NO ONE’S SAFE
A DI Max Byrd &
DI Orion Tanzy Thriller
Book 3
C. J. GRAYSON
‘No One’s Safe’ first published in E-book format by the method of self-publishing via Amazon (Kindle Direct Publishing) in 2021.
Text Copyright © C. J. Grayson in 2021
Cover design © C. J. Grayson
C. J. Grayson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this novel. 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 by the author, C. J. Grayson.
This novel is entirely the work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed throughout the novel are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is coincidental, and has not been intended by the author. The main location used in the novel is in the Author’s hometown of Darlington, located in the North east of England. The readers should know that the events that happen in the novel in this particular location is subject totally on the work of fiction and imagination and not the actual opinion of that particular location, or the individuals living there.
E-book Edition August 2021
Version: First Edition
Books by C. J. Grayson
Standalones –
Someone’s There
DI Max Byrd & DI Orion Tanzy –
That Night (book 1)
Never Came Home (book 2)
No One’s Safe (book 3)
‘Many of life’s failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up.’ - Thomas A Edison
1
Monday Evening
Napier Street, Darlington
Danny Walters finished the washing up, put the tea towel over the sink, and sighed. He was glad to be home with his family. After they had eaten, he’d put Mark and Peter to bed, kissed them both good night, then started his chores. They always demanded a bedtime story which, although was sometimes the last thing he wanted to do after a long, hard day, he relished it, as he too loved books.
He heard someone shout something from upstairs. It sounded like Peter, his youngest son, aged seven. He had been having bad dreams over the past year but recently had become worse. More graphic. More real. Danny had lost count of how many times he’d woke suddenly, discovering Peter standing by the side of the bed virtually camouflaged in darkness, staring at him.
‘Just coming,’ he said towards the dining room, hoping the sound would travel up the stairs to Peter’s room.
His eldest son, Mark, had just turned eleven. He was in his bedroom playing on his Nintendo switch, no doubt with his headset on, so Walters knew he wouldn’t be the one shouting; the game console was all he needed.
Danny’s wife, Jessica, was out with her friends. Late night shopping or something. Said she’d be back in a few hours.
Walters left the narrow kitchen, made his way through the dining room, feeling the heat coming from the gas fire to the left and, although it wasn’t cold outside, the boiler had broken for the second time in three months. Had no choice to hang the clothes neatly on an airer, place it a safe distance from the fire, and hope the gas man would turn up tomorrow, as promised.
After he reached the top of the stairs, he looked along the narrow landing. Mark’s door, the nearest on the left, was closed. The door beyond that was his and Jessica’s room. The door straight ahead of him was Peter’s, open a fraction.
‘You okay, Peter?’ Walters said, approaching the door, his footsteps creaking on the old floorboards below.
‘Dad…’ a soft voice said from inside the room.
Walters opened the door and stepped into the darkness. The light from the lamp at the end of the landing softly illuminated the room, allowing him to see Peter down in his single bed, his covers held tightly up to his chin.
‘What’s the matter, dude?’ Walters asked, lowering to the bed.
‘Dad, I’m scared,’ he confessed.
‘What you scared about, son?’
‘I keep hearing noises. All the time.’
Walters could see the fear in his bright blue eyes, even in the dim conditions that surrounded them. He placed a palm on the side of Peter’s face, stroked his cheek with his thumb.
‘Don’t worry about a thing. You’re safe here.’
Peter looked away from him for a moment, unsure.
‘What happened in the last house will never happen again, especially not here.’ He fell silent, continued stroking his cheek. ‘Go to sleep, okay?’
Peter managed a nod, turned onto his side, and closed his eyes.
‘Good boy.’ Walters stood up. ‘I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.’
‘Good night, Dad.’
Walters edged Peter’s door closed, padded along the landing, and opened Mark’s door. He was hunched over on his bed, his attention on the Nintendo down in his hands.
‘You okay, Mark?’
Mark glanced his way, nodded, and smiled. ‘Yeah, Dad.’ Then he focused back on his gaming.
‘Ten more minutes on there, then shower, okay?’
Mark nodded again.
Walters closed the door and made his way downstairs. The dark feelings he thought he had control over slipped back into his mind as he entered the narrow kitchen. Shaking them away, he went over to the kettle, turned it on, then took a seat on one of the stools at the breakfast bar.
In silence, he slowly ran his fingers over the burns on his left forearm. An ugly reminder of what happened to them, what the monster did three years ago: set fire to their home.
Walters clamped his eyes shut, reliving the horrific moments in his head. He remembered he kissed Jessica goodnight and turned over to go to sleep. Shortly after, the fire alarm downstairs went off, a searing noise ripping through the house waking Walters up. The smoke drifted in through the bottom of the door. Then he’d heard his sons coughing and shouting in their rooms, followed by them banging urgently on the wall.
After he had woken Jessica, they stepped out onto the landing, grabbed Peter and Mark, and stood at the top of the stairs, staring down into the black smoke and dancing orange flames. There was no way out. It would only be a matter of time before the flames consumed the whole house.
They had returned to Peter’s room and ran over to the window. Walters had elbowed the glass hard, causing it to explode outwards onto the roof of the kitchen below. He’d grabbed a t-shirt, wrapped it around his knuckles, and punched the remaining shards that were dangerously protruding around the edge of it.
He had helped Jessica through, who turned, waiting with open arms for Peter and Mark. One by one, she carefully helped them down before they made their way along the pitched roof away from the flames.
As Walters looked back at the landing from the window, he’d noticed the smoke was thick and black. The carpet on the landing had started to go up in flames; it wouldn’t be long before Peter’s bedroom went up too.
As he turned to the window towards his wife and the helpless faces of his two sons, that’s when the explosion happened. It threw him forward through the window onto the kitchen roof with an unexplainable force, bending his arm the wrong way and breaking his ankle. His family, although lucky to be seven metres from the window, were thrown off the roof into the alley below, suffering several broken bones. The fire brigade had climbed onto the roof and saved his life. The family then spent five days in the hospital to recover, but Walters spent most of his time in the burns unit for the damage to
his back and left arm.
After investigators checked the house, they couldn’t work out the cause of the fire. Had it been a gas leak? Loose wiring? No one was sure.
Walters blinked himself to the present and made a cup of coffee. He sat back down on the stool, checked his phone. There was a message sent from one of his friends, Mick, which he opened and read, but apart from that, the usual rubbish on social media, people who he had as friends but weren’t really friends, updating everyone on trivial things like what they’d made for dinner or checking themselves in somewhere, showing off they were getting out the house and lived exciting lives.
Moments later, the front door opened. Jessica, with several bags in her hand, walked into the kitchen, smiling.
‘Hey,’ Walters said. His eyes fell on her purchases below. ‘Spend much?’
Her smile faded fast. ‘Listen, it’s on my card. I’ll pay it all back next month.’
Walters half smiled and gazed back down at his phone. Something he had heard all before. Ever since they almost died, she decided to live life to the fullest. And that included buying unnecessary clothes, handbags, and God knows whatever else.
‘It’s just clothes. I even got us a nice new clock for in here.’
He looked beyond her to the clock that she had bought only two months ago and sighed. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that one.’
As she unpacked her bags and showed him her purchases, he smiled when she held up a black shirt she’d bought him for the weekend. She leaned in to kiss him but when he didn’t fully commit to the kiss, she asked what was wrong.
‘It’s nothing…’ he replied.
‘We’ve been married for six years. Together for twelve. I know you. What’s the matter?’
‘Peter said he was scared earlier. He’s okay.’
She smiled sadly. ‘Is Mark on his Nintendo?’
He nodded. ‘He’ll be coming off in a minute.’
‘Have you found your key yet?’
Walters shook his head. ‘God knows where that is. It must have unclipped itself when I was out earlier. Good job you were in and we have spares. I’ll get more cut tomorrow.’
They chatted for a while about their day then she told him she was going upstairs to kiss them goodnight. At their bedroom doors, she watched them for a long time. Their little sweet faces, the way the landing light gently illuminated their innocence.
Walters came upstairs, passed her, then went into their bedroom. ‘You coming to bed?’
‘In a minute,’ she whispered. She eventually edged their doors closed and entered the bedroom, slipped off her clothes, and put her nightie on.
‘Everything locked up?’ she asked, climbing into bed.
Walters nodded and picked up a book from his bedside table. He read four chapters before his eyes got heavy, and placed it back, then succumbed to sleep.
Something woke him.
The bedroom would have been in total darkness if it wasn’t for a slither of light on the landing. Something was different.
He turned over, looked at the door.
There was something blocking the light.
He rubbed his eyes, sat up, and swivelled his legs off the bed. Behind him, Jessica was sleeping soundly. Standing, he opened the door fully, and stepped out onto the landing.
‘Peter?’
Peter was standing in the middle of the landing facing away from him. ‘Peter, what are you doing?’
Peter stayed perfectly still.
‘Peter?’ Walters said, slowly approaching him, in case he was sleepwalking, which he’d done on several occasions over the past few months. He made his way towards him, feeling something wet on the floor under his bare feet. It wasn’t the first time Peter had wet himself. One time, they had woken up and found him standing at the wardrobe with the door open, urinating all over their clothes.
‘Peter, are you okay?’ Walters asked him.
Peter, standing there in only his pants, didn’t reply.
Walters placed a soft hand on his shoulder, feeling his son’s warm skin. ‘Peter, are you awake?’
‘Yes, Dad,’ he whispered suddenly.
The carpet was saturated, but Walters knew it would clean. It always did. It was just a shame they were cleaned the day before.
‘Come on, Son. Let’s get you back to bed.’
Walters slowly turned Peter around, guided him back to his bedroom. He changed his pants, put him back into bed, then smiled, knowing one day, he’d grow out of it.
Back on the landing, he frowned down at the carpet. It seemed too wet for one of Peter’s occasional accidents. He padded along the landing, observing the wet carpet which seemed to reach the stairs.
The carpet was drenched, which was strange because two days ago, a cleaner had professionally done them and he was sure they’d almost dried. The chemicals that he'd used had left a slight odour, but the guy who’d done them said not to worry about that, and that it would go in a day or two.
But the smell was something stronger. ‘This makes no sense.’
At the end of the landing, he leaned around the top of the stairs and looked down into the dark hallway below. The carpet on the stairs was also soaked. He glanced back along the landing towards his bedroom, thinking hard.
‘It doesn’t make sense, at all.’
His focus returned to the stairs but, this time, he saw someone standing at the base of them, looking up with a smile on their face.
‘You?’ Walter said. ‘Wha…’
In the man’s hand was a lit match. Then it dawned on him it wasn’t Peter’s urine on the stairs, it was petrol. The whole staircase and landing carpets were doused in flammable petrol.
Walters gasped and froze, feeling a sheet of heat envelope his whole body; every hair stood on end when he realised what was happening.
The man at the bottom of the stairs didn’t say a word. He simply smiled, dropped the match on the bottom step, and laughed as the flames raced up the stairs.
Walters frantically dashed along the landing but, before he reached the first bedroom door, he felt his skin already burning.
2
Tuesday Early Morning
Napier Street, Darlington
DI Orion Tanzy turned off the engine, yawned, and looked through the windscreen at the house. Outside of it, an ambulance, a fire engine, and three police cars were parked. Officers nearby spoke with each other. A perimeter had been set up on either side, spanning the width of the narrow terraced street, preventing public access from both sides.
He stepped out, locked the Golf, and made his way towards the crime scene tape where people were standing, watching what was happening. On his approach Tanzy heard a lady in her mid-twenties, dressed in a white dressing gown and slippers that looked like they needed throwing out, asking PC Josh Andrews what was going on. Andrews, a tall, good looking Police Constable holding a clipboard, told her that information couldn’t be given out just yet. Tanzy stepped around the small cluster of people and smiled at PC Andrews.
‘Morning, boss,’ Andrews said, turning away from the woman.
‘Hey, Josh.’ Tanzy, wearing a thin black jacket, black jeans, and black shoes, ducked under the tape. ‘Is Max here yet?’
‘Yeah, he’s inside. Arrived about five minutes ago. He’s beat you again.’
Tanzy smiled. ‘Thanks.’
Outside the front door, the senior forensic officers, Jacob Tallow and Emily Hope were there, wearing their standard white paper overalls, their masks pulled down under their chin. Near them, were a few PCs who Tanzy knew, and, beyond them, at the other end of the street, standing behind the tape, were more people being held back by PC Amy Weaver.
Tallow and Hope glanced Tanzy’s way as he approached.
‘Morning, you two.’
‘Morning, Orion,’ Tallow said, nodding. Tallow was tall and thin, just over six foot four. He made Tanzy, who was six foot two, seem small. He had short black hair and hadn’t shaved for over a week, which was unusual for T
allow. In his hand, there was a small clear plastic bag with something black inside. Whatever it was, Tanzy didn’t know.
‘Hey, Ori,’ Hope said, half smiling. She was thin, held the qualities and curves of what some men, would call, the perfect woman. Her short blonde hair and excessive tattoos gave her an aura that she didn’t give a shit, took none of it, and got on with things.
‘What’s happening?’ Tanzy asked.
Tallow sighed heavily.
‘That bad?’
Hope nodded. ‘It’s tragic, Ori. We’ve come out. We needed a breather.’
‘God’s sake.’ Tanzy looked beyond them at the small crowds and vehicles parked in the centre of the road. People who lived across the road were looking out their windows at the commotion as if they had nothing better to do. ‘Where’s Max?’
‘He’s upstairs, Ori.’
‘Who was the first responder?’
Tallow turned, pointed a few houses down. DC Anne Tiffin was speaking with a man Tanzy didn’t know, probably a neighbour. Everything he said seemed to be noted on the pad in Tiffin’s hand. Moments later, she smiled and nodded at him, then made her way towards Tanzy.
‘Hey, boss.’
Tanzy smiled. ‘First here?’
She nodded.
‘That was quick.’
She explained to him she’d just started her shift and was heading over to Stanhope Road to speak with a resident who’d had her car stolen, so was nearby. ‘I’ll sign you in, Orion.’ She pulled a sheet from behind her notepad and jotted something down.
‘Here,’ Hope said to him from his left, bending down to her bag. She handed Tanzy some overshoes. He put them on. She bent down again and grabbed something else.
Through the front door a thick-set fireman stepped down onto the path and smiled at Tanzy, then passed him, going over to the fire truck.
‘You’ll need this too,’ Hope added. ‘The smell is horrendous in there.’
No One's Safe: DI Max Byrd & DI Orion Tanzy book 3 Page 1