by Mel Sherratt
ALSO BY MEL SHERRATT
Taunting the Dead
Follow the Leader
Watching over You
Somewhere to Hide
Behind a Closed Door
Fighting for Survival
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.
Text copyright © 2015 Mel Sherratt
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: 978-1477830628
ISBN-10: 1477830626
Cover design by bürosüdo München, www.buerosued.de
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014959844
For Talli Roland, for showing me the way.
Contents
January 31, 2015
February 5, 2015, 3.00 A.M.
3.20 A.M.
3.30 A.M.
6.00 A.M.
6.15 A.M.
7.00 A.M.
7.30 A.M.
7.50 A.M.
8.15 A.M.
9.00 A.M.
9.20 A.M.
9.30 A.M.
9.45 A.M.
10.00 A.M.
10.15 A.M.
10.30 A.M.
10.45 A.M.
11.30 A.M.
12.00 P.M.
12.15 P.M.
12.30 P.M.
12.45 P.M.
1.00 P.M.
1.30 P.M.
2.00 P.M.
2.30 P.M.
3.00 P.M.
3.45 P.M.
4.15 P.M.
5.00 P.M.
5.30 P.M.
5.45 P.M.
6.00 P.M.
6.30 P.M.
6.45 P.M.
8.00 P.M.
8.15 P.M.
8.30 P.M.
8.40 P.M.
9.00 P.M.
9.10 P.M.
9.30 P.M.
9.40 P.M.
10.00 P.M.
10.10 P.M.
11.00 P.M.
11.30 P.M.
11.45 P.M.
February 6, 2015, 12.30 A.M.
2.00 A.M.
2.30 A.M.
5.30 A.M.
6.30 A.M.
7.00 A.M.
8.00 A.M.
8.15 A.M.
9.00 A.M.
10.30 A.M.
11.45 A.M.
12.30 P.M.
1.00 P.M.
1.30 P.M.
1.45 P.M.
2.30 P.M.
3.00 P.M.
3.30 P.M.
3.45 P.M.
4.00 P.M.
4.20 P.M.
4.35 P.M.
4.45 P.M.
4.55 P.M.
5.00 P.M.
February 7, 2015, 8.30 A.M.
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
January 31, 2015
Allie Shenton blinked away tears. Her long hair was scraped back in a ponytail, her pretty face scrubbed clean of makeup. She stared at her sister lying in the hospital bed. Karen had been there for two weeks now. It had been touch and go at first, and even though she was stable, she still wasn’t breathing for herself. She was in an induced coma. Only time would tell if she was ever going to become strong enough to fend for herself again, and it was wearing Allie and her husband, Mark, down.
Allie had just solved her most recent murder case when she’d received a phone call from the doctor at Riverdale Residential Home. Her sister, Karen, had been a resident there ever since being attacked seventeen years ago. She’d been ill for a few weeks before she’d finally suffered another brain haemorrhage.
Since January 16, Allie had been on compassionate leave, as well as taking all the annual holiday entitlement she could have, but she was running out of days. More than that, she was wracked with guilt because she was desperate to get back to routine, cooking meals, paying the bills, day-to-day normality. Living. She hated herself for even thinking like that, but no matter how much she tried to block it out, a small part of her mind betrayed her. Everything had been taken from Karen; there was so much that they had both missed out on. It just didn’t seem fair.
With a breaking heart, she looked at her sister, knowing that Karen might not survive for another month, another week, another day even. Allie couldn’t begin to think what life would be like without her.
The door opened. The nurse who entered was almost as familiar to her as every line on her sister’s face. Marissa – a young woman in her twenties, small but heavily built, a mop of blonde curly hair kept out of the way with the help of a large blue clip. Allie had never seen her without a smile, never heard less than a kind word. It occurred to her, as she looked at Marissa, that just as her own job in the police force was suited only to some, the same could be said about health professionals. A certain type of demeanour was required to walk the thin line between the grittiness of life and the harshness of death.
‘Hello, Allie. How are you today?’ Marissa asked.
‘I’m good, thanks.’ Allie let out a huge sigh. ‘How about you? Shaken off that cold yet?’
‘For now. That’s the trouble with working in an environment like this. There’s always something to catch. Better than the Norovirus, though.’ Marissa smiled. ‘I have something for you. It must have been left on the nurses’ station.’
Allie frowned. ‘Do you know who by?’
‘Sorry, no. I’ve only just spotted it. Strange it’s addressed to you, though.’
Marissa handed her a long white box. Tied around it was a red ribbon, a large bow in the centre of the lid. Allie froze as a feeling of déjà vu engulfed her, a sense of fear rippling through her veins. She remembered the moment three years ago when a similar packet had been laid in her hands. She pushed the thought to one side as she opened the small white envelope attached to it, trembling fingers pulling out the card from inside.
You’re next, my surviving angel.
A sharp intake of breath had Marissa turning and eyeing Allie with a frown. But if the young nurse thought it was anxiety that was making Allie panic, she was wrong. It wasn’t grief that she was feeling: it was sheer terror.
You’re next.
Y.N.
The capital letters that had been written on a note, taped underneath a waste bin in the park during her last investigation. The envelope had been addressed to DS Shenton. Chloe Winters’ battered and broken face appeared in her mind. Although DNA tests had shown that the woman had been raped by the same person who had attacked Karen, it was a shock to realise that the note itself had been some sort of warped warning to Allie.
She slid the red ribbon from the box and lifted up the lid. Just like the last time, inside it was a dying, solitary red rose, its petals dropping to the floor as she picked it up.
Just like the last time, Allie let the box drop to the ground. She ran out of the room, out of the ward and into the main building.
Outside, Mark was walking towards her down the long corridor that ran the length of the hospital wing, a newspaper under his arm and two chocolate bars in his hand. He reached for her as she moved past him.
‘Allie, what’s wrong?’
But Allie didn’t stop. Tears poured down her face as she ran, ignoring the startled looks from hospital staff and patients alike.
She headed towards the exit, eyes darting left and right, desperately looking for a face she might recognise, checking out the people coming and going.
Was he there, waiting for her?
Could he see her?
Was he watching from somewhere?
At the main doors she slowed down and realised it was useless. He wouldn’t be here now. He could be anywhere.
Mark caught up with her a few seconds later. ‘Allie, what’s wrong?’
‘He’s here,’ she said between breaths.
‘Who’s here?’
‘Him! He’s watching me again.’
‘Who? What do you mean again?’ Mark pulled her to a spare seat in a row of eight fastened to the wall and sat her down. ‘Tell me what you mean.’
Allie closed her eyes. She couldn’t look at him, knew she would see the incredulity, the hurt and anger etched on his face when he realised what she had kept from him.
‘What . . .’ Mark stopped, realisation dawning on his features. ‘This isn’t the first time, is it?’
She shook her head, fresh tears forming. She had to come clean, no matter how deceitful she would seem.
‘On New Year’s Eve 2011, just after Steph Ryder was buried, I was visiting Karen and there was a delivery for her. It was a long, white box, and it had a single rose inside.’
‘What? But who sent it?’
‘I don’t know. There were some words on a card.’ Allie faltered. ‘Words that meant he was still watching. Still waiting.’
‘What words? What do you mean – who’s watching you?’
‘The man who attacked Karen! He’s watching me.’
Mark’s eyes widened. ‘And you think he’s coming after you now?’
Allie nodded, tears rolling down her face. She flicked them away with the back of her hand.
‘I’ve just received another rose in a box.’
Mark recoiled. ‘Does it have a note with it?’
Allie handed it to him. Watched his brow furrow as he flicked the card over to see if anything could explain what he had read.
‘You’re next, my surviving angel. What the hell does that mean?’
‘I –’ Tears welled in her eyes. ‘I – I don’t know.’
‘Well, what did it say on the first note?’
Allie could recall the words by heart; she would never forget them.
Karen, until we meet again, my fallen angel.
One day you will all be mine.
And you, little sister, Allie.
Don’t you ever stop looking for me.
But even though she hadn’t told Mark three years ago, she wasn’t about to tell him now. She shook her head.
‘Really?’ Mark’s face dropped. ‘And you told no one about it?’
‘Except for who I needed to tell.’
‘You mean Nick.’
Allie nodded.
‘Three years ago!’ Mark lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Three fucking years ago. And you said nothing?’
‘I didn’t want to worry you, okay! But now . . .’ Allie began to cry again. ‘It was my fault that girl was raped, can’t you see? He attacked her to get back at me.’
‘Of course that’s not your fault.’ He paused. ‘Unless there’s something else you’re not telling me?’
Allie said nothing. Oh, God, she couldn’t tell him about the note taped to the bottom of the waste bin.
Mark dropped his eyes to the floor. Allie put out a hand to him but withdrew it. She wanted him to put an arm around her shoulders, tell her he could understand why she had kept it to herself.
Eventually he looked up. ‘You have to stop this,’ he told her.
‘Oh, I intend to stop him, and when I do, I –’
‘No,’ Mark cried, ‘I mean, when Karen – you have to stop this. If someone is out to get you too, then he needs to be found before he hurts you. You have to leave it to Nick, not put yourself in danger by looking for him.’
‘I can’t.’ Allie shook her head.
‘Your sister is dying!’
People were looking their way. They both sat in silence for a moment.
Every emotion possible fought to get out of Allie. Anxiety for her safety, anger that he was still out there, dread at the thought of her sister’s imminent death. But most of all, the fear of not catching him. Of not ever knowing who had left Karen for dead all those years ago.
She wiped at her eyes and spoke calmly to the man who had stuck with her through thick and thin. The man whom she loved with all her heart but didn’t truly deserve. The man she hoped would be there for her when all this was over.
‘I won’t stop until he’s arrested,’ she told him. ‘And more to the point, it doesn’t seem like he wants me to forget about him, either.’
‘But can’t you see,’ Mark took her hand and enfolded it in both of his, ‘I’m not going to lose you because of some psycho who’s trying to ruin your life for something that happened with your sister.’
‘You won’t lose me!’ She said this more in hope than certainty.
‘If you continue with this, Allie, it’s going to ruin everything we have.’
‘But –’
‘I’m scared for you – can’t you see that?’ Mark’s eyes glistened with tears. ‘Don’t let him ruin us.’
He’d been standing outside the entrance to the Royal Stoke University Hospital for over an hour when he saw them coming out of the building. Allie’s eyes were red and raw. He watched her press a tissue to her cheek. Her husband, Mark, had his arm around her shoulder, pulling her to him.
He didn’t really need to stand back in the shadows. He wore a woollen hat and scarf that covered most of his face and hair; he was sure she wouldn’t have noticed him anyway, even though she saw him most weeks. She and Mark seemed wrapped up in each other, their pain shared as one. He supposed they were going home now. Home to their bed. How could they be so insensitive after they had just left the hospital?
He followed behind them as they crossed over the road to the car park, two figures huddled together illuminated every now and then as passing car lights caught them in the beam. Seeing them together made his blood boil. He should be comforting her. He should be the one with his arm around her, then holding her as Mark was now.
He trod silently as they went up to floor two of the multi-storey car park. Here it was lit so he kept his head down. They got into a car and he stopped nearby, hands in pockets looking like he was searching for keys, never taking his eyes from them for a minute.
Allie was crumpled in Mark’s arms; Mark comforted her again.
He should be doing that. He wanted to run his hand over her hair, smell its freshly washed scent. He wanted to wipe away her tears, feel her skin underneath his fingertips. Kiss away the salt.
Had she known he’d been watching her since the night he’d attacked Karen? All those memories locked away until a few weeks ago when that stupid bastard he’d heard them dub the Alphabet Killer went on a killing spree. It was his fault; he’d dredged up the past, made him think about things again. It had been harder to put the memories away this time. And now that Karen was dying, it seemed like it was meant to be.
The engine of the car roared into life and he stooped down out of sight until they had driven past him.
Once they were gone, he headed back towards the hospital. If he hurried, he’d just make it in time for the last few minutes of visiting hours. He would have to go inside and
see why Allie was crying so much. If he timed it right, there would be so many visitors coming and going that the staff might not notice him. It was the reason he’d chosen not to visit Karen too many times. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself.
After the first few days, when Allie had come out in tears with every visit, she’d seemed to harden to the routine.
But now, he needed to find out what information he could.
More to the point, he wanted to see if she had received his gift.
February 5, 2015
3.00 A.M.
Jordan Johnson walked quickly along the path by the side of Harrison House. When he saw a patch of bushes on his left, he jogged over the grass to them. He shrugged off the holdall he was carrying, unzipped it and slipped his hand inside. Pulling out a smaller bag, he took a quick look around, and then up at the flats in front of him, to see if anyone was watching. When he felt satisfied they weren’t, he shoved the bag underneath the hedge and made his way back to the path – he’d pick up the bag again in a while, once the drop had been made.
Still hidden in the shadows, away from the blazing street lamp that lit up the area a few yards away, he peered at his watch, trying to make out the time in the dark. It was just past three a.m. He wished whoever was coming to collect the money would hurry up. His imagination was running wild as he thought about what was waiting for him on the first floor. But after a while, his thoughts returned to the awful night he’d had.
When Kirstie had come looking for him at Flynn’s nightclub, he knew she was after trouble. The stupid bitch was always accusing him of having an affair. You’d think she’d be thankful for what they’d got. They still had fun occasionally, even though he enjoyed it less and less.
They were the golden couple – Kirstie with long, smooth jet-black hair, slim-gym figure and sapphire-blue eyes that demanded authority and attention, just like her father. At thirty-one and ten years her senior, Jordan was six foot one with dark skin and hair, a six-pack he was proud of that he kept under wraps and bulging biceps always on display. He wore tailored clothes, fashionable and expensive, just because he could.