by Ed James
Vicky stepped closer. The air was starting to shift now, to her right, turning into a stiff breeze. And she recognised it — an Aberdeen to Glasgow train, non-stop from Arbroath to Dundee, so a good fifty miles an hour, at least.
Was that his plan? Push Lamont in front of the train? Why?
‘Francis, you should listen to your faith.’
‘Oh, I am.’ Francis pulled Lamont’s hair back and pushed the knife against the side of Lamont’s neck. ‘I hated my dad for what he did, all my life. Didn’t believe what he told me. But God helped me realise that I should devote my life to help others. Help my community. But my faith was only so strong. I wasn’t certain I could do what God asked of me, but now I know I can.’
‘Please, Francis. I’m caught up in this just as much as you. This affected my father. There’s only so much we can do to protect them, to stop the past from ruining the present. But you need to trust me here, Francis. You need to let me help. We can convict him, Francis. We’ve got evidence.’
Francis stepped away and let Lamont go. He stood there, head bowed, the wind rustling the nearby trees. Then he drew the blade right across Lamont’s throat from ear to ear.
Vicky jerked forward and hit Sanderson’s wrist. The Stanley hit the ground. But she was too late. Way too late.
Blood sprayed out like a fountain, coating Sanderson and Vicky in seconds. Francis stepped back, covered in the blood of his father’s friend.
Lamont lay against the side barrier, eyes bulging, gurgling, blood seeping through his fingers as he tried to put his bloody neck back together. But he couldn’t do anything except die, eyes open.
No need to check his pulse. Lamont was gone. Dead.
She had failed.
Lamont needed to pay for what he’d done. The old murders, the new ones. And Syd Ramsay. But not like this.
Francis stood against the rail, arms raised, staring at the blood dripping from him. ‘What have I done?’
‘It’s over, Francis.’
‘It’s not. Don’t you see? I have been tricked, this was not God’s will; this was the devil’s work, how could I not have seen? I’ve murdered. I have become a punisher. I have sinned.’
‘He was going to kill you, son.’ Dad was just behind Vicky now. ‘That was self-defence. I’ll back you up. Vicky will too.’
Francis stared hard at him. ‘I don’t know what to believe anymore.’
‘Son, that wasn’t on me. I was sidelined by then.’ Dad glanced at Lamont’s bloodied corpse. ‘I followed the party line and your father suffered for it, son. I’m truly sorry. He should’ve faced justice. Like John Lamont here. He should’ve spent the rest of his life behind bars, but we failed.’
Vicky saw the sorrow and rage swelling up. She raised her hands and walked towards Francis. ‘If anyone understands what it’s like, what you and your mother and your father went through, it’s us. Me and him.’
Francis stared at her, nostrils spread wide. ‘How can you…? How can you even…?’ His gaze shifted between them, then to Lamont’s corpse. ‘I’m just the same as my father.’ He looked along the rails, towards the oncoming train, then lifted himself up onto the railings at the edge of the bridge, the short barrier blocking the tracks.
Vicky darted forward, trying to stop him, but he jumped down. She tried to follow him down, like there was something she could do.
Dad pulled her back. ‘Vicky, no!’
And the wind pushed her back into his arms and the train shot past below them.
40
Vicky sat in the car and looked over at the railway tracks and shivered. Despite the bright daylight, the crime scene tape flapping in the breeze was glowing.
She focused on it, watching each individual movement behind it. The investigation was already underway, securing Francis Sanderson’s remains. A whole stretch of train line knocked out by one man’s desperation.
Dad wrapped an arm around her shoulder. ‘You okay?’
‘Not really.’ Vicky sipped the sugary tea and looked up at the blue sky. ‘Why did he have to do that?’
‘We were there. He couldn’t live with himself.’
‘Poor guy. Can’t even imagine what he went through. Knowing your dad was a serial killer. Or worse, having that doubt in your head, thinking that he wasn’t. That he was a patsy. That somebody else had done it, only for him to be snuffed out and the case closed.’
‘He went through hell because of what happened back in the past. Not the first, sure won’t be the last either. I just…’
‘Alan was all over this, Dad. He was leaking to him as well. Pouring his poison in his ear. Feeding him all those stories. I should’ve stopped him, should’ve stopped Francis.’
‘There was nothing any of us could do, Vicky. What happened, happened. No reason behind any of it. Syd made sure a guilty man was going to be convicted of the wrong crime. While others… They helped the other half get away with murder.’
‘Just to protect his sister…’
A car pulled up and Raven got out, followed by MacDonald.
‘Here we go.’ Vicky finished her tea and tipped the mug out onto the pavement.
‘Sergeant.’ Raven smiled at Dad. ‘Give us a sec, George.’
He got up and tried to walk but put a hand to his back. ‘Ow, you bugger.’ Something clicked in there and he scuttled off.
Vicky looked over the golf course, the green almost glowing in the evening light. ‘I didn’t stop him in time.’
‘Happens.’ Raven took Dad’s seat in the car and let out a sigh. ‘If you hadn’t done what you did, we’d be none the wiser. And it saves us the cost of a trial.’ He shook his head. ‘After what happened back in the dim and distant, I’ll be glad to avoid that.’
‘There’ll be an FAI, right?’
‘Sure will.’
‘I’ll be in the shit, won’t I?’
‘I love your sunny optimism.’
‘A pessimist is never disappointed.’
‘You have DC Woods and your old man there, Vicky.’ Raven folded his arms. ‘We’ve got that confession from Syd Ramsay.’ He scowled. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘How is he?’
‘He didn’t make it.’
‘Right.’
‘And Forrester?’
‘He’s in the hospital. Squealing like a pig. He’ll be fine. Might limp like your old man, though.’
‘And me? We still got that meeting with Ogilvie tomorrow?’
‘Can’t back out of it now, I’m afraid.’
Vicky shut her eyes for a few seconds, trying to calm all the noise down. ‘I did nothing wrong.’
‘Don’t worry, Sergeant. Nothing bad’s going to happen to you. I just want to make sure there’s no blowback.’ Raven nodded over towards the train line. ‘You see what happens when people take the law into their own hands, when they cover over their tracks. You’ve done nothing wrong and Ogilvie will find that out.’
‘What about Euan MacDonald?’
‘Now that’s a different story entirely. He should be investigated. And will be.’
‘He told me he was following your orders, sir.’
‘To a point. But I didn’t realise what your ex had on him. MacDonald was bloody stupid and careless. It’s going to be a tough fight for him to keep his position.’
Vicky actually felt sad for him. Stuck in a position he didn’t want to be in. Tough.
Raven stood up. ‘I’ll manage things here, okay? You get yourself to the station, have a shower, change of clothes, then get yourself home.’
VICKY WALKED through the door and listened hard. No signs of life. She checked her watch. Hours late and wearing someone else’s clothes. ‘I’m home.’ She walked through to the kitchen.
Rob was standing at the counter, headphones on, and kneading a dough on the counter. He looked round at her and smiled. ‘Hey.’ Speaking way too loud.
Vicky reached over and paused his music. ‘You okay?’
He dolloped the dough into a bow
l. ‘I’m fine.’
Vicky stayed there, hands on hips. ‘Kids in bed early?’
‘No, Colin’s running a Mario Kart tournament. Ours and theirs.’ Rob rolled off the dough from his fingers into the sink, then draped a tea towel over the bowl. ‘Bella was winning, last I heard. Once she figured out how to use the shells, there was no stopping her.’
‘So, why are you here on your own?’
‘Well.’
‘That sounds ominous. You’re not just making bread, are you?’
‘Vicky, we need to have a talk.’
There it was. He was here alone because he was breaking up with her.
She collapsed into a dining chair. ‘Rob, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have rushed off like that. Earlier. It’s just Alan, he’s… He’s a total dick. You’re right. I’ve no idea what I ever saw in him, but he knows how to press my buttons and I saw a chance to take him down.’ She shut her eyes. ‘We caught the guy, but he died after he killed someone and...’ She broke off with a sigh.
He wasn’t saying anything, just stood there at the sink. ‘I know, Vicky. Colin told me a few hours ago, Karen called him.’
‘Rob, I’m sorry about how I treat you. I’m such a selfish bitch and you don’t deserve it. As much as I love you and Jamie, if you want to—’
‘Vicky, I wanted to talk about your house.’
‘What?’
‘And the last thing I want to do is split up with you.’ He sat next to her and grabbed her hand in his, still damp. ‘But you do keep so much in your head. All that shit with Alan? I want to help. I’m here for you, okay?’
‘I really do not deserve you.’
‘That’s true. You deserve a slimeball like Alan.’
She laughed. ‘What about my house?’
‘I… got a call from the letting agency. Whoever it was staying there, they left a bomb site.’
‘How bad is it?’
‘Bad bad. But the agency has withheld the deposit. Means we can get the new flooring in there and maybe sell it?’
‘That’d be good.’ Vicky collapsed into his arms, but the prospect of getting new floors in her old house filled her with as much dread as hunting a serial killer. No, more. ‘I’m so sorry, Rob. I’ve let you down. I just upped and left to go after Alan.’
‘Did you catch him?’
‘Long story, but yeah. But I don’t want to be all Machievellian about this. I don’t want my stupidity to cost you, Rob. I feel so bad.’
He pushed away from her. ‘Look, that shit with Alan, dangling Bella in front—’
‘But I didn’t dangle her.’
‘No, I’m saying that he did. I never expected it and this is as much on me as it is on you. You’re Jamie’s mum now, just like I’m Bella’s dad. She’s Alan’s flesh and blood, but she’s our daughter and we’re raising her together. She’s got a brother, a mum and a dad. Okay?’
God, he was right. And Christ, she really didn’t deserve him. ‘Okay.’
‘Okay? I was hoping for more than that.’
‘Well, after the day I’ve had, “okay” feels like “pure dead brilliant”.’ She leaned in for a kiss. ‘So, given the kids are away, how about an early night?’
EPILOGUE
Alan checked through the last paragraph again. He knew not many readers would get that far through it, but the ones who did would be important. A story like this had national attention and, boy, having someone from the Guardian or the Times read it, even a colleague in the London Post, well. That would open doors.
It was perfect, even if he did say so himself.
He pulled off the headphones and rested them on the cradle next to his keyboard, the carved wooden head-shape that held them when he wasn’t using them. He stretched out his neck as the newsroom’s noise swelled up around him. The TV in the corner played some news from America, inside a courtroom somewhere. Alan nudged Rich next to him. ‘Pub?’
Rich sat back. Skinny bastard had that haunted look that ladies loved, that made them just want to mother him. But he was only interested in the fathers. Wealthy ones. Sugar daddies, but Alan didn’t think there was any cash passing hands. ‘You finished it?’
‘Just giving myself five to make sure it’s ready ready, then yeah. It’s done.’
‘Doug know?’
‘He’s read the first draft. Tore it apart.’
‘I meant, does Doug know how you got it?’
‘Course.’
‘You’re a snide fucker, Al. What did you tell him?’
‘What he needs to know. I got the story. That’s it.’ Alan got out his wallet and pulled out a crisp fifty. ‘Come on, my shout. Might even get some Colombian marching powder, if you’re a good boy.’
Rich rubbed at his nose. ‘Maybe, then.’
‘It’ll be a night of wild celebration.’
‘It’s ten in the morning.’
‘All the better, Rich. All the better. I got the story and, believe it or not, I got the girl too. I’m the hero.’
Rich stopped putting on his coat. Always wore a jacket. The skinny fucker would shiver in the Sahara. ‘I thought that copper didn’t want to have anything to do with you? Wasn’t she trying to get you charged?’
‘Not that girl. No, Richy boy, it turns out I have a daughter. Bella.’ Alan reached over to his machine and clicked Publish. ‘And it might take me a couple of years, but I’m going to make Vicky’s life a misery for keeping me out of Bella’s life.’
AFTERWORD
Hey,
First, thanks for taking the time to read this book. Second, if you bought and enjoyed Vicky’s first outing, then a huge thanks for that and I hope this did justice to the character, the area and that book.
It’s taken me a while to get here, so thanks for your patience. When I wrote the first cut of SNARED, back in April 2014, it was my first novel as a full-time author and I wanted to turn it into a series. Thomas & Mercer published that book in April 2015 and did a fantastic job of getting it in readers’ hands. While I had a deal for a sequel, provisionally entitled FALLEN, the success of the first two Fenchurch books led to a desire for a third, so that got swapped out. By the time of the fourth and fifth, SNARED had gone quite cold, so I bowdlerised some of that idea into the fifth Fenchurch book. Part of that deal was that I got the rights back to SNARED, which I re-edited (heavily) and republished TOOTH & CLAW.
So, a fresh start in June 2018, with an outline for FLESH & BLOOD, including some of the subplots you’ve just read. But then things got out of hand and I had to write other books instead. FINALLY, in March 2020, I had the time to do this justice. Writing against the backdrop of the pandemic was weird, and being able to escape back to July 2018 was actually pretty nice, though I doubt the me of July 2018 could’ve foreseen that.
Anyway, it’s done and I’m going to definitely do a third Vicky book for next summer. If you were paying attention to the second Cullen & Bain book, you might’ve picked up on some strange happenings in Dundee… There’s actually a lot of stuff left from FALLEN that I didn’t steal that will give me a nice leg up. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it when it comes!
Thanks to Kitty for helping with the initial idea, alpha reading and moral support throughout; to James Mackay for the procedural analysis, development editing work and so much more; to Allan Guthrie for fixing the language of this book, and for being the best agent I could hope for; thanks to John Rickards for the fantastic copy editing; to Vicki Goldman for the sterling job proofing it at such short notice; and to the many beta readers, thanks for all your help and support.
Thanks to Colin Scott, you know who you are and what you do for the mental health of me and my friends, though you’re to blame for our livers being worse.
Oh, and to Millie, this book’s for you. You can’t change the past, but I hope you can enjoy the present as much as possible. And the future’s yours.
If you spot any typographical errors, please either report them on your Kindle or email me at [email protected]. Thanks!
Ed James,
Scottish Borders, June 2020
ABOUT ED JAMES
Ed James writes crime-fiction novels, primarily the DI Simon Fenchurch series, set on the gritty streets of East London featuring a detective with little to lose. His Scott Cullen series features a young Edinburgh detective constable investigating crimes from the bottom rung of the career ladder he’s desperate to climb.
Formerly an IT project manager, Ed began writing on planes, trains and automobiles to fill his weekly commute to London. He now writes full-time and lives in the Scottish Borders, with his girlfriend and a menagerie of rescued animals.
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
CRAIG HUNTER SERIES
MISSING
HUNTED
THE BLACK ISLE
DS VICKY DODDS
TOOTH & CLAW
FLESH & BLOOD (July 2020)
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
VICKY DODDS WILL RETURN