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A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
www.harpercollins.co.uk
KillerReads
an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain in ebook format by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019
Copyright © Noelle Holten 2019
Cover design by Ellie Game © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Cover photograph © Shutterstock.com
Noelle Holten asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © May 2019 ISBN: 9780008332235
Version: 2020-09-28
To Buster (aka #TheBear) – my sounding board, best friend, soul mate and saviour.
Missing you every-single-day.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Chapter Eighty
Chapter Eighty-One
Chapter Eighty-Two
Chapter Eighty-Three
Chapter Eighty-Four
Chapter Eighty-Five
Chapter Eighty-Six
Chapter Eighty-Seven
Chapter Eighty-Eight
Chapter Eighty-Nine
Chapter Ninety
Chapter Ninety-One
Chapter Ninety-Two
Chapter Ninety-Three
Chapter Ninety-Four
Chapter Ninety-Five
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
A Note From Noelle
Keep Reading…
About the Author
About the Publisher
PROLOGUE
The crash at the bottom of the stairs woke me instantly.
I could see the smallest sliver of light peering underneath the door. The rest of the bedroom was in complete darkness.
I froze.
Should I get up and check on Siobhan? But, I knew if she had woken up, she would tap her fingers on her headboard like she always did, to let us know she was awake.
No tapping.
I didn’t want to move. I couldn’t, I was paralyzed with fear. I had always accepted the verbal abuse that was thrown at me. I could take that. It was the physical abuse that filled me with shame. I couldn’t help but shudder in dread as he stumbled his way up the stairs. I pretended to be asleep, but my heart raced faster with the sound of every footstep. My fear of him weighed me down, suffocated me, and pinned me to the bed.
We had two years of bliss before he proposed to me.
Two years of living normal, happy lives.
What happened?
Six months into the marriage, I realized I’d sealed my fate when I’d said, ‘I do’.
Ten years later, and the regrets were mounting.
Who would have thought that two little words would have given me such a long sentence?
Why me? What did I do to deserve this?
The bedroom door creaked open slowly. That’s what he did. Let me know he was coming, then built on my terror by taking his time to enter the bedroom.
I could hear his breathing as he stood there, his eyes bearing down on me. I tried to keep as still as possible. I wanted to disappear, sink deep down into the depths of the mattress where it was safe.
The foul stench of alcohol filled the room, stinging my eyes, and threatening to choke me.
Oh God! Please let him just ignore me tonight.
The dull thud from the change in his pocket startled me, as his clothing fell piece by piece to the floor.
I can’t take this anymore.
I wanted to shout but couldn’t wake up Siobhan.
He crawled in beside me. Hot, smelly breath burned at my neck, making me cringe. I couldn’t stand him anywhere near me.
In my mind, I was screaming, get away please just leave me the fuck alone! But not a sound escaped my lips.
He put one of his rough, calloused hands under my oversized T-shirt, his fingers icy to the touch. I shivered, not because his hand was cold, but because I knew what would happen if I said no.
He wrapped his arm around my neck, pulled me closer. Tight, uncaring and rough, until he was almost choking me.
‘Please … don’t.’ There was a whimper in my voice.
Sometimes, my weakness made me sick.
‘I want you.’
‘I have to work in the morning, Patrick. Please … don’t.’
He shoved his hand between my legs. Not gentle or loving, but forceful.
Through gritted teeth he snarled, ‘I don’t care. I. Want. You.’
‘Please. Think of Siobhan. You’ll wake her.’
I remember tears flowing down my face like a waterfall. Like they’d never stop. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to think of something else.
Anything else. Anything would be better than this.
I was dead inside, numb to it all, even as I tried to remember the happier times.
When I thought he loved me.
When I loved him.
That night was the first time my husband raped me.
The look in his eyes when he finished and cast me aside told me it wouldn’t be the last.
CHAPTER ONE
With only a few hours left in his shift, Amit was itching for a break. He saw Beacon Park up ahead and, as the moon reflected brightly off the bonnet of his black cab, he pulled up at the kerb and turned off his engine. It was nearly 4 a.m.
He stretched his arms and the twinge in his leg told him he needed to get out before they cramped up. He opened the door and felt the chill in the air. Reaching over to the passenger seat, he grabbed his jacket and stepped out of his car. It was so quiet. Not a person in sight, but as it wasn’t the best area in Markston, he made sure to lock his door before heading to the park entrance.
Amit stood by the gate and debated whether to have a quick walk down the path. The lamps were few and far between, thanks to the bloody council. He pulled the collar of his jacket up to keep his neck warm and started walking. A gust of wind blew a plastic bag in front of him and made him jump. He shook his head, looked over his shoulder. Laughed to himself.
In the distance, he could see something in the middle of the path – a large lump was blocking the way. He took out his mobile phone and searched for the flashlight app. Turning it on, he held the phone in front of him and saw that it was a person, lying flat on their back. Probably some drunk passed out after a few too many. Could be a potential fare if he played his cards right.
‘Hey! Are you OK?’ He waited for a response. Kept waiting. After a minute or so he decided to approach. They may have hit their head when they fell backwards. The clothing indicated that it was probably a man and, as he got closer, he noticed something wet on the ground. He must have been sick. The man’s arms were splayed out beside him, like he was rejoicing in the glory of his drunkenness.
Amit wasn’t prepared for the sight that met his eyes and he could feel the bile rise in his throat. Oh Christ!
The man was not sleeping – though Amit wasn’t sure if he was alive or dead. He shone the flashlight over his chest and couldn’t see it rising. It was then that he spotted the slash across his throat and realized that it wasn’t puke oozing beneath the man’s head – it was blood. He jumped back. Shit. Shit. Shhhhhhhit.
Hands shaking, he ran back along the path. Punched in 999 on his mobile and raised the phone to his ear. Time stood still as he stopped running, heaving in a breath. Heard the phone ring once, twice and finally an answer.
‘Uh … hell … hello? Yes, police p-p-please. I’ve found a body.’
His phone fell from his shaking hands and the contents of his dinner emptied on to the grass.
CHAPTER TWO
Lucy came downstairs and looked at Patrick. He was slumped in the chair with his hand wrapped around a can of lager and – for one appalling moment – Lucy hoped he was dead. She shook the thought from her head in disgust and focused instead on her busy morning. He was supposed to take Siobhan to school. Lucy told him last night that she had an early meeting with one of her offenders. She sighed.
Getting angry at Patrick was a waste of energy – it never achieved anything. With her parents and sister coming to dinner later, Lucy could do without anymore stress. All she wanted was for Patrick to be semi-sober and civil. Not too much to ask, or so she thought.
Seeing Patrick now, Lucy couldn’t explain what had drawn her to him in the first place. She supposed it was the usual things – cheeky smile, piercing eyes, and a charismatic personality. But it was what he was like behind closed doors that scared her. As a probation officer, Lucy knew all the signs – the I’m sorrys, it won’t happen again; I love you so much … the list of excuses was long and never-ending. Despite this, she still found herself unable to leave.
Lucy left the room and walked back upstairs, pushing Siobhan’s bedroom door open. She looked over at the bed and paused.
Social services had placed Siobhan in the care of Patrick, giving Lucy temporary special guardianship. The court battles were expensive and emotionally hard to endure, but Lucy wouldn’t have changed a thing. She loved Siobhan as her own.
Lucy tiptoed inside and shut the door behind her, looking around at the room. The pink walls and plush carpet were Siobhan’s choice, and matched her duvet perfectly. Her eyes fell on a photo of Siobhan’s grandparents, standing outside their house.
Ten-year-old Siobhan still had supervised contact with Becky Parks, her mother. She would spend most weekends at her maternal grandparent’s house, where Becky could go and visit. Lucy was fortunate to have forged a reasonably good relationship with Becky’s parents, Ed and Maria Parks. Although it was initially strained, they seemed to understand why their daughter needed to be kept away from solely raising Siobhan.
Lucy made excuses for herself. Reasons why she stayed, because to believe that she’d allow this to happen to herself was incomprehensible. Taking on Patrick’s daughter played a large part in Lucy staying in the relationship. Siobhan was the result of Patrick’s toxic past with Becky Parks – an alcoholic and pretty vile creature-of-a-woman, whose voice could send a shiver down your spine. But it wasn’t all bad; there were some good days with Patrick, when the house was filled with laughter, and Lucy even felt a little bit of love. She knew that things weren’t perfect, but she had made the decision to stay, so now she just had to deal with it.
Lucy crouched down next to the bed and gently pulled back the covers. ‘Siobhan, wake up, sleepyhead! Daddy is poorly, so I’m taking you to school today, OK?’
Siobhan rustled in her bed. ‘OK.’
Lucy headed back to her own room to get ready for work, knowing Siobhan could get dressed without any fuss. Lucy planned on leaving Patrick a note to remind him about their dinner plans. Picking up her mobile, she texted Sarah Hardy, her friend and colleague at Markston Probation, to let her know she was on her way.
Lucy looked in the mirror and stopped. She nearly cried, something that was becoming a bit of a habit. Once silky, her hair was now a greasy mess – always pulled back in a bun or ponytail. Eyes that previously held a mischievous sparkle, were dull and puffy. Looking herself up and down, she saw an overweight, frumpy woman who chose oversized jumpers and cheap trousers to hide her body and make herself less attractive.
Lucy was finally beginning to realize that she had gradually cocooned herself in a protective shell. Withdrawn from friends, family, and neighbours, she had become someone she no longer recognized – or liked. Although she remained happy and assertive at work, at home – she glanced again in the mirror – she had become this person.
Snapping out of self-pity mode, Lucy knew she needed to get a move on, and Sarah would only cover for so long. Lucy had a supervision session booked for 9:00 a.m. and she hated being late – it didn’t set a good example for those she supervised, especially when she was constantly reminding them they were breaching the conditions of their order or licence if they didn’t show up on time.
After dropping Siobhan off at school, she arrived at the office with twenty minutes to spare. She rushed past Sarah, thanked her, and threw her coat over her chair. She logged into her computer and opened up her emails.
‘Everything OK, Lucy?’
She gave Sarah a thumbs up and hoped she wouldn’t ask anymore questions. She noticed a red-flagged email identifying a ‘Transfer from an Out of Area Probation Office’ waiting for a response. It would have to wait a little longer, because her desk phone buzzed to announce the arrival of her first appointment of the day. Lucy gathered her notes, made her way to the printer, and picked up the warning letter she had just printed off for Robert Millard. Taking a deep breath, she headed for reception.
Robert wasn’t going to be happy today, in fact, his mood may end up being worse than hers.
CHAPTER THREE
DC Maggie Jamieson woke with a start, drenched in sweat. The nightmares had been happening more frequently now, even though she knew Bill Raven was safely behind bars. Bill Raven, also known as The Chopper thanks to the creativity of the news media, was convicted on his confession alone. Three missing women brutally butchered, their body parts strewn across unknown locations in Staffordshire and the surrounding areas. Maggie shuddered and threw back the covers.
After his confession, forensics used luminol in Raven’s flat and had found a huge amount of blood, covering the floor, walls, and bathtub. However, the bleach and other industrial cleaners he’d used had deteriorated the samples so that they couldn’t state, with one hundred per cent accuracy, who it had belonged to, whether it was more than one person or if it was even human. The police had had to go by what Raven had told them during interviews and match his statement to those women reported missing at the time. Fortunately for the police The Chopper was so concerned with infamy that he gave them full disclosure of his gruesome crimes.
Raven’s roommate, Adrian Harrison, was also questioned during the initial investigation. Both men were as odd as each other in Maggie’s opinion but, despite her gut feeling, the evidence had all pointed at Raven and eventually he confessed, leaving Adrian in the clear.
Maggie had learnt recently that Raven had suffered a breakdown following his sentence and was currently on a hospital order until the doctors deemed him fit to return to prison.
She sat up and ran her fingers through her knotted hair. She groaned; it was only 5:30 a.m. and way too early to head in to work. Although she was keen to start her new post with the Domestic Abuse and Homicide Unit – or DAHU – she didn’t want to appear overeager or tire herself out before the day had even begun. Maggie still cringed at the use of the word ‘homicide’. When she had queried it with her boss, DI Abigail Rutherford, she’d been advised that as homicide covers the offences of murder, manslaughter, and infanticide, the Police and Crime Commissioner, or PCC, was keen to use it to describe the newly formed team.
Hearing the patter of tiny feet across the laminate flooring, Maggie looked down to find Scrappy staring up at her. A big meow made her laugh and she picked him up for a cuddle. Now that Scrappy knew she was awake, there was no way his belly was going to let her get another twenty minutes under the covers.
‘OK, cat, let’s go get you some brekkie.’
Maggie put Scrappy down, grabbed the sweatshirt she’d thrown on the floor last night, and pulled it over her head. With Scrappy leading the way, she headed into the kitchen and flicked on the kettle.
‘Coffee first, Scrappy-boy, or I’m going to be grumpier than usual today!’
Once she’d sorted the cat out, Maggie sat down at the breakfast bar and turned on her iPad to browse the news. She had this fear that Bill Raven would try to gain more notoriety with a story and she’d be pulled back into something that she was desperately trying to forget. The case was officially closed based on his confession, but if more bodies were discovered and linked to him, Maggie could find herself back with the Major and Organised Crime Department, or murder team as she preferred to call it. Maggie hated labels – keep things simple was her motto. She let Scrappy out and started to get ready. She had enough struggles of her own to worry about without repeatedly going over Raven’s case in her head. The best thing about starting with a new team was the chance to move forward and leave the past behind.
After a quick shower, Maggie donned her usual black trouser suit and white blouse, opting for her low-heeled court shoes in case the day entailed any physical activity. She looked at herself in the mirror.
‘That’s as good as it gets.’
Not really one for a lot of make-up or accessories when it came to work, Maggie pulled her shoulder-length, auburn hair back into a loose ponytail and straightened her collar.
She grabbed her coat from the hook by the door and headed out.
OK, DAHU – let’s see what you have in store for me.
CHAPTER FOUR
Robert Millard was what was known in the criminal justice arena as a domestic abuse perpetrator. Each agency used a lot of different acronyms, which Lucy found hard to keep track of at the best of times.