by Lisa Cutts
Wasn’t that what she had done? Didn’t that make her as guilty as her son?
Now it was too late: she had lied for the sake of her son. Jenny would gladly have spent the rest of her days in prison if it meant that her boy was set free.
Only he hadn’t been.
And now she was in a part of town she couldn’t remember going to before. Despite the cold late afternoon air, she broke out in a sweat.
Then the headlights of a car came towards her. She shrank back into the shadows, moved closer to the unlit closed-up shop fronts.
The car slowed, pulled over a few feet from where she cowered.
Unsure whether to run or scream, she stood rooted to the spot as the driver’s window opened.
‘Sean?’ she said, unable to keep a relieved laugh out of her voice. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Looking for you,’ he said. ‘I heard your good news. Jump in and we’ll go somewhere warm and quiet, away from everyone else.’
Chapter 94
Most of the team that had worked on the murder went to the pub after the jury’s verdict. On her way to join them for the first round, the DCI stopped at the bottom of the Crown Court steps to make a statement to the waiting press. To make sure that she set aside an hour to congratulate her team and didn’t sneak off home, Doug Philbert had relieved her of her credit card for the first round of drinks, promising she would get it back as soon as she had a slimline tonic in her hand.
Hazel had waited until the corridor was empty and taken Travis out of a side security door to her car. He hadn’t said very much, only told her how grateful he was for everything.
She decided to leave him at his aunt and uncle’s house with the little family he had left.
Right now, she had a neglected boyfriend to get home to.
As soon as she pulled up outside Harry’s house, saw the lights on and could make out movement through the front window, Hazel put her head back against the rest, closed her eyes and took a long, slow breath out. Somehow, she’d managed to get through it all. Somehow Travis had managed it too.
Now it was over and she was relishing getting back to normal. Whatever that was.
When she opened her eyes again, she saw Harry’s face at the bay window, peering out at her. The sight of him with the hem of the net curtains on his head, draping down on either side, manic grin on his face, was enough to make her smile. What couldn’t fail to lift her mood was that the hand that wasn’t busying itself beckoning her inside was waving a bottle of champagne at her.
She waved back, got out of the car and trotted down the driveway towards him.
The door was slung open and Harry all but hollered, ‘You’re not only beautiful, you convict murderers.’
Even the danger of dropping a bottle of champagne on the doorstep didn’t stop Harry from kissing her before she made it inside the house. They stood where they were for over a minute, lost in their embrace, Hazel’s hands in his hair, Harry kissing her mouth, so pleased to have his girlfriend back.
She made herself promise that, at least for now, she wouldn’t bring up the subject that had been at the back of her mind for so long, lurking, waiting to take a hold as soon as the trial stopped. What was she going to say to Harry if he asked to move in with her now his ex-wife was insisting on their selling the house?
‘Everything OK?’ he asked when they drew apart.
‘Of course. It’s a brilliant result.’
‘Let’s have a glass of this before I manage to smash the bottle,’ he said, holding up the champagne.
‘Shall we toast to justice and a lengthy custodial sentence?’ Hazel said.
Harry smiled at her. ‘How about to less work and a lot more time together?’
Chapter 95
Still numb from the shock of the verdict, Aiden quietly did as he was told and followed the dock officers to the cells buried beneath the court building. Throughout his time in prison, he had given no one any cause for complaint about his behaviour. He did what was asked of him, when it was asked. He had even given most of his money and phone credit to other prisoners, allowing them to make calls on his phone account. Nothing mattered to him any more. He should have told the truth when he had the chance. No one would ever believe him now: he was a convicted murderer.
Aiden sat immobilized in the cell as he waited to be taken back to prison for the first night of what would probably be the next two decades of his life.
That was the moment he closed his eyes and remembered every vivid detail of putting down the hammer his mother had bought for Milton on the kitchen worktop as Linda laughed at him and walked away. He’d brought it over as an excuse if anyone found out he was there, only now the temptation to pick it up and swing it at her skull was almost irresistible, except somehow, somehow, she’d turned to him and flashed her heart-melting smile at him, beautiful green eyes beckoning him.
There was a torrent of teenage hormones as she pulled him to her, kissed him, let him murmur how much he wanted her, then he was kissing her mouth, her face. Suddenly, she pushed him away, and he watched her put her index finger to her lips to silence him.
‘The doorbell,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to go out through the kitchen door.’
That had been the last time he had seen Linda alive.
Aiden barely registered that he was being taken from the court cells, put into the prison van and driven back towards what might be his final destination. The temperature in the van was stifling after the damp cells, early evening traffic bringing them to a stop every couple of minutes.
It made no difference to him: he wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry.
He was still lost in thought when the enormous gates of the prison were opened, he was let out of the van, searched and booked back in, and then led to his wing.
He couldn’t have left things like they were with Linda. She might not have felt the same way, but he had had to find out. He remembered his sprint back to the Bowmans’ house and bursting through the kitchen door, frantic to tell Linda how much she meant to him, that he couldn’t stop seeing her and she had to give him one more chance.
Except the scene that met him had filled his nightmares ever since.
Aiden had stepped across the kitchen, taken in the bloodied weapon, and looked down at Linda’s broken body on the floor. Incredulous but fascinated by the sight of blood sprayed up the wall, along the floor, on her clothes, he had found himself kneeling on the floor beside her, blood spreading closer to him. The sound of someone else in the house jolting him to full alert.
That was when he did the worst thing possible – he got up and ran. He was too frightened to stay and confront whoever it was. He just wasn’t that sort of man. He couldn’t tell the police, even his own mother, never his best friend, that he had been so scared, he got up and ran home. He ran home to his mum, who wordlessly led him to the bathroom, put his clothes and trainers in a black sack and pushed him towards the shower.
‘This is your cell now,’ said the prison officer, jolting Aiden back to his present torment.
‘And this is who you’ll be sharing with for the time being.’
‘Hello, boy,’ said his new cell-mate. ‘My name’s Jack McCall. I think we’ve got a couple of mutual friends.’
Acknowledgements
As ever, I am grateful to so many people for their help. The final version of this book is vastly different from the first draft. One huge change was after a conversation with retired DC Dave Frampton, where once again we talked about policing, both today and in another age. I’m indebted to Dave for his expertise and advice regarding a particular aspect of the plot, something I would otherwise have guessed at and no doubt would have got wrong. In case you’ve skipped to this page I won’t give too much away but thanks to Dave for adding another dimension to Linda Bowman’s past.
My thanks also to Jo Millington, forensic specialist in all things relating to blood pattern analysis for the help and vivid image of hitting joints of pork as part of a working
day. I’m so very grateful to you.
Thanks so much to Diane Ashworth and Sarah Gillen for wading through an early draft. It’s safe to read it again now, honest.
Without readers, there would be no point to any of this, so again, I’m so grateful to anyone who takes the time to read my books, and to the book club members and reviewers who have been so supportive.
Huge thanks to my wonderful agent, Cathryn Summerhayes of Curtis Brown for having faith in me from the beginning.
Mega thanks to Jo Dickinson, superb editor who always knows the right thing to say and suggest.
Many thanks to the team at Simon & Schuster for everything they do behind the scenes and for the constant assistance whenever I’ve needed it.
Last but not least, to my husband, family, friends and colleagues who have been so supportive throughout. Impossible without you.
About the Author
Lisa Cutts is the author of four police procedural novels, based on her twenty-one years of policing experience. She works as a detective constable for Kent Police and has spent over ten years in the Serious Crime Directorate dealing mostly with murders and other serious investigations. She has been on BBC Radio 4’s Open Book with Mariella Frostrup, part of First Fictions festival at West Dean college, Chichester, on the inaugural panel at Brighton’s Dark and Stormy festival, on ITV’s This Morning and at the Chiswick Book Festival. Her debut novel, Never Forget, won the 2014 Killer Nashville Silver Falchion Award for best thriller.
Also by Lisa Cutts
Never Forget
Remember, Remember
Mercy Killing
First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2017
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Copyright © Lisa Cutts, 2017
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