelling in the drama. ‘Is there something wrong, anything you’d like to talk about?’
Jennifer glared at Susie. ‘Why? So you can satisfy your own curiosity?’
‘Charming I’m sure, well I won’t ask again,’ Susie flounced back to her desk.
Chance would be a fine thing, Jennifer thought. So much for opening a case. Doors were slamming in her face at every turn. Her only hope now was the taped interview that lay sealed in the bottom of a shoe box.
23 Chapter Twenty-three
The dark hooded figure stood in the shop doorway, grinning at the bony woman huddled under the frayed cardboard on the ground. The building, which had once been a large retail unit, occasionally housed Haven’s homeless in its generous double doorways. It offered little protection from the winter nights, but in an area free from visitors it was safer than the squats now under the rule of the new breed of scourge overpowering the streets.
‘Why are you here?’ Shelly hissed, shifting into a sitting position, the smell of urine rising up with her.
‘Now is that any way to speak to an old friend?’
Shelly stiffened, her mouth gaping open. ‘It’s you?’
‘Yes it is. Clever, aren’t I? Some would call me the master of disguise.’
Shelly had experienced the Grim Reaper in other forms but never in the body of the person before her. With trembing hands, she put a match to the rolled up cigarette pinched between her lips. She sucked on the thin spear until the threads of tobacco caught alight.
‘What … what do you want?’ She said, blowing out a thin stream of smoke barely discernible from her frosted breath. ‘I can’t take you again. You nearly killed me the last time.’
‘Alas, I fear that is true. One more embodiment and you’re likely to keel over. I take it you’ve used the gifts I brought?’
‘Have you got any more?’ Shelly said, her eyes alight at the prospect of another hit. Shelly scurried to her feet, her back pressed firmly against the wall. She had left her flat with only the clothes on her back. A blast of freezing cold air raised goosebumps on her skeletal flesh. Her elbows clamped against her sides, she jiggled on each foot.
The dance lit a memory in the Grim Reaper’s eyes. ‘You are a hungry little steed, aren’t you? Why don’t we take a walk and I can show you what I have in mind?’
Shelly stared at the inhabitant of the long dark cloak. ‘But you’re …’
‘What? You don’t like my new mount? Are you ashamed to be seen out with me?’
‘No … No please, I’ll do whatever you want.’
‘Yes. I should think you will. Now come along. It’s not as if anyone’s going to see us at this hour.’
Shelly’s companion looked every inch the Grim Reaper in the dark cloaked hood, gliding into the arms of the desolate night. It was strange how an embodiment, even a temporary one, could transform the features of the person it inhabited. Shelly barely recognised the person she knew. But she had little time to care about them, because she was up to her neck in it herself.
Her companion chortled as a street lamp popped and fizzled overhead. ‘Can you feel it, Shelly? The darkness is all around.’
Shelly stared forlornly at the frost-glazed street, an obedient dog following its master. Past the shuttered windows and ragged flyers they walked, out of the streets onto the weed-infested shortcut that led to the river bank. Their footsteps brought warning to the well fed water rats that slid on greasy bellies into the reeds.
‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough of life?’ The figure spoke as it approached the bridge. ‘Look at you. What’s the point in going on?’
‘I don’t know.’ Shelly sniffed, her bloodshot eyes fixed on the ground as she walked ahead. Making eye contact with the Grim Reaper was like staring into a nest of maggots; each heart-stopping stare led her to the hellish abyss of her future. She certainly wasn’t going to heaven anytime soon.
The cloaked figure advocated suicide as they walked, each word delivered in a cloud of menace.
‘I want to go back. I’m tired,’ Shelly said, limping from the stone which had found its way into her shoe.
They walked the long wide bridge that overshadowed the Blakewater River. ‘See how the water reflects the darkness of the sky?’ the figure said, with arms outstretched ‘Isn’t it welcoming?’
Shelly panted as she leaned back on the stone bridge wall. ‘I’ve seen it before. I want to go back.’
Her companion spun around, clasping her throat. The veins on Shelly’s neck bulged as the cloaked figure lifted her body inches from the ground. ‘It’s time you followed Johnny’s example and said your goodbyes to this world.’
‘No,’ Shelly rasped, clutching at tense arms as she fought for breath. ‘Please, let me go.’
The glove-fisted hand relinquished its hold and threw her to the ground. ‘Why? Because you’ve so much to live for? What about Amber and Alisha? Have they anything to live for?’
Shelly wobbled as she picked herself up from the unforgiving ground. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. ‘You said you’d leave them outta this. You promised.’
‘But the Grim Reaper is hungry and must be satisfied. I’ll give you a choice. The test of a mother’s love. Either you jump from this bridge and save their souls, or I give you enough smack to send you on a rocket ship to the moon. I’ve got it with me now.’ The words were followed by an unmistakable cackle of laughter.
‘No, you can’t do that. They’re just kids.’
The figure cracked their knuckles, savouring the moment. ‘Then it’s time you made a choice. Your life or theirs.’
‘What choice do I have?’ Shelly said, tears now cascading down her wasted face. She knew the Grim Reaper’s threats were filled with promise. She knew there was no way out.
‘Good. In that case, I’ll leave you to it. I’m going to get a front row view. I’ll be underneath the bridge waiting for your grand appearance as you hit the water. Up you get, I’ll even help you in position.’
Shelly jerked as the figure lifted her onto the wall and threw her legs over, until she was sitting facing the water below.
Shelly was still sitting on the bridge when car headlights lit up the night, music blaring in the Mini Metro. Her heart flickered as the car slowed, and curious eyes peered through the fogged up windows. Seconds later the engine roared into life, wobbling across the road markings as the orange glow of the taillights disappeared from view. A wave of weariness overcame her and she lay to one side, legs still dangling. She rested her face on the grey stone, wanting to absorb its coldness. She couldn’t feel the sub-zero temperatures – she didn’t know what temperature she was at all. Her skin felt clammy but there was a chill from deep inside, and her body shivered as the hell of withdrawal approached. In the beginning, when she could get high for a tenner, smack made her feel nice. Nice was good. Nice took her away from the childhood in which she was forced to the streets as soon as her mother could find clients to take her. Nice made her forget the pain from the beatings. Nice took away the fact her children were in care and better off without her. But now it took a lot more than a tenner to sustain Shelly, and the nice feeling was replaced with fear of the withdrawal that crawled like spiders under her skin. And that was just the start. Her benefits had long since run out and there was no money in whoring when you looked like you’d just crawled out of a coffin. She wondered about the chances of getting another hit. Her teeth began to rattl
e as she shivered, and she tried desperately to focus on her daughters. Maybe they would give her the strength she needed to make the right decision. Shelly sat back up and stared unblinkingly at the water below. She heard shouting from under the bridge but everything felt so far away now. She couldn’t even remember her little girls’ faces. What age were they now? The information escaped her, because all she could think of was the contents of the coat pocket of the hooded figure, which she would get if she sacrificed the children she barely knew.
‘I can’t do it,’ she whispered to her children’s memory. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t do it.’
But the choice was already made as a pair of gloved hands rammed into her back, sending her screaming into the icy depths below.
24 Chapter Twenty-four
A hot beverage was placed on Jennifer’s desk in the absence of a white flag. ‘Is it safe to approach?’ Will said, ‘You’ve torn a strip off Sue already and our shift hasn’t even started yet.’
Jennifer gulped the drink and almost spat it out. ‘Ugh, what is this?’
‘Green tea,’ he smiled. ‘Thought it might detox some of the depravity out of you. But I guess we’d need more than one cup for that.’
Jennifer turned to greet him and momentarily forgot her problems. ‘Bloody hell Will, you’re looking well. Had a makeover?’ Slim-line black trousers replaced his baggy chinos and his new white shirt fitted his form perfectly. Even his shaggy beard had been trimmed to an attractive stubble.
‘I thought it was about time I smartened up.’
‘Well, I like it, and the haircut suits you. Make the most of it, as it’s not often you get a compliment from me.’
Will smiled. ‘No Ethan today?’
‘He’ll be in later, he’s on a prison visit or something.’
Will took a Cadbury’s Creme Egg out of his drawer and placed it on the table in front of her.
‘I bought it for you but now you can give it to Susie to say you’re sorry.’
‘Why?’
Will grinned. ‘Because she needs a partner for her suspect interview.’
Jennifer rolled her eyes as she stood up. ‘Well not until I’ve cleaned our desks. Look at them.’ Spraying and wiping she polished the worn wooden desks before starting on the computers, turning the keyboards upside down and tapping them as they released a shower of crumbs. She was glad Will didn’t ask her about her conversation with the DI. She had no intention of sharing until she had something tangible to go on. ‘Did you bring in that tape recorder I texted you about?’
‘Yep, it’s in my new man bag. You can have it later. Be a good girl and I might even let you have a peek inside,’ Will said, with a mischievous grin. Jennifer was itching to listen to the tape at work, but the only available tape machines were in the interview room, and questions would have been asked if she booked it for her own use.
Shelly’s disappearance nagged at the back of Jennifer’s brain. In her downtime she emailed a referral to the mental health team to make them aware of the missing woman’s deteriorating condition. Without Shelly’s co-operation, there was little else she could do. Just what had she meant when she mentioned Joshua? Jennifer knew without a doubt that it had not been Shelly talking. She was also pretty sure that Shelly’s sunken corpse would turn up soon. Poor cow. Her children had long since been taken into care. She hoped they were happy and would not take the news too badly. But where did that leave Josh? It wasn’t as if she could pick up the phone and ask the entity his intentions. She would have to wait until his next contact. He had made his demands clear. He wanted her. And if she did not give herself freely, he would hurt Josh.
Joan Connelly’s warning rang in her ears. Protect the child at all costs. But how? She had already frightened the crap out of her sister by ringing to warn her of some bogus paedophile in the area. Anything to make her watch him closely, grip his hand a little tighter. Her sister’s naivety about the world was a bone of contention between them. The problem with being in the police was that you knew just how many depraved people there were out there, and the lengths they would go to in order to get what they want.
Will hummed along to the eighties' music playing on his iPod. He liked having the office to himself. Steph was usually called away to Westlea on the late shift, and Jennifer and Susie were going to be at least another hour interviewing their burglary suspect. Michael Corbett, the world’s slowest solicitor, was defending him. It was just as well Susie was leading the interview. He had known Jennifer long enough to realise that she was in some sort of trouble. She was as bristly as a hedgehog when it came to her personal life, and her heated meeting with the DI had not gone unnoticed either. Will bound together the completed file and smiled in satisfaction. One down, nine more to go. He sat back in his chair and stretched, surveying Jennifer’s spotless desk. The photo of her nephew Josh was perfectly symmetrical with the penholder, stapler and paperclips, tidily displayed. He pulled open her unlocked drawer, noticing with amusement that her array of pens and pencils were not only perfectly aligned, but colour coordinated too. He was about to shut the drawer when a blue spiral journal caught his eye. It was the one she had been carrying when she returned from the DI’s office. Will glanced at the door and back to the journal. Jennifer wouldn’t appreciate him touching her things. Then again, he didn’t have any intention of telling her.
Sliding it out of the drawer, he opened it on his lap and flicked through the pages. The notes were new and nothing that he recognised from work. He frowned as he speed-read the entries. Jennifer was going over cold cases, concerned about a modern day copycat killer being on the loose. Will read further and was plunged into a world full of supernatural theories; spontaneous combustion, possession, dissociated voices, dream theories, and hauntings. What disturbed him the most was that some of her reasoning seemed valid. The links between each past and current death were strong, even if you put all the superstitious stuff aside. Yet there was nothing on the police briefing site about any investigation. He pulled a page from his notepad and scribbled down some of the details before returning the journal to her desk. Straightening up the pens and pencils, he slowly closed the drawer before returning to his files.
Jennifer was relieved to see Ethan return to the office. Two hours of listening to Susie’s voice had driven her to the edge of her sanity. Christ, that woman could talk! Between her and that boring old fart, Corbett, whose only interest was Susie’s cleavage, it was turning out to be a pig of a late shift. At least she had managed to swerve the paperwork, which firmly belonged to Susie. Even Will was giving his puppy dog eyes a rest as he actually got on with his work rather than pleading with her to do it for him.
She was more than happy to volunteer to accompany Ethan in what was termed as the ‘burglary car’ for an hour. If resources allowed, they took turns driving the unmarked police car around Haven to stop check any known criminals in the burglary hotspots. Ethan had only been attached to the department a short while, but Jennifer was impressed with his knowledge of the local area.
As they drove through the streets, their radios relayed the description of a wanted criminal who had been spotted in the area. Jennifer took her flats from the back seat and slipped them on her feet. The last time she had chased a prisoner in high heels, she had ended up sprawled over an oversized teenager who’d decided it was a good day to skateboard downhill drunk.
Ethan drove through their local McDonalds and ordered two cappuccinos to help with their nightly stake out. The smell of coffee filled the car as they parked outside one of their well-known burglary hotspots, a narrow alleyway leading to the back of a housing estate. Jennifer swirled the frothy coffee with the wooden stirrer as they sat in the dark.
‘I see Steph has been keeping you busy,’ Jennifer said, as the wind whistled through the car.
‘Everyone’s been great. It’s a lot different from Westlea. People are so busy there, they don’t have time to speak to you.’
‘I didn’t realise you’d worked at Westlea
.’
‘I started not long after you left. You’re a bit of an enigma there.’
Jennifer groaned. ‘Oh God, what did you hear? They all think I’m weird or crazy, right?’
‘I heard you were ... are a very good detective. And that you’ve recently joined Haven after being on restricted duties.’
Jennifer’s face dropped. ‘Just because I’ve been for counselling doesn’t make me a loon, you know.’
Ethan gave a short laugh. ‘You think you’re messed up! My therapist thinks that joining the police was my way of gaining my father’s approval.’
‘You have a therapist?’
Ethan nodded. ‘Yes. After my bout of stalking and axe-murdering, they thought it would be a good idea.’
Jennifer snorted. ‘Funny.’
‘I have a therapist because my mother gives me a nice allowance as long as I fulfil certain terms. Speaking to a complete stranger once a month is one of them,’ Ethan said.
‘I appreciate your honesty. Men aren’t usually very good at talking about their emotions.’
‘There’s one more thing I’ve heard that I’m curious about. Something about you being psychic?’
Jennifer baulked. ‘I’ve moved on from all that now Ethan. I’m not psychic, no mysticism, end of story.’ Jennifer didn’t mention that she had been moved for arresting the son of an MP. Her only evidence had been the instincts that told her he was responsible for a series of stranger rapes in the area. Outraged, the councillor had bayed for her blood, and she had been put on restricted duties and moved to Haven. The investigation had long since cleared her of any wrongdoing, partially because her detailed forecasts of further victims came true. The man she had arrested was eventually charged, but Jennifer was never invited back to her old post.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ Ethan said, looking at her lap.
Jennifer realised she had broken her coffee stirrer into little pieces on her lap. She shrugged, gathering them up to put in her empty coffee cup. ‘Shit happens. Time to move on from all that.’
Don't Turn Around: A dark, thrilling, page-turner of a crime novel (Detective Jennifer Knight Crime Thriller Series Book 1) Page 18