Love You to Death: An Absolutely Gripping Thriller with a Killer Twist

by Caroline Mitchell

  Pulling the baggy grey hoody over her head, she slowly sauntered past the graffiti daubed walls. Lucy knew she shouldn’t have come, but she could not let it lie. Turning the corner to the right, she kept out of sight until she saw a thin shadow of a woman under the railway bridge. Charlotte sneezed, and the high-pitched sound echoed down the lone street. Posh bitch. Lucy dipped her hand in her jacket pocket, stroking the handle of the flick knife. But stabbing was such a messy affair. She should have given it more thought. She glanced to the right at the old rusty Toyota parked on the kerb. The keys were hanging in the ignition. Another sign that it was meant to be. A dark thought entered her head, wet and rasping. She doesn’t deserve to live. Lucy swivelled her head up and down the road. No CCTV and nobody in sight. It was too good an opportunity to miss.

  Do it. Do it. Do it, a small voice drummed in her head. She thinks she’s so great. Run the bitch over. Lucy glared at the woman pacing the kerb, and the voice grew louder in her head. What are you waiting for? Lifting the rusting handle, she grabbed the keys dangling from the ignition. The car may have been old, but the engine was souped-up, and Lucy grinned as she floored the accelerator. The sound of screeching tyres filled the air as she sped down the street. Charlotte stepped back, waiting for the car to pass. Lucy pulled down sharply on the steering wheel – jolted in her seat as the car mounted the kerb. Charlotte froze like a rabbit caught in the headlights, and a wicked laugh escaped Lucy’s lips. On she drove until Charlotte’s form grew; filling the windscreen. She bounced on the hood – a loud wallop of body mass on metal. Now you see her, now you don’t, Lucy thought, as she was launched in the air before her.

  Rolling onto the street, Charlotte hit the road, arms flailing like a limp crash test dummy. Lucy slammed on the brakes, watching the broken body in her rear-view mirror. The low rumble of the engine ticked over, and she licked her lips as a slow grin spread on her face. Charlotte’s fingers clawed the pavement, her blonde head bobbing like a nodding dog. Down but not out, Lucy thought, adrenalin pumping through her body. Scanning the dimly lit streets, she gripped the gearstick and shoved the rusted Toyota into reverse. Another burst of laughter escaped her lips as her excitement climaxed.

  Ker-thunk

  Ker-thunk

  The car rose and fell over Charlotte’s body.

  Heart thumping, Lucy checked for movement. She clamped the gearstick forward and sent it thudding forwards one last time. Just to be sure. This time it didn’t make as much of a thunk, but lots of little cracks as the car crushed and splintered what was left of her bones. Lucy smiled. No chance of identifying her now. All that was left was a pool of blood and clothes.

  She sped into the night, abandoning the car a couple of miles down the road. Pulling off the worn tracksuit top, she dipped the arm into the petrol tank before setting it alight. The blast singed the hairs on the back of her neck as she ran. Inside, she felt invincible. Untouchable.

  She enjoyed the hunt. It gave her a special kind of joy. But there was no time to waste, and tomorrow, she would get back to the serious task of finding her mother.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘Alright? Manage to sort yourself out with a place?’ DI Downes said, his expression harried.

  ‘No… What’s going on?’ Ruby replied, all thoughts of her flat hunting dismissed from her mind. There was an energy in the office, a worker hive mentality: heads down, fingers pointing at screens, loud phone calls. ‘Have you found Emily?’ she said, hopefully.

  ‘We’ve found someone,’ Downes replied. ‘A hit-and-run was reported in the early hours. Her name is Charlotte Lockwood. Looks like she’s been murdered.’

  ‘Shit,’ Ruby said. ‘Not our refuge lady Charlie, is it?’

  ‘It’s possible. She was known for her charity work. The night shift dealt with it; the handover package is on my desk.’

  ‘Any family?’

  ‘Aye. Just a husband mind, they both lived in Cornwall. She had ID on her person… what’s left of it.’

  Ruby nodded, guessing he had already been to the scene. ‘Where?’

  ‘Under the railway bridge in Lamb Lane: at the back of Mentmore Terrace.’

  ‘Around the corner from a scrap yard? Yeah I know it,’ Ruby said. ‘I used to patrol there when I was on the beat. Doesn’t strike me as the sort of place you’d have a lot of witnesses.’

  ‘Uniform’s on the street making enquiries now.’

  ‘Has anyone tried ringing the refuge in Penzance?’ Ruby said, her throat dry for the want of a good cup of tea.

  ‘Office staff don’t come in until eight. I thought you might like to—’ The Dubliners’ ‘Dirty Old Town’ blared from his pocket, notifying him of a phone call. ‘Worrow,’ he muttered, taking big steps as he left without ceremony.

  Ruby clapped her hands together to grab her team’s focus. ‘Guys, can I have your attention for a minute, please? I know you’re all up to your eyes in it but the powers from above are breathing down our necks, and I don’t want to give them any excuse to have a go. Briefing’s at eight, and I need a clean desk policy for when our DCI returns.’

  A series of moans echoed around the room, and Ruby threw her colleagues a hard stare. ‘I know it’s a shock, but shovel your shit into a bin bag or a drawer until Worrow has been and gone. And smarten up a bit guys: we need ties and clean shirts. Eve you look just fine; if you could run out and get a pack of shortbread biscuits and some soya milk for her majesty that would be great. Take it from the tea club.’

  Eve glowed at the compliment, but her smile fell when she realised all that was in the tea club tin was a button and five cent piece. ‘I would, but it’s empty.’

  ‘Thieving little… who’s had the tea club money away? Bloody police!’ Ruby said, pulling a five pound note from her wallet and handing it over. ‘Here. I’ll be in my office. If any of my loyal subjects would care to make me a hot beverage, I’d be deeply grateful.’

  Luddy stood up from his computer and began collecting empty mugs from his colleagues’ desks. ‘Alright, Sarge, message received. I’ll boil the kettle.’

  Ruby smiled. ‘Cheers, Luddy, extra strong, three sugars, and a tiny drop of milk.’

  ‘And stirred anticlockwise by the hand of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed virgin?’ Luddy said, carrying the tray of coffee-stained cups out to their kitchen.

  ‘Shame you don’t have blonde hair, mate,’ Ash snickered. ‘You would have done just fine.’

  * * *

  Ruby recognised the scrawl on the yellow Post-it-note as DI Downes’s handwriting. It was the number of the refuge in Devon, and a note asking her to call back. She peeled it from her computer monitor and tapped out the numbers on her phone. It was picked up after two rings, and the sound of Tracey Greenwood’s voice was music to her ears. She had spoken to Tracey before with regards a previous incident, and she was one of those lovely helpful souls. Ruby ran through the scant details of Emily’s case that they knew and the phone call from Charlie in the hope Tracey could come up with some answers.

  ‘I was actually going to ring you,’ Tracey said. ‘I’ve just come back from holidays, so I wasn’t here when the police called.’

  ‘So you know of Emily?’ Ruby said hopefully.

  ‘No, I’m afraid not, but I do know Charlotte Lockwood… or rather I did. She came here to do some volunteer work last year. She was vetted, seemed like a nice lady, quite well-to-do. But after a few months we had to let her go.’

  ‘Why?’ Ruby said, giving Luddy a thumbs-up as he placed a strong mug of tea on her desk.

  ‘Personal involvement with the clients. Giving them her mobile number, chatting out of hours. Not a big fan of policy, although it was there for her own good.’

  ‘Do you think it’s possible that she dealt with Emily Edmonds? She seemed adamant that she did.’

  Tracey sighed. ‘We’ve no paperwork on Emily, but we do have a record of Charlotte dealing with some anonymous calls from your area. She might have given out her number and started commun
icating privately.’

  ‘Is that why you let her go?’

  ‘We quizzed some of her clients and they backed up our suspicions. She even met a couple of them for coffee. All without making the refuge aware. We dismissed her that day.’

  Ruby took a mouthful of tea, making a loud slurping noise as it burned the roof of her mouth. ‘Sorry, hot tea. How did Charlotte take it?’

  ‘I’m a milky coffee girl myself,’ Tracey laughed. ‘Charlotte was fine, but I wonder if that’s because she was already meeting up with Emily by then.’

  ‘What do you think her motives were? Was it sexual?’

  ‘No… I think she had… issues. But don’t ask me what.’

  ‘OK. Thanks, Tracey, you’ve been more than helpful. Someone may be in touch at some point; meantime, if you hear from Emily, please let us know.’

  ‘Good luck.’

  * * *

  Ruby opened her office window, wrinkling her nose at the stench of rotting garbage wafting in. The smell was stronger than ever as it baked under the sun which promised another sweltering day. She switched on her desk fan, placing empty mugs on piles of paperwork to stop them blowing away. Groaning, she caught sight of Downes’s hulking frame from the corner of her eye. It wasn’t that she disliked Jack, that was clearly evident given the number of times she had taken him to bed; he just was not equipped to deal with stress very well, and every emotion was laid bare for all to see. He never used to be like that, at least, not before his wife died. She wondered if his missus had been his sounding board. Ruby shuddered at the thought of becoming her replacement. Closing her eyes she removed her designer glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

  ‘Got anything yet?’ Jack said, throwing open the door.

  He was obviously still sore from his reprimanding from the Chief. That was how things worked in the police. Things had a nasty way of filtering down. Worrow gave Jack a dressing-down because of pressure from above. Jack in turn took it out on Ruby, which was her cue to bollock her team. But that wasn’t how it worked with her. If she had a bone to pick with her team it would be for a good reason and not because her ego had been bruised.

  She recounted her conversation with Tracey, in between sips of tea, as Downes perched on the edge of her desk. He nodded as she spoke, but his eyes were far away.

  ‘Let’s not complicate this,’ he said, ‘because it makes perfect sense to me. Harry Edmonds was stabbed during a domestic dispute with his missus because he warned her against seeing her daughter. She’s then got the same advice from some overbearing woman named Charlotte, who’s been mown down in the street. Looks like the finger of suspicion points to Emily.’

  Ruby took another mouthful of tea, and a teabag rose up to greet her. She gave it a squeeze before firing it into the bin. ‘But now we’ve got Lucy thrown in the mix for good measure. According to Charlotte, Lucy was rude to her.’

  ‘Sure, but wouldn’t yous? She just met her mother. It’s only natural she’d want her to herself,’ Downes said, his Northern Irish accent sounding stronger than ever.

  ‘Yes,’ Ruby said. ‘But where is she? Lucy’s had ample opportunity to respond to police appeals for information. So far we’ve had zilch.’

  ‘Have you got any contacts in the adoption agency?’ Downes leaned over to shut the door. ‘We need the identity of Emily’s adopted daughter so we can bring her in for questioning.’ He rubbed his chin. It was his tell, something he did when he was dipping a toe over the thin blue line. ‘It takes too long through the courts.’

  Silence passed between them as Ruby absorbed his words. She knew what he wanted, but was not going to make it easy.

  ‘So if you know of anyone… ’ Another rub of the chin.

  Ruby raised an eyebrow. ‘Just what are you asking me, gov?’

  ‘I’m asking… well, do you need me to spell it out?’

  Ruby’s lip tweaked to the left. ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’

  ‘You’ve got… contacts. People who can get that sort of information overnight.’

  Ruby tutted. ‘Jack. Why, if I didn’t know better I’d think you were asking me to break the law.’

  Downes’s jaw tightened, his voice low. ‘Can you get it or not?’

  ‘Not. I don’t mix in those circles anymore.’

  ‘Fine,’ he said, straightening himself to leave. ‘We’ll have to go the long way round.’ Downes’s words trailed behind him as he left, leaving her door gaping open, as he always did. The open door policy was Worrow’s idea. Apparently it helped office morale.

  Ruby pulled her e cigarette from her pocket, cursing the flat battery as she sucked the plastic tip. She rolled the vaporiser between her fingers, loath to scrounge yet another cigarette from one of her team. It was bad enough she had overloaded them with tasks. The problem being a sergeant was that she was forced to delegate work when she wanted to do it all herself. It was the same when she was young: she hated sharing her toys. It wouldn’t have been too bad if she liked Barbie dolls and Tiny Tears, but Ruby was only ever interested in Action Man and roller skates.

  She poked her head through her open office door, grateful that the most helpful member of the team was only a couple of feet away. ‘Luddy?’

  ‘Yes, Sarge,’ he said, glancing up from his computer.

  ‘I want you to go down to Harry’s local with Eve. Use your charms on the barmaid; they’re usually good for a bit of gossip. Find out if either of the Edmonds was having an affair. Did he gamble? Owe money to dodgy people? Someone must know something. Start closest to the scene and work your way outwards.’

  ‘Will do,’ he said, shuffling his paperwork back into its folder.

  Ruby linked her fingers, stretching her knuckles until the bones in her shoulders cracked. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a good night’s sleep. Her thoughts returned to Nathan, and their looming anniversary . The fact Downes knew about her association made her nervous, but he had never disclosed it to a soul. As for asking for information… bloody cheek. But he wasn’t far wrong. Nathan was a powerful man, and if he didn’t have a contact in the adoption agency, he would most likely ask his resident computer hacker, Tweedy Steve, to get it for him. But contacting her old flame was the last thing Ruby wanted.

  * * *

  Downes returned minutes later to throw her the car keys. It was her signal to move, and she sprang from her chair, cursing her police radio. How was she supposed to get any updates if the damned thing wasn’t turned on? She slapped in a fresh battery from the charger on the desk before sliding it onto the clip on her belt.

  ‘We’ve had an update,’ Jack said, looping his arms through his shoulder harness before throwing on his jacket. ‘They’ve found Emily Edmonds.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  Lucy slid her hand across the crumpled paper, smoothing it flat against the Formica kitchen table. It was silly to think she had found her new mother in Emily Edmonds. What a little mouse she was. She took a deep breath and exhaled. Time to forget all about her now. All traces of Emily had been eradicated from her life, including her sidekick, Charlotte. Another waste of space that did not deserve to live.

  Lucy scratched off her name with the blunt end of a pencil, counting down the rest of the list. She knew she had been born to a strong, loving, independent woman. Someone who would take her in and love her for ever. They would go on shopping trips together, and when Christmas came… the child inside her giggled with delight. When Christmas came it would be the best day of all.

  The tree in the basement had been lovingly prepared, and the new set of lights dappled the walls with a green and yellow hue. Candles were more authentic when mirroring the customs of Victorian times, but some small deviations could be forgiven. She had replaced the broken chair with a stronger one, and cut lengths of washing line instead of rope. Better for restraining, Lucy thought. At least, until they came to an understanding. This time she would try harder; keep her temper in check. She had to, if she had any hope of making it work. But there wa
s no remorse for the others that failed. How else would she find her true mother unless she worked her way down the list? But time was running out. It was only a few months to Christmas, and Lucy would not spend it alone. The thoughts cast a shadow over her soul. She scribbled asterisks beside her potentials: Monica Clarke, Anita Devine, and another, who she barely dared to look at. The biggest challenge of all.

  The kettle clicked off as it boiled, reminding her that she had things to do. She afforded herself a few minutes to recollect last night. It was fun creating new memories of her mother rather than the childhood recollections that lay rotten and festering in her brain. Monica had been careless: leaving her back door unlocked. Her house keys sat on the kitchen counter, just asking to be duplicated, which Lucy dutifully did, before returning under the protection of darkness. She had become adept at sneaking around, and Monica’s four-bedroom detached property had lots of hiding places.

  She’d imagined herself growing up there as a child: going to private school, attending barbecues and having playdates with the local children. If only mother had not let her go… but she shook the thought away. She was bound to have a good excuse, and Lucy was willing to forgive. She had glided around the home, careful not to leave any traces of her visit. Cold, impersonal, sharp, it featured a minimalist design. Spotlights against gloss, polished floorboards, gadgets that closed the curtains, all the latest technology at the touch of a button. Lucy was happy to see an absence of family photos. Disposing of family members was a messy business, but had to be done if they were to be together. The obligatory wedding picture hung in a framed canvas on the wall. A balding man with a chubby face, Monica’s husband, appeared the product of too many gourmet dinners and fine wines. He did not look like he would present too much of a challenge. Monica, on the other hand, was a vision in an understated cream lace dress. Lucy had noted the colour of her hair, capturing the photo on her iPhone. Picking up a hairbrush, she unravelled some of the strands. A natural brunette with a soft bounce to the end of her locks: Lucy had a matching wig at home. She peered closer at the photo. Brown eyes. But that was easily fixed too.