Hush Hush: From the million-copy bestseller comes the most gripping crime thriller of 2018

THREE

WEDNESDAY – DAY 2

Grace slowed down to catch her breath, and her run became a jog.

The house she was renting was around five miles from Bethesda Police Station, depending on which road you took, in a part of the city called Weston Coyney. Caverswall Avenue was just through a set of busy traffic lights and near to Park Hall Country Park.

The house was a pre-war semi, tucked away at the top of a cul-de-sac. Phil and Becky Armstrong, who lived next door, had been relieved to see her moving in, telling her in much detail about the rowdy family who had been evicted. It explained why it was clean and recently decorated, with a newly fitted kitchen and bathroom. Everything had been trashed before the last tenants had left.

Making sure the sound of the machine couldn’t be heard through the walls of the adjoining house was the first thing Grace had checked with her neighbours. There was nothing worse than the drone and pounding of a treadmill, especially in the early hours of the morning. Luckily, she had space for it at the back of the house in the small conservatory, and the couple told her they couldn’t hear anything. They said they didn’t mind a bit of noise here and there after what they’d had to live with for the past six months.

She glanced at her watch: 5.35 a.m. Today’s date had played heavily on her mind for the past few days. It was surprising she’d got any sleep really. But she had forced herself to read on her Kindle until she’d drifted off.

It was in the early hours that she’d woken up covered in a layer of sweat and sat up in bed. She could feel tears on her face; she hadn’t cried in her sleep for a long time. She’d reached for the pillow on the empty side of the bed and let her tears continue.

The day had hardly begun and yet she was already dreading seeing the date on any paperwork she’d have to complete. September twelfth. Five years to the day that her life had changed forever.

In early 2013 she’d had a healthy husband who loved running with her and playing football every weekend. But shortly after his birthday in July, his weight began to drop a little, and it became difficult for him to shake off any minor bugs. His energy levels plummeted and, after a blood test at the doctor’s, he’d been fast-tracked to the hospital as a matter of urgency.

Five years ago to the day, they had found out he had acute myeloid leukaemia. The consultant had spent an hour with them going through what could be done. It was curable and correctable with chemotherapy, but there was no possible way of knowing whether, even if they cleared it this time, it wouldn’t come back. It had – three times in total – and he’d lost his fight in 2016.

Grace ran faster to stop images pushing themselves to the forefront of her mind. Matt had been thirty-two when he was diagnosed; she had recently turned thirty; and they were both in the prime of their lives. It had been heartbreaking to see her soulmate waste away.

She recalled the night he’d frightened them when he’d started to throw up and all this black stuff had come up, making Grace retch too. She could clearly remember the time he’d punched the wall in anger and then wept in her arms at the injustice of having to leave her behind. The times she’d administered his drugs because he’d been too tired to get out of bed. And that one moment when he had begged her to kill him, to put him out of his misery, would be forever etched on her heart.

She’d never had herself down as a nurse, but that’s what she’d become during his last few months, until he was unable to be cared for at home and was admitted to a local hospice. She hadn’t told anyone, but it had made it better for her. She had someone to watch over him all the time she wasn’t there. She didn’t want to be his carer – she wanted to be his wife.

Now, she hated not having to think for two people any more. Holidays, get-togethers, even the food shopping – when she did any – was all for her. It still took a lot of getting used to. Losing her mum as well, less than twelve months after, had almost taken her over the edge.

After a few more seconds, she switched the speed up on the machine. She pushed herself further and further, faster and faster, until eventually she had no choice but to stop.

In the kitchen, Matt’s smile stared back at her as she grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. She closed the door and ran a finger over his image. The photo had been taken before the disease had made him into a skeleton with no hair. Here he was healthy, eyes shining with no bags underneath them, glowing skin and a ferocious appetite for life. After two years, the memories of him at the height of his debilitation had faded and this was how she remembered him now.

She moved to the kitchen window. It looked like another nice day ahead, clear blue skies and warmer-than-average temperatures. How she wished there weren’t dark clouds hanging over her. You shouldn’t dwell on the past, her mum used to say to her, but it was far easier said than done when the past had taken away a planned future.

Two hours later, showered and energised but still feeling emotional, she closed the door to the side of her that she didn’t want people to see and headed to work.

FOUR

Bethesda Police Station was situated in the street of the same name, at the bottom of the city centre. Before 1910, Stoke-on-Trent was made up of six towns. It became a federated city with a merger in that year, Hanley then becoming the main shopping centre of the Potteries.

Grace had already been told by several disgruntled members of the public that Hanley was not, and never would be, Stoke-on-Trent’s city centre as it was known on signposts. Stoke was the centre, it was where the railway station was situated and where the civic centre had been until recently. But to her, Stoke was a drive-through town with a few roads. It seemed that most of the money and resources were focused on Hanley, which was great for where she was based. Some areas had been pedestrianised, making them feel safer and a pleasure to walk around, perhaps sit in to have a sandwich during a work break. At night, like most cities of its size, it had its problems with the homeless and drunk and disorderly. Violence was often rife at kicking-out times, but for the most part it boasted a good vibe.

Coming back had been quite an eye-opener for her. Of course, she didn’t remember much of the city at the age of twelve, but after working for such a large force as Greater Manchester, policing areas in Stoke was a far easier way to learn of the local goings-on. Even after just a few weeks, Grace already had the lay of the land. And she had the previous detective sergeant, Allie Shenton, at her disposal. The woman was a fount of all knowledge, having already helped her out quite a few times with intel.

Filling her shoes was a big ask. She’d met with Allie the week after starting her position. Allie had recently taken up a new role as Community Inspector, heading up six community neighbourhood teams, one in each region of the city. During the meeting, Allie had told Grace about her work colleagues, some of the people she’d meet on her patch and some of the ones she’d want to avoid.

It had been an easy meet, lots of polite chat, but Grace had been thankful for an insight into what she had let herself in for. She had thought long and hard about returning to Stoke and Allie had made it a little better for her. Secretly, Grace realised that Allie was keeping an eye on what was going on at the station. It must be hard to let go after so long working in the same place. But equally, Grace had begun to look at her as a mentor. Allie hadn’t minded when she’d questioned her further about a number of subjects and people.

Grace’s first month in the role had been a quiet one spent with her team of three detective constables, getting to know the community and feel of the areas and also some of its inhabitants. The team were on the first of three floors of the station, along with several soft interview suites and also an area where civvy staff worked. Back in Manchester, Grace had been in a building that was in desperate need of refurbishment, both inside and out. Its layout had meant that she’d been in a room not even big enough to call a cupboard, with a team of four other officers. Here it was open-plan, with about thirty desks, all new, swanky even – although the kitchen was still a health risk with all the leftover food and dirty dishes lying around.

She smiled her thanks when a mug of coffee was plonked down on her desk, her ‘Wonder Woman’ mug a joke present from Matt just before he’d died. Across from her on the opposite desk, Sam Markham sat down with her own drink and clicked her mouse to wake up her computer. Grace now knew she was thirty-seven, living with her partner, Craig, and her six-year-old daughter, Emily, from a previous marriage. Sam was small in build with dimples in her cheeks and wore her long blonde hair mostly tied up in a ponytail, making her look even more baby-faced. But Allie had told her, ‘Don’t let Sam fool you. She’s more than capable of holding her own when necessary.’

Down the room, she could just about see Nick squashed into his tiny partitioned office. An active man in his mid-fifties, he’d mentioned in small talk as he’d got to know her that his wife, Sharon, was begging him to take early retirement. But he enjoyed his job as detective inspector and wanted to stay working for the force because it kept his mind active. He was six foot three and ran several times a week to keep his middle-age spread at bay.

On her first day, as he’d shown her around the building, Nick had mentioned that the DCI thought it best Grace kept quiet about her connection to the Steele family for now. She had asked why but they had been interrupted when a man had walked past who he wanted to introduce her to. Nick hadn’t picked up the conversation again afterwards. She’d wondered why, reasoned perhaps he had his own motives, which she would find out in time.

Nick’s phone rang, and a rush of adrenaline flowed through Grace as she watched him stand up, beckoning her over quickly before putting it down with a bang.

‘I thought you might want a heads-up. Call’s just come in about a body found at Steele’s Gym,’ Nick told her.

Grace groaned inwardly.

‘Someone’s been attacked with acid and then stabbed in the car park. Josh Parker’s car is there.’

‘Josh Parker?’

‘He’s Eddie Steele’s right-hand man.’

‘Ah.’ Grace watched him leave the room.

When she stayed where she was, Nick turned back to her. ‘Are you coming?’

‘Is that wise, sir?’

‘I don’t know but I can’t see another sergeant spare at the moment.’

Grace tried not to let her expression give away her alarm as she followed behind him. Surely her first possible murder investigation wasn’t going to be on family soil?

FIVE

Grace wiped her sweaty palms discreetly on her trousers as Nick nudged the car up onto the pavement to park outside the crime scene. Situated on Leek Road, two miles from the city centre, Steele’s Gym stood back from the road in a prime position. Once housing a preschool nursery, it was a single-storey building spread on an acre of land, with a car park to its right. According to Sam, the local authority register for business rates stated that Eddie Steele had been renting it since 2006. A large canvas banner hung on the wrought-iron railings at her side. ‘No pain, no gain. All-in monthly passes only £40.’ She doubted that would tempt anyone in today. They’d be more interested in what was going on outside in the car park.

‘Good to go?’ Nick asked her.

Grace looked back, unaware he had been watching her as she stared out of the window. ‘I’m not sure I will ever be ready for this.’

‘Just keep your calm. If they say anything, I’ll handle it accordingly.’

She released her seat belt and got out of the car, joining DC Perry Wright who had parked in front of them. Grace had warmed to Sam but not so much to Perry. He had turned forty the year before; she’d learned he had been married to his wife, Lisa, for thirteen years and recently become a father to Alfie, who was three months old. Just like Nick, his blond hair was shaven close to his head to hide his receding hairline. Allie Shenton said he’d either be nice from the get-go as he was that type of person, or be aloof – not only because he’d known and worked with Allie for such a long time, but because he’d put in for the job of detective sergeant and Grace had beaten him to it.

Even though it was still early in the morning, sweat clung to her back. Despite her anxieties, it was too warm to be wearing the jacket to her trouser suit, but she didn’t feel dressed without it, especially meeting new people. First appearances still counted in her eyes.

Across the main road, a crowd was already gathering in front of a row of terraced properties. As traffic zoomed by, three dogs sat patiently at their owners’ feet, their morning outings either interrupted or lengthened. Two residents stood in their doorways holding mugs, chatting to themselves. Grace could almost hear them saying, ‘Things like this don’t happen on our doorstep.’ It was the one thing she heard all the time, as if no one was allowed to bring ill repute to their part of the neighbourhood.

Her heels clicked on the pavement as she walked in silence with Nick and Perry towards the entrance gates. The crime scene had been cordoned off with police tape; all around them people worked. A police constable stood guarding the scene, writing down the names of people entering, checking IDs and pointing out where to go. There were several uniformed officers taking notes, and she saw one directing the traffic as it struggled to get past the row of police vehicles parked half on and off the kerb.

Ahead of them, she could see a small car with the logo of the local newspaper splashed across its side and wondered what their staff were like to work with. She’d prided herself in getting on well with the local newspaper’s press team in Salford.

She, Nick and Perry each flashed their warrant cards. The crime scene tape was lifted and they dipped underneath it. They popped on white paper suits, latex gloves and covers over their footwear. Even though she was slim and toned, with a six-pack hidden underneath her shirt, the suit always made Grace feel as shapely as a hastily rolled snowman.

She tied back her long dark hair with a covered elastic band and placed a mask around her neck in readiness. Once she had it on, it would hide lips that had almost forgotten how to smile widely, but her eyes would still be seen. Grace knew you could tell so much by looking in people’s eyes. Her own were brown and large, with long lashes that she accentuated with mascara and sculptured eyebrows. They were her best feature – when she was happy. For now, they were skittish, glancing around, trying to take everything in.

As Nick went off to speak to a uniformed officer, Grace took a deep breath, held her head high and walked forward. A white tent had been erected around the spot where the body lay. Forensic officers already in situ were suited and booted too.

‘Do you get a lot of acid attacks in Stoke?’ Grace asked Perry as they walked.

‘Not many at all. I think the last one was some time last year.’

‘And someone from the gym called this in, you say?’

Perry nodded his head in the direction of a man in his early twenties wearing a red tracksuit at the far end of the car park. He was giving details to a police constable, talking energetically and waving his hands.

‘Trent Gibson. He was the first on shift. The gym opens at seven and he found the body in the car park about ten minutes before.’ Perry pointed to a black BMW where another forensic officer was going over it. ‘That’s Parker’s car. Not sure why that wasn’t burnt out to hide evidence. Doesn’t make sense.’

‘Well, it all seems to have been done for show, rather than someone trying to cover it up.’ Grace turned back from checking out Gibson. ‘I know we can’t confirm the body until we have positive ID, but maybe our suspect thought it would prove who our victim was a little quicker?’

They reached the entrance to the tent and, after flicking the mask on, Grace stepped inside. She still put a hand to her mouth, trying to stop her instant gag reflex as her eyes fell on the seared face and hands of their victim. He was wearing gym wear, shorts and a short-sleeved T-shirt due to the weather being unseasonably warm. Splashes of accelerant had burnt holes in the material.

There were several people dotted around the crime scene. A forensic photographer was clicking away next to a man hunched over the body. His stooped position meant Grace couldn’t see his frame, but she guessed him to be tall, perhaps early forties. He pushed up his glasses and smiled at her.

‘Dave Barnett. Senior CSI, as I’m known as now since a nifty title change.’

‘Grace Allendale.’ She smiled back, even though he wouldn’t be able to see it behind her mask. ‘DS.’

‘Yes, I know. Big boots to fill, but nice to meet you.’

‘Do you have an approximate time of death yet?’ Grace stooped down, repulsed but fascinated by the body at the same time. Even in her line of work, it never failed to amaze her what one human being was capable of doing to another.

‘I’d say he died between ten p.m. and midnight last night. His face is a mess, but he has some quite distinctive tattoos on his biceps. He has recent dates and names of two people. Caleb and Mia.’ Dave pointed at the body.

Perry gagged behind his mask and Grace hid a smirk. She already liked Dave Barnett.

‘I’m not certain of cause of death yet, although it won’t be because of the obvious.’ Dave pointed to the body. ‘But with the single stab wound to the chest as well, it looks like someone wanted to make sure he was dead.’

Having left the CSIs to do their job, Grace removed her mask and suit outside the tent. As she did so, she spotted a man waving for their attention. A leather satchel large enough to hold files or a laptop hung over his shoulder.

‘Ah, come and meet Simon. Local press.’ Perry placed the last of his protective gear into an evidence bag. ‘What are you loitering round for?’ he asked once he and Grace drew level with him.

‘I wanted to know if you have anything for me?’ the man responded, running his hand through blond, short, choppy hair as he caught Grace’s eye. Close up, he reminded her of Callum Best, the celebrity. A cheeky-chappy sort who wouldn’t look out of place if he came out with rhyming cockney slang or did a jig around a chimney up on a roof. He was dressed in a short-sleeved shirt with a navy tie that matched the colour of his trousers.

Perry shook his head. ‘Nothing yet.’ He looked at Grace. ‘This is the legendary Simon Cole, senior crime reporter for the Stoke News.’

Simon laughed as he offered his hand to her and she shook it. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

‘Likewise.’

‘Can you confirm it’s Josh Parker?’ he asked, looking at them both in turn.

‘Where did you get that name from?’ Perry narrowed his eyes.

‘It’s the word on da street.’ Simon put on a voice and grinned. ‘Is it true? Can you tell me?’

Grace shook her head.

‘Can you confirm it’s murder then?’ Simon looked at her with pleading eyes.

‘We’re looking into all possibilities at the moment,’ Grace replied.

Perry smirked.

‘So you have nothing for me?’ Simon glanced at Perry.

‘No,’ Perry said. ‘You’ll be the first to know when we do, though.’

Simon sighed. ‘I suppose I’ll go and talk to the public while I wait.’

Grace could see he was reluctant to leave. She guessed his reporter’s nose was twitching, but his manner was warm, in contrast to that of a few of the journalists she’d dealt with over the years.

‘How’s everything going with Natalie?’ Perry asked Simon. ‘Things still bitter?’

‘She’s taking me for every penny.’ Simon rolled his eyes. ‘Which would be annoying if either of us had any decent money.’

‘He got shafted for a younger model,’ Perry explained to Grace.

‘You make me sound like a car,’ Simon protested.

‘She walked all over him,’ Perry added.

‘I know, I know.’ Simon nodded. ‘I can’t help being so nice.’

Grace saw how blue his eyes were as they crinkled up. Sincere too, which she didn’t see very often.

‘I’d best be off to do my job.’ Simon pointed to the residents across the street.

Grace noticed him blushing and gave him a shy smile. She turned to Perry once he’d gone. ‘So, tattoos and the car make me feel confident Josh Parker is our victim, but we won’t be allowed to release this information until we have a confirmed ID. Nick has gone to inform his wife, even though she can’t see the body yet. For now, let’s look at the CCTV footage and …’ Grace stopped talking when she saw he wasn’t listening. His eyes were trained over her shoulder.

A shiver of dread passed through her as she turned her head in the direction Perry was looking. Marching towards them were two men and a woman. The two men she recognised from Spice World the month before.

The woman shared the same hair and skin colouring as Grace. And, like Grace, she had long legs with a slim build.

‘Well, well, well.’ Eddie Steele was the first to speak, removing his sunglasses.

Grace swallowed as she brought herself tall to face her half-brothers and half-sister.

SIX

The situation was surreal. This was never how Grace had intended to meet her family. But then again, she hadn’t expected the first murder case she worked on here in Stoke-on-Trent to be so close to home.

It was hard to speak in such close proximity to them. Although they had never met, Grace wondered if they knew as much about her as she knew about them. Her mum, Martha, had certainly suggested that. She had also told Grace that Eddie was two years older than her, that she was two months younger than Leon and had a half-sister three years younger. Their father, George, had been sleeping with both her mother and theirs at the same time, for a number of years, leading a double life.

Aware they were all looking at her, Grace stepped forward, but still she said nothing.

Eddie turned to Perry. ‘I suppose you’ll be wanting to speak to us?’

Perry nodded. ‘We need to find out your whereabouts last night. General questions for now. This is DS Allendale.’

‘Hello.’ Grace held out her hand to Eddie. His grip was as firm as her own.

‘Leon’ – Eddie pointed to his brother – ‘and Jade’s our sister.’