by Graham Smith
Something clicked inside Beth’s head when she remembered what they’d learned about the artist’s personality.
‘Did Fiona McGhie remind you of your mother? Did she turn her venom on you? That’s what started all this, wasn’t it? Fiona was like Francesca: an older woman who thought nothing of telling you what she thought of you. Fiona became Francesca and you couldn’t let that happen. Could you?’
Eversham was back on his feet in a flash. ‘She was my mother. I loved her, but she hated me. Blamed me for everything. She was a dragon, but she was still my mother.’ Tears formed in his eyes as his hands flapped as if swatting a fly. ‘Nothing I ever did was good enough for her. Nothing. Not one bloody award, achievement or exam that I passed at school made her proud of me. Nothing.’ His tone went from distressed to vehement in a heartbeat. ‘I showed her. I showed the bitch. I made my dragons. They were better than her. You and Sarah would have been the most darling dragons ever. I showed her. I did it; I fucking well showed her.’
Eversham slumped back into his chair and stared at the ceiling.
‘Do you admit that you killed Fiona, Rachel, Angus, Nick and Caitlin? That you were going to kill me and Sarah?’
The nod Eversham gave was picked up by all three women. O’Dowd smiled, Ms Jones sighed and Beth turned her head to the recording device.
‘For the benefit of the tape, Mr Lawrence Eversham has just nodded in answer to my last question.’
‘I’d like some time to speak with my client alone now,’ said the lawyer.
Beth and O’Dowd left the room and assembled in the corridor.
‘You’ve done brilliantly, Beth. Now get yourself off home. I’ll get Thompson to sit in with me for the next session.’
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Two hours later, Beth climbed out of a soothing bath and dressed herself in a pair of jeans and a flouncy top. She’d felt a bit weird at first, alone in the house where she’d been abducted, but she’d double-checked every door and window lock and, to reassure herself, kept her pepper spray and collapsible baton within reach at all times.
When she’d dried her hair, she lifted a scrunchie that matched the teal of her top and made sure that every strand of her hair was pulled into a ponytail.
The face staring back at her from the mirror had a swollen nose, the beginnings of a black eye and cuts to both her top and bottom lips. The one part of her face that had escaped being swollen or scraped by Lawrence Eversham’s fists was the scar on her left cheek.
This was the point in her getting-ready routine where she’d reach for the foundation and concealer. Not to hide her scar, nothing but a mask could do that, but to lessen its visual impact by dulling the sheen of the scar tissue and smoothing out the rougher edges.
Both items were left untouched as she gazed at herself momentarily and turned to pull on a pair of knee-length boots.
When she strode with a spring in her step into the King’s Arms ten minutes later, she spotted her friends and went to join them with the sense that a killer was behind bars.
But even so, in this happy moment, her eyes were always scanning the crowd. She was looking for someone. And she wouldn’t stop. Not until she saw the man with kisses tattooed onto the side of his neck, and brought him to justice too.
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A Letter from Graham
I want to say a huge thank you for choosing to read The Silent Dead. If you did enjoy it, and want to keep up-to-date with all my latest releases, just sign up at the following link. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.
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I’ve always had a fascination with derelict buildings, and for me grand country houses that have fallen into disrepair are the top trumps. For years now I’ve wanted to use some in my stories and with The Silent Dead, I finally had an idea that would allow a little self-indulgence.
Of the four places used by Lawrence for his tributes, all are real locations, although I changed the names of three to Lonsdale Castle, Arthuret Hall and Highstead Castle as an authorial embellishment. The given histories of each location are accurate to their original names, and I do hope my descriptions of each site truly reflects their magnificent beauty. Workington Castle is as described and has perhaps the richest history of the four.
As a writer I was excited to embark to spend time with Beth as I feel she’s a fascinating character who allows me to explore certain traits and thinking from a female perspective, an area where I’ve had infinite support and guidance from my wonderful editor, Isobel Akenhead.
It was also refreshing to write about a character in the early stages of their career, and I know that Beth’s determination to see justice served will drive both character and author to new heights.
I hope that as a reader, you’ll join me for more adventures with Beth Young as this is only the beginning…
I hope you loved The Silent Dead and if you did I would be very grateful if you could write a review. I’d love to hear what you think, and it makes such a difference helping new readers to discover one of my books for the first time.
I love hearing from my readers – you can get in touch on my Facebook page, through Twitter, Goodreads or my website.
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Thanks,
Graham
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www.grahamsmithauthor.com
Acknowledgements
Apologies if I go all Oscar acceptance speech here. While writing a book can be a solitary thing to do, there are a lot of people who help and support in myriad ways.
First thanks go, as always, to my family and friends for their continued support of me and my writing.
Next up is Isobel Akenhead, who, as my editor, has shown incredible belief in me and has massively improved not just this book but my writing in general with her insightful observations and perceptive suggestions. Before embarking on writing this story I had a lengthy conversation with Peta Nightingale where I outlined my idea and every snippet of advice she gave me that day shaped the foundations of the story which became The Silent Dead. Being honest, there isn’t one member of the Bookouture team, from publishers to authors, who hasn’t supported me, but two in particular deserve a mention. With their publicity and marketing skills, Kim and Noelle work wonders on a daily basis and their hard work is probably the reason that you, the reader, are reading this now.
Dr ‘Becca’ Higgs showed great patience in answering my often gruesome questions about how the various accelerants would ignite when added to the human body, and she kept me from making a lot of stupid errors. Any medical mistakes are purely down to me embellishing the story.
My team of beta readers are the first to read my manuscripts and their advice and notes have improved my stories and helped me polish manuscripts before submitting them. They’re all stars who shine wisdom onto words.
The whole crime-writing community is a hugely supportive network and none more so than the Crime and Publishment gang. Each and every one of them has cajoled, listened and offered advice to me and their peers with a selflessness that belies a true generosity of spirit. The blogging community also deserve a special mention for their tireless work enthusing about my writing and that of a thousand other authors.
Last, but by no means least, I’d like to thank my readers; without you, I’m nothing more than a stenographer for the voices in my head.
Published by Bookouture in 2018
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An imprint of StoryFire Ltd.
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
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www.bookouture.com
Copyright © Graham Smith, 2018
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Graham Smith has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work.
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.
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eBook ISBN: 978-1-78681-625-2
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, 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.