Don't Ever Forget (Adler and Dwyer)
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PRAISE FOR MATTHEW FARRELL
“Farrell has done it again! A crime thriller that grabs you from page one. Engrossing, haunting, and compelling, Don’t Ever Forget is his best yet.”
—Liv Constantine, internationally bestselling author of The Last Mrs. Parrish
“Matthew Farrell has done it again. A tense and twisty thriller, Don’t Ever Forget grabs you by the throat from the first page and does not let go. The result is an edge-of-your-seat, up-all-night read that packs a final punch you won’t soon forget. Fantastic!”
—Danielle Girard, USA Today bestselling author
“Take a deep breath now, because once you start, you won’t get another chance. Don’t Ever Forget is a twisty, pulse-pounding read from a writer who has quickly established himself as a can’t-miss master of thrills.”
—Brad Parks, international bestselling author of Interference
“Fans of fast-paced thrillers will be engrossed in this propulsive page-turner that expertly delves into memory, crimes of the past, and terrors that haunt us our whole lives.”
—Vanessa Lillie, bestselling author of Little Voices
“Matthew Farrell’s delicious new thriller is definitive crime fiction: propulsive, compulsive, unputdownable, and, oh yes, unforgettable. Get it now.”
—Bryan Gruley, author of Bleak Harbor
“Matthew Farrell does it again. He’s intricately woven together a diabolical and propulsive story of deception with betrayal and madness. Don’t Ever Forget is engrossing, jarring, and unpredictable. It kept me on my toes as I journeyed with investigator Susan Adler through a wild maze, stopping at nothing to find the truth. An absolutely thrilling adventure.”
—A. F. Brady, author of The Blind and Once a Liar
“An exciting police procedural . . . The high-energy narrative swerves into surprising and terrifying territory before slamming into its truly chilling finale. Farrell takes the reader down some dark and twisting paths.”
—Publishers Weekly
“This sinister novel is perfect for suspense junkies who love Dirty John.”
—Women.com
“Matthew Farrell’s skill as a storyteller is evident from the first pages of this novel. He draws readers in, assures them the story will be a typical murder mystery following the usual pattern, then tears up the outline and throws it away.”
—New York Journal of Books
“I Know Everything takes off like a shot, with a shot, and the pulse-pounding pace never lets up. Fans of John Sandford and Lawrence Block will flock to Matthew Farrell!”
—Wendy Corsi Staub, New York Times bestselling author
“Dark and constantly surprising, this is a must-read for fans of twisted, intelligent thrillers.”
—Mark Edwards, bestselling author of The Magpies
“A page-turner from beginning to end. Take a deep breath and hang on—this relentless thriller will keep you guessing until the very last masterful twist.”
—Jennifer Hillier, author of Jar of Hearts
“Seriously haunting.”
—Betches
“A young crime writer with real talent is a joy to discover, and Matthew Farrell proves he’s the real deal in his terrific debut, What Have You Done. He explores the dark side of family bonds in this raw, gripping page-turner, with suspense from start to finish. You won’t be able to put it down.”
—Lisa Scottoline, New York Times bestselling author
“A must-read thriller! Intense, suspenseful, and fast paced—I was on the edge of my seat.”
—Robert Dugoni, New York Times bestselling author
“One hell of a debut thriller. With breakneck pacing and a twisting plot, What Have You Done will keep you guessing until its stunning end.”
—Eric Rickstad, New York Times bestselling author
OTHER TITLES BY MATTHEW FARRELL
What Have You Done
I Know Everything
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2020 by Matthew Farrell
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542019767
ISBN-10: 1542019761
Cover design by Rex Bonomelli
For Mom and Dad:
You’re the strongest people I know. I love you.
CONTENTS
AUTHOR’S NOTE
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Although this book is considered the first in the Adler and Dwyer series, the origins of both main characters can be found in my previous novels. Liam Dwyer is first introduced in What Have You Done, and Susan Adler is first introduced in I Know Everything. You don’t have to have read those books to enjoy this one, but if you find a line or two referencing something from their pasts, chances are it can be found in the books mentioned above.
—MF
1
Her high beams were the only lights guiding Cindy Garland along the Taconic State Parkway. Tree branches hung low over the roadway, and fallen leaves, wet from an earlier rain, made the pavement slick. The clouds hid the moon, plunging her into a darkness so thick it was impossible to see past the first line of elms that flanked both sides of the northbound lane. She was alone on the road, out in the middle of nowhere, the only vehicle in either direction.
Where was he?
Her trembling hands gripped the
steering wheel at ten and two. In the glow of her dashboard lights, she could see the blood spatter on her wrists and knuckles. The same knuckles that had knocked on the door. A knock that had been followed by an innocent smile. But then the shouting began. And the crying. And the violence. Nothing had gone like she’d thought it would. Like they’d planned. How could she have been so wrong?
A set of headlights appeared in her rearview mirror, quickly gaining until she had to flip the mirror up to dull the glare. It was him. He’d finally caught up. She stepped on the accelerator and listened as the engine revved, the sudden momentum pushing her back into her seat. The headlights kept pace. She could feel her heart beating in her chest as she rounded a curve in the road and teetered on the brink of losing control.
How fast did he want her to go?
The headlights were only about a car length behind her. She checked the speedometer. Seventy-eight. She couldn’t risk going any faster on the twisting mountain roads. Not with the darkness and the slippery leaves and her nerves that still seemed frayed. Why was he going so fast?
Red lights suddenly popped on behind her, and the headlights that had been closing in began flashing strobes. It wasn’t him. It was much worse. It was the police.
No.
Cindy pulled off to the shoulder and watched in the rearview mirror as the cruiser stopped inches from her bumper, illuminating the interior of her car with splashes of red and white. There was a moment when she thought about taking off and hoping for the best, but she knew she’d be caught. She didn’t know these roads like the cops did, and in her current state, she probably wouldn’t get more than a few miles before she ended up in a ditch or wrapped around a tree. She’d just have to play it cool, take ownership of her speeding, and move on. Whatever happened, she’d have to avoid drawing any kind of suspicion. Not with the kind of night she’d had. Not with everything that had gone wrong.
Not with a body in the trunk.
A dark figure exited the cruiser and made his way toward her. Cindy rolled down her window and hid her shaking hands in her lap. The state trooper ducked down and shined a flashlight in her face, then around the interior of the car. He was clean shaven, smooth skin. Couldn’t have been more than thirty years old. She could see his name badge on the breast pocket of his uniform.
Kincaid.
“Good evening, ma’am,” the trooper said.
Don’t panic.
“Hello.”
“You know why I pulled you over?”
“Speeding?”
The trooper nodded and pulled the flashlight away. “You can’t go eighty on these roads. You’ll end up hitching a ride in the back of an ambulance. Or worse. Speed limit’s forty-five on this stretch for a reason.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I need to see your license and registration.”
Don’t panic.
Cindy exhaled slowly. “I can give you my license,” she said. “But this is my friend’s car. I don’t know where the registration is.”
“Who does the car belong to?”
“Rebecca Hill. She let me borrow it. I had a date back in Peekskill, and I needed to borrow her car.”
“Where are you heading now?”
“Nowhere really. Just driving around. The date didn’t go so well.”
The trooper turned his flashlight back on and used the beam to point toward the glove compartment. “Check the glove box. I bet the registration’s in there. Usually is.”
Cindy nodded and unclipped her seat belt. She leaned over to open the glove compartment.
“Ma’am,” the trooper said suddenly. “Stop what you’re doing.”
Cindy froze.
“I’m going to need you to sit back and put your hands on the steering wheel.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Put your hands on the steering wheel.”
The trooper’s tone had changed. He was serious now. Anxious. Cindy had done the one thing she’d told herself not to do. For whatever reason, she’d drawn suspicion.
Don’t panic.
She slowly placed her hands on the wheel and looked straight ahead.
“Why do you have blood on your hands and pants?”
Tears started to well in Cindy’s eyes. The silence stretched between them, raw and unsteady. Nothing had worked like they’d thought it would, and now she was sitting on the side of the road with a cop who was asking about blood on her hands. In a matter of hours, months of meticulous planning had gone to shit.
Don’t panic.
She opened her mouth, but nothing emerged. Her hands gripped the wheel tighter as her breath came in short bursts.
“I’m going to need you to step out of the car.”
Trooper Kincaid opened Cindy’s door and backed away. He kept his flashlight on her until she was out and leaning against the back quarter panel by the gas tank.
“I’m going to ask you again,” the trooper said. His voice was stern now. “Why is there blood on your hands and clothes?”
“I—I—”
“Where were you tonight?”
“I told you. On a date. In Peekskill.”
“What was your date’s name?”
“I don’t—”
“Tell me what happened. Was there an accident? Is someone hurt? Did someone try to hurt you?”
Don’t panic.
The questions were coming too quickly. Cindy held on to the one she thought she might be able to play with. Did someone try to hurt you? Yes, she could tell a convincing story about that. She could blame her date. She could get the trooper on her side and maybe get out of this. She’d fill out a form and leave a fake number and get back on the road. Did someone try to hurt you? Why, yes. Yes, they did.
The trooper shined his flashlight down the rear of the car toward the bumper. “Ma’am, you have more spatter on the back of this car. Tell me what’s going on right now.”
And just like that, her story was useless. There was blood on her hands, on her clothes, and now he’d found some on the car. Too much blood to explain away. It wouldn’t be long before he’d discover the body in the trunk, and that would be it. The truth that she’d sought for so long and was so close to obtaining would stay hidden forever.
Don’t panic.
The trooper brought his flashlight around and shined it in her face. He grabbed the radio that was fastened to his shoulder. “Ma’am, I’m going to ask you one last time. I need you to focus. What is—”
There was movement in the darkness, away from the flashlight and the pulsing red and white. Before Cindy could register what it was, the flashlight left her face, and the trooper fell to the ground.
He’d caught up to her.
The wet thump of crunching bone and blood echoed in the night as he hunched above the trooper, beating him with something she couldn’t make out. The sound made her want to vomit. She watched his arm come up once, twice, three times, then a sickening fourth. It was over in a matter of seconds, and the roadway was, once again, brought to a deafening silence.
He straightened and looked at her, his chest heaving as breath smoked from his lips. She could see now that he was holding a tire iron, the curved end covered in the trooper’s blood. She knew there would be bits of skull and brain matter on it if she looked, so she kept her focus up and away, watching as he rushed toward the police cruiser.
The cruiser’s engine died, and all the lights went out. As soon as they did, she could see his car parked behind the trooper’s, the lights off so they hadn’t seen him approaching. He ran back toward her and, without stopping, bent down and dragged the body until it was hidden from the road, next to the patrol car.
Cindy watched it all, frozen in place, unable to move. How could so much go wrong with such a simple plan? Things had spun so completely out of control, and they hadn’t even had a chance to get started. They’d murdered two people in one night. How could they ever turn back from what they’d done?
Trevor Foster had s
aved her from arrest, and at the same time, he’d punched her ticket to hell.
Okay. Panic.
She rode with him, but neither of them had spoken since they’d ditched the car with the body in the trunk. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she cried silently in the passenger’s seat.
“It’s going to be dawn in a few hours,” Trevor said, looking out at the road as the radio played quietly in the background. “We should’ve been back at the house by now. Hagen’s going to be contacting us.”
“I know.”
“Listen.” His voice was calm, serious. “If we’re going to get through this, you have to be smart. Why were you speeding when you had a stolen car and a body in your trunk?”
“I didn’t realize I was going so fast,” Cindy choked out through her tears. “When I saw the trooper’s headlights, I thought they were yours. I thought you were telling me to hurry up.”
“That could’ve been bad. Real bad.” He ran a shaking hand through his hair. “All I want is for us to do what we have to do in order to get out of this mess. I didn’t ask to be dragged into a kidnapping, and I sure as hell didn’t ask to be part of two murders. I just want my life back, and I can’t have you screwing up that chance.”
“I’m sorry.”
“My wife and my kid are the only priority here. I don’t care about the old man or any of this garbage. I want my family returned to me safe, and I want to forget this ever happened. If you get in the way of that, I’ll kill you too.”
Cindy nodded and looked out the window. She knew he wasn’t kidding. No hyperbole. He’d kill her and the rest of them to save his family without a second thought. She would too. If she had any family left.
They were back on the highway now, blending in with a few other cars getting an early start on the day. The sky was beginning to lighten. They’d be at the house by sunrise.
“He saw the blood on my hands and pants,” she said. “The car too. I was just going to take the ticket and get moving, but he kept asking me what happened.”
“I told you to wash that off.”
“I tried. It’s not like I could take a shower. We had to get out of there.”
“Did he get a look at your license or anything?”
“No, we never got that far.”
Trevor nodded. “No doubt he called in his position and your license plate, though. That’s standard procedure.”