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

by Caroline Mitchell

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Monica’s head jerked upwards as she inhaled a sudden breath. A wave of revulsion passed over her as she gagged on the rag tied over her mouth. Her eyelashes were clotted together with the mascara she had applied that morning, and she blinked hard to separate them. A sudden searing pain jackhammered from the back of her skull. She tried to touch her head, but her limbs were immobile. Were they numb? She jerked her wrists, but they were bound so tightly her fingers felt frozen. Panic and confusion flooded through her. She wriggled her toes, but they were bound at the ankles. A muffled whine escaped her lips. The lights of a Christmas tree blinked in the gloom, and the smell of ammonia rose from the floor and wrapped itself around her. The pain in her head, the stomach-churning smell, it was some kind of nightmare. It had to be.

  She willed herself to awaken and find herself in bed with her husband, their limbs entangled under her crisp white duvet. He would bring her coffee and croissants hot from the oven, and tell her about his conference. But each inhalation defied the dream, bringing her deeper into the bowels of a nightmare. Instinct drove Monica to scream for help, but the sudden intake of stale air through her nostrils made her gag even more. Just what had she been doing to end up in this place? An image flashed before her mind; she was painting her nails because her husband was due home that night. Then the doorbell rang. What was that woman’s name? Lucy. She knew there was something weird about her, and yet she allowed her inside. Of all the stupid… why had she let her in? The last thing she remembered was showing her out in the hall… A pang of fear stabbed her heart. Had Lucy taken her captive because she rejected her? Wherever she was, Monica knew this was bad. Very bad.

  Her wrists chafed against the binding, and her whole body ached. She was barefoot: her feet tied to the base of the chair with some kind of plastic rope. Wriggling her ankles, she loosened them enough to dig her toes into the soft black soil underfoot. Why had the makeshift floorboards been pulled up? Just what lay in the dirt underneath? She peered around the room, disorientated by the flashing lights. A grimy steel tap dripped water into a porcelain sink; on the walls – she squinted – were they tools? Was she in a workshop of some kind? Or was it something far worse? As the lights flashed on she made out the outlines of a hammer and a hacksaw. Her breath was coming faster now, wetting the gag bound hard around her parted mouth. Her saliva intermingled with the crusty fabric, and a sickly rusty tang filled her mouth. The same taste you got when you bit your lip when it was bleeding.

  Realisation dawned on Monica. It was blood. But was it hers or someone else’s? She groaned, and the sound echoed around the dank room, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention. Was she alone in this place? Her eyes rolled upwards to the single light bulb encased in a netting of cobwebs. Focus, she thought, trying to listen out for sound. She could not afford to panic; this was about survival. She pushed away the thoughts too terrifying to comprehend, grasping at her most recent memory instead. Just who was Lucy? She didn’t even know her surname. She replayed their conversation, closing her eyes to ease the throbbing pain in her skull. With hindsight, her reaction could not have been worse. Confessing that she had not enough time for an abortion was not the appropriate response to the daughter she gave up for adoption. But she was only being truthful, and she had presumed that, at her age, the woman would have got over it by now. Obviously not.

  Tears rolled down Monica’s face as she thought about the life she had worked so hard to build. Her career, her home, her marriage: they had not come easy, and things were finally getting on track. The last argument she’d had with her husband was about them having a child together. He was unaware of Lucy, and she had not given her a moment’s thought. She was far from the maternal type, and never imagined her past would come back to haunt her in this way. Monica drew back in horror as the fairy lights illuminated the stains on the wooden floor. Whatever this place was, Lucy had no intention of letting her go. Her heart hammered in her chest as hysteria took control. She bit down hard on the gag and screamed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Ruby ground her teeth as she approached the Crosby family residence. She could never afford anything like this. Even with her pension pay-out she would have to be frugal. It just didn’t seem fair.

  Winding down her car window, she pressed her finger on the intercom buzzer, watching the cameras crane their necks in her direction. Ruby ran her tongue across her teeth. Her mouth felt barren. If there was ever a time she needed a strong mug of tea it was now.

  ‘Yes?’ a deep voice drawled from the intercom. It wasn’t one of those cheap scratchy jobs either. It boomed loud and clear.

  Ruby flashed her badge to the camera. ‘I’m DS Ruby Preston. I’d like to speak to Mr Lenny Crosby. It’s urgent. Unofficial business.’

  She hoped the emphasis on unofficial would gain her access. As the gates rolled open, she cursed her accelerating heartbeat. This was the last place she wanted to find herself given her run-in with Lenny in the lift. But she had to clear the air between them, otherwise she would lose sleep for fear he may return.

  Besides, she had a favour to ask. But favours from the Crosby family did not come cheap. Although Jimmy Crosby had died in prison, his legend lived on. Even up until his death, Crosby still earned his reputation as a hard man. She had heard the stories of how the family made people disappear, and of the cops and high-powered politicians nestling in their back pocket. And when it came to blackmail… if anyone could dig up dirt it was the Crosbys, and they weren’t afraid to use it. She began to regret her decision not to tell anyone where she was going. For all she knew, undercover police could be watching the address, making a note of her presence. It was doubtful though; everybody knew the Crosbys were too clever to shit on their own doorstep. It was unlikely they’d hurt her, but then again, if she stumbled upon something she shouldn’t… and Lenny had been on a knife edge since he came out of the big house.

  Ruby glanced at her phone on the passenger seat. It was too late to text anyone now. She knew they’d be watching every movement she made on the video intercom. The gates closed behind her with finality as she drove up the gravel drive.

  The Chigwell house was a grand affair worth several million: one of their many properties. Nathan had long since moved out of the family residence, having built his own fort in an up-and-coming part of Hackney. The front door opened and a dour-looking man appeared. Tall, stocky, dressed in black. The Rottweilers were given instructions to sit, which they did, flanking him either side. A low growl rumbled in their bellies, and it gave her the creeps to know they could make pieces of her in minutes. If they were there to intimidate, they were doing a good job. And so was their master. His name was Logan, but everyone knew him as Fingers. Ruby recognised him from old intelligence photos and checked the absence of digits on his right hand. Two were missing from the joint down after a gun backfired during an armed raid. It was common, back in the old days, before quality firearms infiltrated the country. It wasn’t difficult to get a decent piece now, and there were plenty of people willing to rent them out, if the need occurred. Not that it mattered now. Ruby concentrated her efforts on getting safely inside. She was no threat to the Crosby family. She would be fine. She just wished her legs didn’t feel like rubber as the door slammed shut behind her.

  Fingers led her through the long wide hall into an expansive living room. Yucca plants dotted each corner, and Ruby glanced at the designer furnishings and luxury rug, trying to imagine them in her poky flat. She waited as told, knowing it was all for show. Planting herself firmly in a confident stance, she stood next to the fireplace with her head held high. But still the niggling thoughts came back to haunt her. What are you doing getting mixed up with the Crosbys again?

  It seemed like an eternity before the door finally swung open and Lenny Crosby was standing before her. His eyes were dark, his expression guarded. He strode forward, dressed casually in a shirt and jeans: so different to his father, who wore only the
finest tailored suits. DI Downes once told Ruby that he had met many dubious men in his career, but old man Crosby was the only one that ever frightened him.

  ‘I didn’t expect to see you so soon,’ Lenny said, his eyes narrowed in disdain.

  Ruby took a deep breath. ‘I need your help.’

  The left side of his mouth jerked upwards in a sneer. ‘Do you now? This better be no wind up, ’cos if you’re trying to set me up for something… ’

  ‘Then why the hell would I come? I knew your father. I wouldn’t be here unless I was desperate.’ Ruby sighed before shaking her head. ‘I don’t know… this was a bad idea.’

  Lenny took a step forward. ‘You’re not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.’

  It was an order, and she knew he could overpower her if he wanted to, although she would make sure that he wouldn’t come out of it unscathed.

  ‘Well, chill then, will you? I’m not talking to you standing over me like this,’ Ruby retorted, asserting her position.

  ‘Give me your phone.’ Lenny snapped his fingers.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I asked nicely. Now hand it over.’

  Ruby passed it over and watched him scroll through her texts and calls. ‘This is ridiculous. If you’re not interested in helping, then I’ll have my phone back and be on my way.’

  ‘Sit down,’ Lenny ordered, returning her phone. He called for Fingers, and the door opened.

  Ruby swallowed, her throat feeling incredibly dry. For the hundredth time she wondered what she was doing there.

  Fingers poked his bristled head through the door: ‘Yes, boss?’

  ‘Get us some coffees, will you?’ Lenny said, taking a seat in the wide leather armchair.

  ‘Tea for me, please,’ Ruby said, heat rising to her face.

  The man nodded before closing the door.

  Ruby took a seat, feeling slightly foolish, but relieved to be back on an even keel. When Fingers returned, she was reassured to see it was actually a pot of tea and not a code word for something more underhand. She poured herself a cup, trying to keep her hand steady.

  ‘You’ve got some balls coming here,’ Lenny said, staring at her from over his cup. The tone of his voice, the coldness of his eyes… it was like watching his father all over again.

  ‘I’ve kept my side of the bargain,’ Ruby said, although it was not strictly true. She had kept away from his brother, Nathan, but had been to the flat. ‘But now I need your help.’

  Lenny’s smirk grew wider. ‘You’re not the first copper to come here asking for favours. But you know what it means, don’t you?’

  Ruby slowly nodded. It was why she had put it off for so long. It meant she would be indebted to him in return, and as a police officer that was a very bad situation to be in. ‘Are you going to help me or not?’

  ‘Sure I’ll help, what do you want?’

  ‘I want you to find my daughter. I want you to find Lucy.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Lenny crossed his legs, his teeth flashing in a predatory smile. It reminded Ruby of a documentary she once watched about crocodiles ensnaring their prey. ‘Does Nathan know you’re setting up house?’

  Ruby shook her head. ‘No. And I’ve got no intention of making contact. I just need to know where she is.’

  ‘You’re opening a whole can of worms here; there must be a good reason for it, if you don’t wanna have a family reunion. I’m sure Mum would love to know about the secret little love child you gave away.’

  Ruby leaned forward, her voice low. ‘You can’t let anyone know. Not Nathan, not your mum, nobody.’

  Lenny’s eyes glinted in amusement. ‘Oh, I’ll do it. But first, I want to know why.’

  ‘I’m investigating a string of murders. I have reason to believe the suspect is a young woman who was given up for adoption.’

  ‘There’s lots of kids in London who were dumped by their parents. You must have more than that to suspect your own.’

  Ruby inwardly cringed. She hated the term ‘dumped’ but was not about to justify her reasons to Lenny. ‘I’ve had indirect contact.’

  ‘And you want to nick her and solve the crime? Ohh that’s low, even for you, nicking your own flesh and blood… ’

  Ruby stood, anger flaring through her. ‘If I was going to arrest her I wouldn’t be coming to you now, would I? Are you going to help me or not?’

  The sly smile Lenny had been wearing dropped from his face, and he sprang from his chair, muscles tensing as he loomed down on her. She could smell the coffee on his breath, see the fire of fury in his eyes. ‘Who do you think you are, coming into my manor and speaking to me like that?’

  Ruby bit back her retort. He was right. This was his house, and she needed him more than he needed her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, dropping her gaze to the floor. ‘Sometimes I forget how much things have changed.’

  Silence passed between them. She would apologise, but she would not grovel. She stiffened as Lenny’s hand reached into his trouser pocket.

  ‘Cigarette?’ he said, opening up the pack of Marlboro Lights.

  ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Ruby said, figuring she needed it.

  Fingers brought in a notebook and pen as requested, and Lenny handed them over. ‘Write down everything you know about your girl. I’ll have the information in the next couple of days.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Ruby dragged on the cigarette, feeling the weight of the debt looming over her.

  Her heart skipped a beat when the door opened, and she half expected to see Nathan stride in. But it was Frances Crosby, head of the family and mother of Nathan and Lenny. Her face broke out in a warm smile, and Ruby could not help but return her expression. She looked like she had hardly aged. Her ash blonde hair was cut into a shoulder-length bob, and she was wearing a beige dress that complemented her trim figure. But Ruby knew better than to be taken in by her soft smile. Behind the gentle looks was a powerhouse of a woman, with a deep hatred for the police.

  ‘I thought I heard your voice,’ she said – her East London accent had remained strong over the years. ‘So good to see you again, darling. How’s your mother?’

  ‘She’s much the same,’ Ruby said, knowing that Frances still visited every now and again. ‘They’re keeping her comfortable.’

  ‘I must pop in to see her. Take her some of those sweets she likes. What brings you here? Anything I need to be concerned about?’

  ‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ Lenny said, rising from his chair and pocketing the folded notepaper. ‘Just business. Now if you don’t mind I’ve got things to do.’

  Frances nodded, her smile faltering only for a second before squeezing Ruby’s hand. ‘And how are you, my lovely? Are you happy? No sign of you leaving that job of yours?’

  Ruby shook her head, ‘I’m afraid not, bills to pay, you know… ’ Her voice trailed off because it was blatantly obvious she did not know, given she lived off the proceeds of crime.

  ‘I remember when we didn’t have a pot to piss in,’ Frances said, her eyes falling on the expensive furnishings. ‘And you know what? I’d give all this up just to have my Jimmy back in our two-up two-down in our little East London estate. But come, take a seat, I want to hear all about you.’

  Once their small talk had been exhausted, Ruby took the opportunity to speak to the woman frankly. A question had played on her mind since speaking to her mum at Oakwood. Joy’s memories revolved around the abuse Mr Crosby inflicted on his family, and she could not help but feel resentful of the intrusion of their time. ‘Frances,’ Ruby said, ‘can I ask you a personal question?’

  Frances patted Ruby’s hand, her skin fleshy and warm. It was comforting, as Joy barely made any contact these days. Even her hugs were stiff and awkward, as if given by a stranger.

  ‘You can ask me whatever you like, love, you know that.’

  ‘Why did you put up with it all those years ago?’ Ruby said, knowing that Frances would understand exactly what she meant.
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  Frances smiled, her eyes cast to the left as she recalled old memories. ‘Your mother once asked me why didn’t I marry someone like your father. Someone quiet and reliable, who wouldn’t answer back. I turned to her and asked, “where would the fun be in that?” Being married to Jimmy was exciting, fresh. No two days were the same. When he met me he promised to take me places, and sure enough, he did.’

  He took you down the hospital, Ruby thought, and nearly took you down the morgue.

  But Frances didn’t notice Ruby’s misgiving glance; she was too busy reliving the past. ‘Nowadays, if a couple have an argument the neighbours call the police. It’s like you’re not allowed to disagree.’ She sniffed. ‘Where’s the passion, the excitement? If couples today sorted out their disagreements instead of holding them in, there wouldn’t be so many divorces.’

  Ruby nodded, knowing there was no point in disagreeing. ‘I guess that’s one way of looking at it.’

  ‘Too right,’ Frances said. ‘Women today fight for equality. When I got pregnant, I stayed at home and raised the family. Nowadays, women have to work until they’re old; they don’t even get to enjoy their earnings because they’re paying someone else to look after their children. Where’s the sense in that?’