Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

  The more she thought about it, the greater the possibility seemed. Losing the use of his legs would cause enormous inner turmoil. She should never have taken his decision seriously; she should never have walked away.

  A memory flashed into her thoughts. When she agreed to his suggestion of their separation, his expression was one of hurt and surprise. He had not expected her to agree so quickly.

  Stacy stilled. What had she done? Had she unwittingly driven him to Kirsty? Had he expected a fight? Instead, she had called his bluff and given him exactly what he had wanted.

  Her phone tickled a message. Her first thought was that it would be Nick, but she quickly chastised herself for her stupidity. Whilst he had his phone by his hospital bed, he had not made contact, and she couldn’t see any reason he would do so, not when he believed she was happy with their decision. She had to call him, and extracted it from her pocket and stared at the screen.

  Her pulse throbbed in her thought. The identity of the caller was unknown. Fearing the worst, she opened it up.

  It was from the stranger determined to ruin her life.

  ‘Apologies solve nothing. They don’t take away years of hurt. They don’t make you less selfish.’

  Quivers extended from her body to her fingers. Stilling her tremors, she thrust her phone in her pocket, scanned the vicinity, afraid she was being watched and hurried away from the general direction of the café. She needed privacy, and even though it was evident that the perpetrator was familiar to her, it was impossible to believe, not wanting to view her friends in such light. In addition, if it were someone she knew well, she believed they would voice their concerns face to face.

  Their actions were cowardly.

  Her mother’s voice penetrated her thoughts. She had been targeted at random. It was the only plausible explanation, especially since she had done no wrong.

  She had not caused Nick’s accident, and she had not suggested their break up.

  Irritated, she reached to her phone. ‘I have done no wrong. You’re a coward. Speak to me in person.’

  The reply was swift. ‘You caused Nick’s paralysis. How is that not wrong?’

  The words pounded her head, her mouth dried and her blood pressure rose. Who was she speaking to? Her mother was the only person who knew about her yanking Nick’s sleeve. Was that what this person was referring to, or was it something else? She needed to know, and tapped in her reply, denying her understanding. Then, as she waited for a response, and feeling exposed and vulnerable, she hurried towards her car.

  The warbling sound of her phone intensified the pressure in her chest.

  ‘How easy it is for you to forget the argument. Let’s hope it’s as easy for Nick to forget he once had legs.’

  ‘People argue,’ she replied. ‘It takes two. It was not my fault.’

  ‘That’s not what he says. You will pay … one way or another you will pay.’

  ‘Who is this?’

  She stared at the screen. There was no reply.

  She repeated her message.

  Still nothing.

  Squealing, and with her heart pounding in her throat, she sank into her car, fumbled with the key and the ignition, and started the engine.

  A message arrived. ‘I’m waiting,’ it said.

  Her breathing deepened, her agony rising in her chest. She wanted to get home, and placed the car into gear, released the handbrake, and put her foot on the gas. She did not consider the meaning of the message until she arrived at her back door.

  A noose was hanging from a nail at the top of the door.

  The door was open.

  A moan escaped her lips.

  She stepped inside, her eyes darting, searching for shadowy movements.

  She did not see her attacker.

  She was rendered unconscious and crumpled to the floor.

  Chapter 10

  ‘Morning,’ Imogen said.

  A smile slid across Luke’s lips. She was dressed in a chiffon peach dress with a scooped neckline and three-quarter length sleeves. The dress was short, loose-fitting and floaty, and pleated above the breasts, in a smock-like fashion. Even though he sensed the design had been created to hide a woman’s figure, in Imogen’s case it accentuated her curvaceous shape, drawing more from the imagination. She looked stunning.

  Nonetheless, he couldn’t help but make a teasing comment. ‘Wow, you’re not …’ he paused, deliberately encouraging her attention and curiosity.

  ‘Not what?’

  ‘Is that a … ’ he grinned and shook his head.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, settling into her desk. ‘Spit it out.’

  ‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’

  Shock landed upon her face. ‘This is not a maternity dress. I’ll have you know, this cost me the best part of one hundred pounds, and that was in a sale.’

  ‘I would never have realised.’

  ‘No, well that’s obvious. Your clothes look like they come from a pound shop. I’ll bet that shirt was all of ten pounds.’

  ‘Ten! Never!’

  ‘Then five! I know you Luke. You won’t spend money if you don’t have to.’

  He laughed. She was right, of course.

  ‘You’re a shameful man. I’m going to have to take you shopping. You need to improve your image.’

  ‘You’ve done the website. You don’t need to do me as well.’

  She held a firm gaze.

  ‘Anyway, what’s wrong with what I have on? It’s smart and clean.’ He looked at his cuffs, and noticing dirt engrained into the edges, folded his arms, hiding them from view.

  ‘That’s not what you’re expression says. If I was one of our clients, I’d be horrified.’

  ‘That is, so shallow!’

  Imogen huffed. ‘I am not shallow.’

  Hiding his amusement, he focused his attention on work, and after a couple of minutes of silence, broached the subject of Stacy Scott. The case had been baffling him since their visit to Kim’s house, and he needed to talk through the case. He raised the subject, starting a discussion on Kim’s behaviour.

  ‘I detected a lot of bitterness towards Stacy,’ Imogen said. ‘She made a very interesting comment about how close she was with Stacy, in relation to what she believed Stacy would think about her.’

  ‘I found that curious too. It doesn’t mean she’s the one causing her trouble, though. In fact, I couldn’t determine a motive at all. Christie has to be the main suspect.’

  ‘Maybe, but I’d love to know what happened with her son, even just for curiosities sake.’

  ‘Do you think there’s a connection?’ Luke asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said and turned to her computer. ‘I’m going to have a look around social media. Give me half an hour, and I’ll have a better idea.’

  He agreed, and once he had dragged his attention from the smoothness of her skin and shimmering blue eyes, he scanned his notes. They didn’t have a lot to go on, and decided in order to progress the case, he needed to act in a more decisive manner.

  He considered tracking the messages on Stacy’s phone, but to do that he would need her to call in. Instead, he called Stacy’s school. He introduced himself to Mr. Whittaker, the headmaster, explained what he was doing, and asked if they had learned who was responsible for the posters.

  ‘We don’t know. This is a new experience for our school. All leads are blank. We’ve decided it must have been someone from outside. However, whoever slipped into the school avoided the CCTV cameras, meaning they must have known the layout.’

  ‘Could it have been an ex-pupil?’

  ‘That was one of the thoughts we’ve had. Unfortunately, we didn’t uncover anything.’

  ‘So you’ve no ideas at all.’

  ‘We will keep pushing, but the chances of finding someone are getting slimmer by the day.’

  ‘Okay. Let me know if you learn anything.’

  ‘Likewise. Before you go, do you have any ideas where Stacy is? She’s not turne
d up at school. We’ve tried her number, but it’s switched off. It’s highly unusual.’

  A sense of foreboding rose through his gut. ‘Have you tried her landline?’

  ‘There’s no answer.’

  Luke hesitated to respond.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I was just concerned about her … especially given the stress she’s been under.’

  ‘Of course,’ Luke said.

  ‘If you learn anything, will you either let me know or tell her to call me?’

  ‘Will do.’

  With his tension mounting, he dropped the phone into the charger and stared blindly across the office. He hoped and prayed that her antagonist hadn’t caused Stacy harm. Perhaps they should visit her house, just to be certain she wasn’t there and in trouble.

  His eyes drifted.

  Imogen caught his attention. ‘I’ve learnt a lot from her Facebook page – it’s open to the public, would you believe? Anyway, she supports a lot of disabled charities, and – wait for it – she’s an old school friend of Christie’s partner, Josh.’

  ‘Really?

  She nodded, evidently proud.

  ‘Kim acknowledged the closeness of her relationship with Christie. Do you think Christie knows more than she claimed?’

  ‘Maybe. I’ll call her.’ She picked up the phone, dialled her number and waited for an answer. After a few minutes, she gave up and turned to Luke. ‘She’s not answering.’

  ‘I’ve just thought of something. Christie said Kim frequently visited the hospital. I assumed it was for a health issue.’

  ‘Of course.’ She reached to her nail file, and started manicuring her nails. ‘Unless she’s the charity worker visiting Nick’s ward.’

  ‘We’re going to have to go back and see if we can persuade that nurse we spoke to, to tell us anything. Can you print off a photo of Kim?’

  ‘I’m on to it.’

  ‘I’m going to need you at your charming best. Are you up to it?’

  ‘More importantly, are you?’

  ‘I can be charming when I want.’

  ‘And I’m still waiting the day.’

  They arrived on the ward and were swift to track down the nurse they had spoken to on their previous occasion. It was a boost. Given what they were trying to determine, they needed any advantage.

  Imogen started the conversation in her usual amiable manner, complimenting Nurse Dodd on the cleanliness and running of the ward. Occasionally, people acted in a negative manner to such behaviour, considering it suspicious. Thankfully, she wasn’t one of them and warmed to her compliments.

  ‘I take it you’re not here to chat,’ the nurse said.

  ‘What we are going to ask is sensitive. Is there somewhere we can go?’

  She guided them from the ward, along a corridor, and into an office.

  ‘We have a favour to ask regarding the case we’re investigating. We need to identify the charity worker who as been visiting Nick James, is this woman'? she presented the image of Kim.

  ‘It is. Kim Sharnell.’

  Luke shot Imogen a glance.

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘That’s something we need to find out.’ He studied her concentrated face. ‘To do that we need to know something more personal – about her health.’

  ‘I can’t share her medical records.’

  ‘We don’t need detail, just a hint. We suspect she has hidden motives as far as Nick’s partner, Stacy, is concerned, and it’s putting her in danger.’

  Nurse Dodd walked around the desk to the computer, tapped a few keys, and then after a couple of moments entered Kim’s full name.

  ‘Is she a regular visitor to the hospital for treatment,’ Luke asked.

  ‘She is.’

  ‘Would I be right in thinking her problems have stemmed from the loss of her son.’

  ‘I couldn’t tell you. That’s not the kind of information we record.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll put it another way. Does she have mental health issues?’

  The nurse stared, hesitantly. ‘You’re very intuitive Mr Adams. I’m sorry, I can’t say any more.’ She encouraged them to the door. ‘You’ve guided me to a very serious matter. Mrs Sharnell shouldn’t be working as a charity worker in her state. Thank you,’ she said and reached out her hand.

  ‘No, thank you.’

  Chapter 11

  Sharp pains shot down the length of Stacy’s arms, as she struggled for a more comfortable pose. She had been tied to base of the radiator for more than fourteen hours, and it was causing agonising pain. Her shoulders were taut and burning, her legs twisted and aching, and her head sore and heavy. No amount of wriggling and moving provided any relief. If anything, it caused the rope to tighten around her wrists restricting her blood flow and increasing the agony. Yet, still she tried.

  Exhausted, she leaned her head against the switched off radiator, closed her eyes, and prayed for an end to her torment. She was thirsty, chilled and without energy to fight, and all the time, the last hours rotated in her thoughts.

  The first thing Stacy had seen after she had regained consciousness was the hatred in Kim’s eyes, and it caused a rush of surprise. She had been the last person she had expected to see, since she had always been supportive to her troubles, more so than Christie and Jenny.

  ‘Why?’ she had asked.

  Kim was stunned. ‘You honestly don’t know?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Then you’re more deserving than I expected. This is going to be fun.’

  After that brief exchange, which provided no reason for her actions, Kim disappeared from view. She suspected her to be somewhere in her small house, but no matter how much she called, she did not reply. In the end, she gave up shouting, since it was drying her throat and worsening the sense of dehydration, and waited for her return.

  Minutes extended into hours, increasing Stacy’s fear and making her believe Kim had returned to her home. It could be hours until anyone found her. How long could she survive without water? She knew it wasn’t long. Was it days? She suspected it was, and it wasn’t a pleasant thought, causing her imagination to fill her with ghastly images of dehydration.

  Who would be the first to miss her? She was meant to be at school on Friday, but it was unlikely her absence would cause someone to visit her house. Her mother may call in over the weekend, but even that wasn’t guaranteed. She could be dead by Monday, and unless Kim reappeared, it was quite possible she would be.

  Dread filled her body. She scanned the room, searching for her solution, but nothing was different to the last time she had looked. The telephone was at the far side of the room and had recorded two messages, and her mobile phone was on the sofa about three metres away, out of reach. Nothing close by would help her untie her wrists; there were no knives, no scissors, and no sharp edges. She was going to die, and it would be a slow, painful death.

  Her breathing quickened and her pulse raced. She yanked her arms, urging them to release as tears wet her eyes. Shouting desperate cries, she stared through the window, praying someone would pass. No one was there. No one could free her from her restraints.

  Quaking, she sank back to the floor, searching for as comfortable position as possible, and stared at the wall. She was at a loss as what to do and prayed a solution to present itself. Whilst her death was a probability, it also seemed inconceivable. Being tied to a radiator was not how she imagined she would spend her final hours and days of her life.

  She had believed she would grow old with Nick, yet he was gone from her life. She thought she would have been old and grey, and maybe infirm, yet she was not yet thirty. How was this happening? What had she done to be deserving of targeted terror?

  Her thoughts drifted through her friendship with Kim, and despite her thinking, she couldn’t remember her as anything but quiet, tolerant and understanding. She had always been willing to listen to her woes, and she had never complained. Yet evidently, something disgusted her, and she didn’t believe, for a
second, it was in any way connected to her relationship with Nick.

  How could it be? She didn’t know him, and to the best of her knowledge, their paths had never crossed. In addition, why would her relationship with him cause her such concern? There had to be another reason, something she hadn’t considered.

  Kim was not in a relationship, and had been separated from her husband for a while. They had had a son together, and he lived with his father. Yet, despite all that had happened, she had always appeared happy. Kim had rarely presented herself with anything but a smiling face. It didn’t seemed possible for her to be hiding such anguish.

  She wasn’t depressed.

  She couldn’t be.

  Yet evidently she was. Stacy hadn’t paid her enough attention; she hadn’t listened and she hadn’t asked enquiring thoughts.

  A comment Kim had made presented itself with clarity. ‘We only know what other people are willing to display … unless we show an interest in their lives.’

  Had it been a last desperate attempt to get her to ask questions? Even if it were, Kim couldn’t lay all of the blame upon her. She could have just spoken of her problems, giving her no choice but to listen. She had had plenty of opportunities.

  A hazy memory flashed into her thoughts. Kim’s son was disabled. Had he suffered an accident like Nick? Something had happened, but no matter how she strained to remember, the facts wouldn’t come, and it caused her heart to pound with distress.

  She had to remember.

  Her life may depend upon it.

  Why hadn’t she listened?

  The sound of a slamming door pulled her from her thoughts. She spun her head. Kim was standing before her. A noose was in her hand.

  Chapter 12

  Luke carried the two coffees through the hospital café to a vacant table near the window. Within view, was a small garden area, and dotted around were patients and visitors alike. A woman in a wheelchair was staring interestedly at the scene, an elderly man in pyjamas was sat on a bench and chatting with a younger woman, and two men in workman’s outfits were standing near a herbaceous flowerbed, smoking.