by Louisa Scarr
He picks up his phone, and sends a text to Steph.
Can I see you? I need to apologise. Properly xx
He knows there are things that he will never tell her. But there is much he should, if they have any hope of being together. He needs to tell her about Georgia, and how she died.
His phone beeps. No. Please, Robin. I need some space.
He reads it, knowing she’s right. He’s a mess. Starting a new relationship now is not a good idea. But one day, perhaps. He holds out that hope. Maybe Steph, maybe not. But maybe someone.
The phone rings on his desk and he answers it.
‘DS Butler? I was told you were on call.’ It’s Control, with a potential new deployment.
‘Absolutely, what do you have?’
Robin takes the details, then looks at Freya. She’s already got her coat on, waiting.
‘Business as usual, Sarge?’ she asks. The old formalities are back, but he knows everything has changed between them. Secrets mean they are no longer colleagues, him and West. Something more. Something undefined.
But for now, there’s a dead body that needs their attention.
He smiles, then plucks the car keys out of her hand. ‘Business as usual,’ he confirms. ‘I’m driving.’
Epilogue
Olivia Cross sits at her make-up table, thinking. Around her women bustle: strippers in various states of undress. Chatter, perfume and the bassline from the club outside fill the air. But Liv doesn’t notice any of it.
She’s sitting, half-dressed, in a bra and ridiculous lace panties, ready to go on stage. She knows it’s busy out there tonight; the potential to earn extra tips has the girls excited, and she should be too. She should be making the most of it, but she can’t concentrate. She can’t stop thinking about him.
She knows Robin won’t come back and see her again, not after what Tommy did to him last time he was here. She watched him punch Robin, watched him fall, and part of her felt the satisfaction. She felt the power of the pain she could inflict. And she enjoyed the lap dance: being close to him, seeing his breath quicken, his face flush. Knowing she had got to him, that he wanted her.
But she ruined it. Amy ruined it.
She isn’t sad her sister is dead. Far from it. Amy was nuts. Her sister always had the air of respectability – the good job, the nice husband, the big house – while she was the black sheep. She was the alcoholic, the stripper, the hooker. But even now Amy is dead, the insanity still haunts her.
Liv holds the black memory stick in her hand. Amy had given it to her the day she died. ‘For safekeeping,’ Amy had said.
But that night Liv fired up her laptop and plugged the memory stick in the side.
There was one file. A grainy black and white video – looked like a shop. A petrol station, she realised after a moment. Two people on the far side, talking to each other. Liv instantly recognised the older man, Trevor Stevens, from her AA group, and then…
Robin.
Liv didn’t know what it meant. Not fully. She read the newspaper articles about Trevor’s death, looking for something that would say for definite what Amy had found. But she knew that Robin being there couldn’t be good.
‘Livvy?’ One of the strippers calls to her from the doorway. ‘You’re up.’
Things need to change, she thinks. She looks down at her bare stomach, and gently runs her hand across her smooth skin. Toned, flat, perfect. But not for long. She knows that soon the baby will grow and people will notice. There’ll be no way she’ll be able to do this job when that happens.
It was unplanned, of course, but not unwelcome. Already Liv feels the attachment to the tiny person inside. She’ll do anything to protect it, anything to keep it safe. And she knows that keeping Amy away was part of that.
She went back to Amy’s house that night. She rang the doorbell and received no answer, but the lights were on – she knew her sister was inside. And they needed to talk about this video. What did it mean? What was Amy planning on doing with it?
She let herself into the house with the spare key, calling her sister’s name as she shut the front door behind her. The house seemed normal. Clean, stinking of bleach, perfect Amy to the last. Then, in the doorway to the kitchen, Olivia stopped. Her sister was lying on the tiled kitchen floor, her body collapsed into an unnatural position, a halo of blood growing around her head.
Liv’s first thought was to call 999, and she even took her phone out of her bag. But then she paused. She looked at her sister’s face, and all she could feel was disgust. This was the solution. She would be free of her sister, and not only that, but everything Amy owned would go to her. Her next of kin.
She could start a new life with her baby. One with security, and space to carve out a new career. Why should Amy have the perfect life? After everything Olivia had been through, why should her sister have everything?
So she stopped. And waited. Her sister half opened her eyes. Amy blinked, trying to focus on Olivia, but her pupils were wide. She opened her mouth, but only a soft groan came out. Liv could see the head wound, a large gash to the left side of her head, still bleeding, staining her blonde hair dark red. And she watched. Until she was dead.
Then she picked up her mobile and called 999.
The coroner ruled accidental death. Case closed.
Liv looks at the memory stick in her hand, then stands up, carrying it across to her locker. She buries the black USB in among her clothing, in her spare jeans, her old costumes, unseen in the feathers and sequins.
And she goes out to do her show. To gyrate around the pole, to take her clothes off for the jeering men. To allow them to see her body, her tits, her arse, all in exchange for a few quid.
She’ll keep the memory stick. Not for now, but for some day.
Because who knows when it might come in useful.
Who knows when she might want to see Detective Sergeant Robin Butler again.
Acknowledgements
The first thank you must always go to Ed Wilson for making all this possible – and for tolerating the endless nagging and impatience that comes with it. Thank you also to Hélène Butler and everyone else at Johnson & Alcock.
I am incredibly grateful to Louise Cullen at Canelo, for providing the perfect home for Butler and West. I have loved discussing Robin and Freya with you, and working on the vision to bring the both of them to life. Thank you also to Siân Heap, and the rest of the team who worked on this book, including Jenny Page for her eagle-eyed copy edits and Becca Allen for the proof read.
I am forever surprised by how much people will tolerate my bizarre questions, and help me write these books. No more so than Dr Matt Evans, who spends an incredible amount of time correcting my dire attempts at medical terminology. One day, Matt, you will actually read one of my books and the spell will be broken, but until then, thank you.
As always, thank you to PC Dan Roberts and Charlie Roberts, who keep me sane on the school runs and answer my every conceivable ridiculous question about police procedure and being a copper. It’s about time I dedicated a book to you both. Thank you to Sergeant Jon Bates for his incredible insights, and Steph Fox, my favourite real-life CSI. To Laura Stevenson, Susan Scarr, AR (you know who you are) – thank you. All mistakes, deliberate or otherwise, are mine.
Thank you to my brother-in-law, Jonathan Scarr, for letting me use his name, despite how poor old Jonathan Miller ended up.
And finally, to my family. To Chris and Ben, to my mum and dad, to Tom and Mel. I love you, and I couldn’t do this without you.
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About the Author
Louisa Scarr studied Psychology at the University of Southampton and has lived in
and around the city ever since. She works as a freelance copywriter and editor, and when she’s not writing, she can be found pounding the streets in running shoes or swimming in muddy lakes.
First published in the United Kingdom in 2021 by Canelo
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
31 Helen Road
Oxford OX2 0DF
United Kingdom
Copyright © Louisa Scarr, 2021
The moral right of Louisa Scarr to be identified as the creator 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 or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Ebook ISBN 9781800323452
Print ISBN 9781800323469
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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