Breaking Dead: A stylish, edge-of-your-seat crime thriller (The Sophie Kent series)
Page 29
Fear tore through me. ‘I lied to you earlier, about no one knowing who you were. Durand is waiting for a DNA result. He probably has it by now. They’re closing in on you. It’s over.’
Nathan looked at Cat uncertainly, but her hard blue eyes never left my face. ‘In that case, I’d better savour this.’
She slid to the bottom of the bed, and pulled off my socks. Her hot hands scorched my skin.
‘The most frustrating thing about killing Natalia and Lydia was having to keep them quiet. But here –’ She gestured round the space, arched her voice into a higher pitch. ‘No drugs for you, Sophie Kent. You’re going to feel everything.’
Nathan took Cat’s head between his hands and kissed her on the mouth. For a moment, she gave herself to him, wholly and fully.
A stinging realisation flooded my veins, my stomach, my lungs, almost choking me from the inside. I’m not getting out of here alive.
Cat pulled away, her lips glistening like a wet wound. ‘Fear tastes sour on the tongue, doesn’t it? I can still taste it.’ She held her fingers up. ‘Amanda, Natalia, Lydia. Even in death they looked beautiful. But where does beauty get you in the end?’ She bent down, her breath sweet and hot in my ear. ‘Fuck you, Daddy. Bad things happen to beautiful girls too.’
A bubble of vomit rose in my throat.
‘Hold her still.’ Nathan’s voice sounded far away. Two large hands clamped either side of my head. A wedge of tape across my mouth. I couldn’t breathe. My bowels loosened.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Beyond the darkness, a pair of eyes. Hard and blue, like sapphire bullets.
Natalia.
Lydia.
Amanda.
Thick red tears slid down porcelain cheeks.
A burning pain in my chest. A low moan.
The eyes lightened, changed shape, softened. I stared at the round, smiling face in front of me. The face I loved more than anything in the world. All of a sudden the white-hot terror in my chest gave way to quiet acceptance. I relaxed my grip.
Tommy’s eyes blinked once, then nothing.
34
I opened my eyes and a blinding white light blazed across my vision. I made a sound and a dark shape darted towards me.
‘Sophie?’ The voice was hot in my ear, then melted away. A gentle whirring noise. Cool hands on my forehead.
‘Sophie, my name is Cynthia and I’m a nurse at Chelsea Westminster Hospital. Nod if you can hear me.’ I moved my head a fraction and a fierce pain ripped through my neck. ‘Here, sip this.’ I felt a straw being pushed into my parched lips. The water felt like liquid heaven.
‘Is she awake?’
‘Sir, I told you to wait outside. She’s in no fit –’
‘He can stay.’ My voice sounded scratchy and raw. The pain forced my eyes closed. When I opened them, Durand was standing over me, a deep frown on his face. His tie was pulled loose, his skin pale and taut around his eyes. He gave me a quick once over and smiled without his eyes.
‘That’s the second time this week I’ve saved your life.’
‘My hero.’
Durand sat on the side of my bed, and I was hit with a memory of Cat doing the same. I swallowed the memory deep down, and fixed my eyes on Durand’s face. ‘How did you find me?’
Durand sighed. ‘The DNA result came in. System showed it belonged to a woman who was arrested for shoplifting in 1987. A Clare Barnes. After what you told me, I figured it was Amanda Barnes’s mother. Deed Poll gave us her new name and when we turned up at her house, a neighbour said she’d seen Cat leaving with a small blonde woman. When you didn’t answer my calls –’ Durand stopped, his jaw tight. He ran a hand through his auburn hair. ‘Your phone has a tracking app that sends a signal even when your phone is switched off. Thankfully, Cat never tossed your phone.’
I frowned. A tracking app? I remembered Kate’s jab at Mack. Why don’t you fix Sophie with a tracking device and save yourself the hassle? Had Mack inadvertently saved my life? The thought was too ridiculous to process.
‘It led us straight to an abandoned boathouse on the banks of the Thames. We got there just in time. We thought it would just be Cat. Bairstow took us by surprise.’
A blunt ache ballooned in my neck. I put my hand to where it hurt and felt the dressing. ‘Amos didn’t give him away?’
Durand shook his head. ‘We leaned on him hard too. God knows what they have on him.’
I closed my eyes. ‘Where are they?’
Durand put a warm hand over mine, then saw the confused look on my face and pulled it away. ‘In custody. Facing life for a double murder.’
He doesn’t know.
I pushed myself up weakly against the pillow. ‘It’s a triple murder for Cat.’
‘There’s another body?’
‘Amanda. She killed her daughter.’
Durand’s mouth went slack.
‘Time’s up, Detective. Miss Kent needs some rest.’ Cynthia clicked her tongue and Durand stood up.
I grabbed his sleeve. ‘Let me know what happens.’
I woke up in the dark. A sudden movement. For a heart-stopping moment, I was back in that boathouse. I sat up too quickly, and the room spun.
‘Fuck.’
‘That’s the first thing you said to me in my studio last week.’ Liam stepped out of the shadows. He was smiling, but his hooded eyes were serious.
‘You’re here.’
Liam shrugged. ‘Got more time on my hands now I’m not a serial killer.’ He inched towards me, a lazy grin on his face, and covered my hand with his. A sharp current ran through me. I pulled it away. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about the blackmail?’
Liam sighed. ‘Because then you’d know I was a coward. When Lydia first told me, I wanted to burn whoever was responsible alive. But she told me things were being handled. When you came to my flat that night, it was as if –’ Liam ran a hand up my arm and I shivered. ‘I would have done anything to make you stay. If you found out I never tried to stop the blackmail, I thought you’d disappear. You already knew everything I did, so why shoot myself in the foot?’
I stared at him. ‘But if you’d told me, or the police, sooner, Lydia might have lived.’
Liam’s smile dropped. ‘You think I don’t know that? But Lydia made me promise. I’d broken so many promises to her; I had to keep that one. How was I to know she would get killed?’
I turned my head towards the window. The cotton pillow felt cool against my cheek.
‘Sophie, please –’
‘I’m so tired, Liam.’ And I meant it. I felt wrung out. My blood was as dry as my bones. ‘I can’t do this.’
‘I’ll come back tomorrow, when you’re –’
‘I can’t do this.’ The finality in my voice surprised me, but as soon as I’d spoken the words, I realised what I wanted more than anything was to be alone.
Liam stared at me for a long time. Then he nodded once and brushed his lips against mine. ‘See you around, duchess.’
I lay there, waiting for my heart rate to slow. Then I felt around for my bag and pulled out my laptop. I had several emails from concerned colleagues and friends.
I opened the one from Rowley.
Sophie, I’m glad you’re OK. When you’re ready, I’d like to discuss your return to The London Herald. Regards, P
I hit reply.
I’m ready now. Will file my first-person piece to you tonight.
I flexed my fingers, and pulled up a blank document. I was about to start typing when an email pinged in my inbox from my father, subject line: Are you OK? My finger hovered over his name, but I couldn’t open it. Not yet. That night in the restaurant . . . What I said to him cut me to the bone. It wasn’t fair. But it was easier to turn my father into the monster than admit the truth. That I’d given up on Tommy too.
Ugly girls get what they deserve.
Cat’s voice rang through my head. I leaned back against the pillow and closed my eyes. The image of Tommy’s face from the boathouse still b
urned behind my eyelids. So vivid I could smell the peppermint on his breath. In the split second before death, Tommy had found me.
A sob escaped. Then another. Tears ran down my cheeks, soaking the starchy pillowcase. Outside, darkness was falling, and my reflection was pale and ghostly in the glass. A siren shrieked in some distant corner of London. Somewhere out there, Tommy’s killers were going about their business. I would tread so softly they wouldn’t hear me coming.
In the meantime, I had a story to write.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Here come the thank-yous . . .
This book would never have seen the light of day without my formidable agent, Teresa Chris. To negotiate a deal for a debut author who is in the middle of a transatlantic move, not to mention seven months pregnant, takes some doing. Thank you for your cool head and encouraging words when I needed them most.
I’m indebted to everybody at Twenty7, particularly Kate Parkin for her brilliant suggestions, and for pushing me into darker territory (although I’m still not sleeping at night!). Thanks also to my editor, Kate Ballard, my copy-editor Helen Gray, and to Emily Burns in Publicity. You have each made this process a complete joy.
I am very grateful to Jana Pruden, Crime Bureau Chief at the Edmonton Journal for inspiring Sophie Kent’s tenacity and courage, to retired Police Inspector and owner of Crime Writing Solutions, Kevin N. Robinson for all the information (and more) concerning police procedures, and to the Star Tribune’s investigative reporter, Paul McEnroe. Any mistakes are entirely my own – and I apologise to them for the poetic license! Thanks also to Professor Ashley Mears, whose book Pricing Beauty: The Making of a Fashion Model provided me with such great detail and colour.
To Anne Hamilton, my cheerleader, proofreader, sounding board and mentor, thank you for talking me down off a ledge so many times over the past two years. A big shout-out to my magazine cohorts, my Core girls and my Los Angeles clan: your words of encouragement spurred me on more than you know. And to my fellow authors at Twenty7: you are an insanely supportive bunch and I’m grateful to be on this journey with you!
A heartfelt thank you to my family, in particular my mum and dad for their endless support (sleeping giants!), and to Arthur and Evelyn, for letting me vanish into my make-believe world and, more importantly, for enticing me back out again.
Last, but not least, thank you to James.
For everything.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Corrie Jackson has been a journalist for fourteen years. During that time she has worked at Harper’s Bazaar, The Daily Mail, Grazia and Glamour. After a two-year stint in Los Angeles, Corrie now lives in Surrey, England, with her husband and two children.
First published in Great Britain in 2016 by Twenty7 Books
Twenty7 Books
80–81 Wimpole St, London W1G 9RE
www.twenty7books.co.uk
Copyright © Corrie Jackson, 2016
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Head Design (www.headdesign.co.uk)
Extract from Breakfast at Tiffany’s by Truman Capote, copyright © 1958. Reprinted by permission of
The Truman Capote Literary Trust.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
The right of Corrie Jackson to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
E-book ISBN: 978-1-7857-7044-9
This e-book was produced by IDSUK (Data Connection) Ltd
Twenty7 Books is an imprint of Bonnier Zaffre, a Bonnier Publishing company
www.bonnierpublishing.co.uk
Table of Contents
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
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright