by Ed James
FLESH AND BLOOD
DS VICKY DODDS 2
ED JAMES
CONTENTS
Other Books By Ed James
Prologue
Day 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Day 2
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
Afterword
About Ed James
Other Books By Ed James
Next book
Copyright © 2020 Ed James
The right of Ed James to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or transmitted into any retrieval system, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover design copyright © Ed James
OTHER BOOKS BY ED JAMES
SCOTT CULLEN MYSTERIES SERIES
GHOST IN THE MACHINE
DEVIL IN THE DETAIL
FIRE IN THE BLOOD
STAB IN THE DARK
COPS & ROBBERS
LIARS & THIEVES
COWBOYS & INDIANS
HEROES & VILLAINS
CULLEN & BAIN SERIES
CITY OF THE DEAD
WORLD’S END
HELL’S KITCHEN (August 2020)
CRAIG HUNTER SERIES
MISSING
HUNTED
THE BLACK ISLE
DS VICKY DODDS
TOOTH & CLAW
FLESH & BLOOD
DI SIMON FENCHURCH SERIES
THE HOPE THAT KILLS
WORTH KILLING FOR
WHAT DOESN’T KILL YOU
IN FOR THE KILL
KILL WITH KINDNESS
KILL THE MESSENGER
CORCORAN & PALMER
SENSELESS
For Millie.
PROLOGUE
An explosion like gunfire makes her look out of the window. Across the dark beach, the fireworks erupt then fade to nothing, leaving a sky dotted with stars, the moon almost full. Then a yellow glow shoots across the sea, leaving a flickering trail in its wake.
She sips the champagne, which tastes sour like beer. Supposed to be good, but it’s nowhere near sweet enough for her. Nothing like that stuff they had in Dubai, but it’d do. A wave of goosebumps crawls up her arms. Why didn’t she wear something warmer than a summer dress?
The next wave of fireworks lights up Derek’s face in the darkness. Mid-brown hair streaked with silver, laughter lines around his eyes. Can’t see his toned muscles through his tuxedo, but it shapes the jacket in a nice way. His left arm loops around her waist and his right interlinks around hers and they sip each other’s champagne. Her silver fox. All hers.
Something thuds behind her.
She breaks free and swivels away from the window. ‘What was that?’
Derek frowns at her. ‘Didn’t hear anything, babe.’
She rests her glass on the windowsill and squints into the darkness.
Another flash, blue this time, lights up the room. The door is still open, showing the staircase leading back down to the beach. The walls are bright as though it was midday, bare stone with a long crack running down the middle. And it all fizzles away to darkness, just the faint glow from the battery lantern that doesn’t reach into the room’s corners.
No sign of anyone.
His searching hand smooths over her hip. ‘Maybe you’re nervous because we’re not supposed to be up here.’
She nibbles at her lip. A green-and-red flash on the wall and the door. Nobody there. Right? ‘It’s probably a bird, isn’t it?’
‘There are terns and shags round here.’
‘Shags?’
‘It’s a type of seabird. We did it at school. Swear it’s the truth.’
‘Shut up.’
‘Seriously.’ Derek gets out his bling smartphone and taps at the screen, then shows her a photo of a black seabird standing on a rock, its wings spread wide. ‘Huh. Cormorants and shags are closely related, apparently.’
‘Well, you’ve got even more surprising depths.’
He brushes aside the short dress and runs a hand between her legs, catching on the fabric of her knickers. ‘I’ll show you how deep I can go.’
She slaps his hand away. ‘Stop it.’
‘Come on.’ He sets his champagne flute down next to hers on the windowsill. ‘This is supposed to be romantic. God knows I’ve paid enough for it.’
‘I know, it’s just…’ She looks around and she’s shivering now. It’s right in her teeth and her bones, down in her marrow.
A shimmering pink light dances across the walls. The room feels way too big and too claustrophobic at the same time.
Nobody there. Just her imagination. Probably the echoes of guilt and paranoia from months and months of keeping secrets from everyone. The reality hasn’t caught up with her yet. And maybe it never will. At least not until the sparkling engagement ring on her finger has a wedding one alongside it.
‘Sorry. It’s just…’ With a sigh, she picks up their glasses, both now smudged with her red lipstick, and hands him one, then links their arms again. ‘This is romantic. Thanks.’
Derek leans in to kiss her and she fights against his tongue, always so over-eager. She opens her eyes.
A flash of fireworks catches a figure in the doorway.
She drops her glass and tries to push away from him. The glass smashes on the stone floor and she’s rocked forward. Derek’s bulk pins her against the wall.
An arm swings a golf club through the air.
SEARING pain behind her eyes wakes her up, biting at her brain. She tries to move, but can’t. The back of her head feels like it’s resting against the floor. She’s freezing, but everything is on fire. She can barely move her legs. Still got her heels on, the clasps keeping them in place. And something is covering her mouth.
It’s deadly silent. The fireworks must’ve stopped. What time is it? The moon has moved, so it must be hours later.
She can just about make out their attacker standing there, an outline in the moonlight coming in from the window. ‘You would�
�ve thought, wouldn’t you?’ He’s muttering, his voice deep. ‘These people. Their morals, these days. You would’ve thought they’d learn, wouldn’t you?’ He looks right at her, but she can’t see much. And she definitely doesn’t recognise him. ‘Why don’t you people learn?’
She tries to speak but the gag swallows the sound.
He crouches in front of her and a flash catches in the darkness. A knife, thin like a scalpel rather than Derek’s hunting knife. He grabs her by the hair and she tries to wriggle but he’s way too strong.
His knees crunch against her ribs and he pins her in place. His thumb holds down her left eyelid. He reaches over with the knife, closer to her eye, and she freezes.
Then he cuts at her eyelid and the pain screams loud.
He pulls the knife away and she tries to move but just can’t. Can’t do anything. She’s so useless, so helpless, and it’s like her whole eye is on fire. Liquid fills the socket, little drops. Her own blood.
‘Get off her!’
The attacker turns around.
Through a curtain of blood, she can see Derek sitting up, halfway across the room. His shirt is bright white in the dark room, but soaked red. ‘You small-cocked wanker!’
The attacker gets off her and stands up with creaking knees. He moves towards Derek. Despite all the searing pain in her head, she knows she needs to do something. Now. So she lashes out with her feet, still bound together. Something bites into her ankles, but she makes contact, her toes connecting with material.
And it’s just enough. The attacker stumbles and sprawls forward, landing face-down. He spills the knife and it rolls towards her across the uneven floor.
He’s not moving, just lying there.
She should do something. She has to.
Derek is looking at her, his eyes pleading with her.
And the attacker is deadly still. Did she kill him? She doesn’t know, but she’s got to get them out of here.
So she moves her feet over and a trail of blood runs down her thigh. Another push and she edges her butt over. Then she moves her feet again, and she can just about reach the knife. She picks it up and it’s like a scalpel. She reaches down and slashes the blade against the rope and it almost cuts clean through, just a few strands binding her ankles together. She tries to pull her feet apart but whatever the binding is made of, it’s holding tight, so she presses the blade against the thread now, and it snaps. She lets out a breath. She can move now. Just like in all those stupid exercise classes, she pushes up to her knees, then hops up to standing.
She tries to cut the bonds on her wrists, but Christ her hands are shaking like crazy. One slip and she’ll cut a vein, right? Something drips onto the rope. Blood. She’s got to hurry, so she cuts at the rope around her wrists, but it’s even harder than freeing her feet. Blood drips down and slicks her fingers. She drops the knife. Christ! She reaches for it again, but something strikes her back.
She stumbles and hits the wall. She hits the floor, crunching up her spine.
‘Stay still!’ The attacker has the knife again, aiming it at her eye once more. She didn’t even see him. ‘You have to pay!’
Derek hops over to the attacker and throws himself at him, bashing into him shoulder-first. They go down in a pile near the door.
Should she stay and help Derek?
No, the attacker has the knife again. She’s got to get out of here. Got to get help.
She surges forward and leaps over them. Something nicks her neck but she can’t stop, so she clatters through the doorway and down the stairs, her heels clicking off the old stone.
Blood runs down her chest from the wound in her throat.
DAY 1
Sunday
Sunday, 22nd July 2018
1
When Vicky shut her eyes, it was like all the noise in her head stopped. The sun lashed at her skin. The sweet smell of the sun lotion. The sound of the two kids laughing and giggling, the jet of water hissing at them.
Cold hit her bare feet, made her open them again.
Rob was grinning at her, his eyes full of mischief. His shorts were very short and he should really have put a T-shirt on in this heat. He raised his hand, palm facing her. ‘Sorry!’ But he flicked the water again.
Vicky jerked upright and powered towards him. He might have been taller than her, but she was smart. Besides, the bigger they were… She pushed him into the wide paddling pool and water flooded the lawn. The hose writhed around on the grass like a snake.
Vicky grabbed it and directed it at Rob, placing her finger over the end to tune it to a hard blast.
‘Okay!’ Rob tried to get up, but a carefully aimed shot at his groin sent him tumbling back into the emptying pool.
Through it all, their two greyhounds lay on the grass, oblivious to the mayhem. Peralta looked up, but didn’t see anything of interest, so rested his head back on Holt’s side, already covered with drool.
Rob was on his feet, arms raised, water sluicing off him. ‘You got me, officer.’ He stepped over the rim onto the lawn and held out his wrists. ‘You better cuff me.’
Vicky looked round at the kids, then back at him. ‘No kinky stuff in front of them.’
He stepped out and wrapped her in a soggy cuddle. ‘Sure?’
She grabbed the hose and stuffed it down his swimming shorts. ‘You need to cool off, sir.’
He leaned in for a kiss and she let him. Eyes shut, standing in the baking sun, his damp fingers caressing her, her hungry fingers grabbing his back.
‘Mummy, I’m star-ving!’
Vicky broke off with a sigh.
Jamie was staring up at them, eyes wide through his thick glasses. He was going through another growth spurt. Vicky couldn’t remember when he’d started calling her “Mummy”, but Christ, did she love it. ‘I’m starving!’
She grabbed his hand and led him away from the pool. ‘Your daddy’s going to fire up the you-know-what soon.’
Bella skipped over and grabbed her mother’s free hand. She wore that cute flowery swimming costume Vicky had bought for their holiday to Menorca. Hard as she tried to keep it packed away, you didn’t get many days like this in Carnoustie. Her hair was down to her bum now and it needed cutting really badly, not that she’d let anyone near it, barely even to brush it. ‘Why can’t we call it a bar—’
‘Shhhh!’ Jamie was jumping up and down in fury. ‘Everyone knows, Bella! If you say it out loud, God makes it rain.’
‘Don’t be stupid.’ Bella stopped and planted her feet on the grass. A strop was brewing. ‘Uncle Andrew said there’s no God.’
Jamie shook his head. ‘Shut up, Bella.’
Vicky sat them down on the bench. Jamie could just about manage it himself, but she still had to lift Bella up. Only a few months between them, but Jamie had inherited his father’s height. Bella would maybe grow like her, short until her late teens. Vicky grabbed the towel and started drying them. Bella’s hair would take two towels on its own, so she did Jamie first. She squirted out sun cream onto her hand and started rubbing it on to Jamie’s arms.
Bella was giggling.
‘What’s up, sweet pea?’
She hid behind her hand, the laughing getting worse. Just like her grandmother when she got a fit of the giggles. ‘It sounded like a pump.’
And now Jamie was off, his over-loud roar of a laugh making it next to impossible to apply lotion to his face. And it’d be her fault if he got sunburn.
The toasty smell of charcoal passed on the breeze. She squinted into the sun.
Rob was shrouded in smoke, with bursts of flames erupting from the navy barbecue drum behind him. He checked his watch and looked over. ‘Your parents are late again.’
Vicky rolled her eyes at him, but he was facing away. ‘Like you didn’t expect that.’
‘Just glad I didn’t light the charcoal earlier. Nobody likes a cold burger.’
‘I do!’ Bella squealed as Vicky squeezed a blob of sun lotion on her arm. ‘Ow!’
&
nbsp; ‘Should’ve got yourself a gas burner, Robbie.’ Vicky’s dad appeared round the side of the house, lugging two giant bags full of food. Belly poking out of the bottom of his T-shirt, reading “Car-snooty? Hardly!”. Silvery hair peeking out beneath his Dundee United baseball cap, tangerine on black. At least you couldn’t see the sweat soaked into the material, though it still reeked even at a distance and over the smell of charcoal. He dropped the bags on the patio and scowled behind him. ‘Where the bloody hell is she?’
Feet crunched over the gravel and Vicky’s mum appeared, dressed like it was mid-December. Coat, trousers, heavy shoes. And she carried another two bags of food. ‘This needs to go in the fridge.’
‘Just a sec.’ Vicky finished brushing cream down Bella’s arms. ‘Okay, Toots, let’s go help your granny.’