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Authors: Helen H. Durrant

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Dead Wrong

BOOK: Dead Wrong
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DEAD WRONG

A gripping detective thriller full of suspense

(DI Calladine & DS Bayliss Book 1)

Helen H. Durrant

 

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Glossary of English Slang for US readers

 

First published 2015

Joffe Books, London

www.joffebooks.com

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. The spelling used is British English except where fidelity to the author’s rendering of accent or dialect supersedes this.

©Helen H. Durrant

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http://www.joffebooks.com/contact/

THERE IS A GLOSSARY OF ENGLISH SLANG IN THE BACK OF THIS BOOK FOR US READERS.

 

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Shocking family secrets come to light when a young woman is murdered

Amy Hill, a nineteen-year-old student, is strangled and her body dumped on open ground in the city. New police partners, D.I. Jim Neal and D.S. Ava Merry are called in to investigate this brutal crime. The last person to see Amy alive was Simon, the son of a family friend, but before he can be properly questioned he disappears.

Detectives Neal and Merry are led on a trail of shocking family secrets and crimes. Can this duo track down the murderer before anyone else dies? Stopping this tragic cycle of violence will put D.S. Merry’s life at risk in a thrilling and heart-stopping finale.

If you like Angela Marsons, Rachel Abbott, Ruth Rendell, or Mark Billingham you will be gripped by this exciting new crime fiction writer.

DEAD SECRET is the first in a new series of detective thrillers featuring D.S. Ava Merry and D.I. Jim Neal. Ava Merry is a young policewoman, recently promoted to detective sergeant. She is a fitness fanatic with a taste for dangerous relationships. Jim Neal is a single dad who juggles his devotion to his job with caring for his son.

Set in the fictional Northern city of Stromford, this detective mystery will have you gripped from start to shocking conclusion.

 

Prologue

The torrent of kids crashed, pushed and clattered their way down the school staircase, and the air was filled with expletives.

“Ian! You stupid bastard!” Gavin Hurst wailed. “You’ll cripple me with those bloody boots.”

Ian Callum Edwards gave his friend a sharp shove as he bent down to rub his lower leg.

“There’s the kid,” he pointed gleefully, ignoring Gavin. “Let’s have him.”

The kid in question had stopped half way up the stairs and was eyeing the pair with trepidation. Gavin Hurst and Ian were bad news, and he was the current object of their bullying attentions.

“Never mind the kid, what about my fucking ankles,” Gavin protested, getting his own back by pushing Ian against the wall.

“Sod your feet; let’s get the kid — have some fun.” Ian glowered back. “For the last hour he’s been sat in that classroom picking his fat nose — almost made me retch, filthy retard!”

David Morpeth clenched his fists together nervously and lumbered down the staircase towards them, his face red from the exertion.

“Too much for you, fat boy?” Gavin Hurst taunted, thrusting his face into the boy’s as he tried to squeeze past. “Where’s your bodyguard today? Finally got tired of molly-coddling you?”

“Leave . . . me . . . alone.” Morpeth’s voice quivered, “Because if you don’t, you’ll be in big trouble.”

“Sounds like fat boy’s trying to scare us,” Ian whooped at Gavin, while his mate blocked David’s way. “Are you scared, Gav? Cos I’m not. I think we should teach this no-mark a lesson in manners — what d’you say?”

David lowered his head and closed his eyes. He was trying to think. His brother, Michael, had told him what to say to these two, but he’d forgotten.

“Like my new boots?” Ian demanded, lifting his knee and practically thrusting it in the boy’s face. “Got ’em cheap. Cheap and
nasty
, that’s my boots.” He aimed a sharp kick at the boy, catching him in the shins.

David Morpeth screeched, shrinking back against the stair-rail.

“Not so brave now, are you, fat boy? Not without big brother to hold your hand.”

Another kick, followed by a couple of slaps around the face.

“Pity we’ve got no more paint; could have done a proper job this time. Kelly’s off, so no one here to clean you up. What do you say, fat boy, want to come to the caretaker’s shed and we’ll look for some? We can colour you a different shade this time — you’d look good in green.” He laughed. “Green and sickly — what d’you say?”

David was shaking. He looked from one face to the other. Did they mean that? Would they really do all that again — cover him in all that awful paint?

“If you don’t leave me alone I’ll tell Sir,” He’d finally remembered the sentence his older brother had rehearsed with him.

But the words didn’t have the expected effect. The pair simply laughed out loud, and then they started to pull at the boy’s clothing, loosening his shirt from the waistband of his pants and tearing at the buttons on his jacket.

“Which
Sir
would that be then? That stupid sod who calls himself the head?” Ian roared, shaking his head. “Bloody shower, the lot of them. Got no balls. Believe me, fat boy, they won’t take us on, and especially not for your sake — loser!”

Ian grabbed hold of the boy’s tie and tried to spin him around. David’s eyes were glued to the floor as he tried to avoid the worst of those heavy boots. He was wheezing and his chest felt heavy. He was starting to get an asthma attack. He needed his inhaler, and quick.

He didn’t have the breath to speak, or to shout, and he felt dizzy. His eyes searched around wildly, looking for help. But there was no one else around. The other kids gave the pair a wide berth. No one wanted to get mixed up in what went on in Ian and Gavin’s version of the world. Better not to look.

Gavin pushed the boy to Ian who spun him again and pushed him back. They were all three perched precariously on a couple of stairs. David Morpeth was clumsy by nature — this could only go on for a few minutes before he fell.

But David took a deep breath and tried to escape. He intended to hurry down the rest of the staircase and out of harm’s way — but Gavin Hurst was too fast for him. He took hold of David’s jacket and threw him towards Ian. But instead of taking hold of the boy, Ian stuck out a booted foot, kicked him in the backside and sent him hurtling down the remainder of the steps.

 

Chapter 1

He was cold, cold to the bone, and there was pain too. Sharp, stabbing pains shot up and down his arm, and yet his fingers were numb; the pain there was all switched off. He turned his head, just a little, and tried to focus his eyes. He had to make this stop — he had to sort out his hand.

He blinked; no way could this be happening. He was standing naked in what looked like a stone cellar. How had he got here? His mind was a blank; he racked his brain, but there was nothing. He was bound to something cold and hard against a stone wall. Pulling hard against whatever was holding him, he tried to yell out. That didn’t work either; his mouth was stuffed with something that tasted foul.

He hung his head, almost resting his chin on his chest for a few seconds. He needed to work this out, but his head was spinning. Perhaps he was dreaming. Perhaps he’d taken some bad gear and was hallucinating? It happened to his best mate often enough. The stupid sod was always off his head, and now it was his turn. That must be it. He inhaled deeply, and turned to look again at the source of the pain. This time it was easier — this time he could see with perfect clarity. This was no dream.

He squinted in disbelief. This was a nightmare. All the fingers of his right hand were gone.

The movement distracted the man in white paper overalls and he looked up. The lad flinched with surprise as they locked eyes. Who was he and where had he come from? Why was he dressed like that and why was he doing this to him? He was stood in the centre of the cellar, and seemed to be reading a newspaper — the local rag? He was turning the pages in quick succession getting progressively angrier each time. Why, what did he expect to see written there?

“There’s nothing,” he shouted. “They’re bloody useless — still no mention of either of you.” He threw the paper to the floor in disgust, watching the greedy newsprint soak up the stale urine that had gathered in a foetid puddle under the young man’s feet. “You know what this means,” he folded his arms? “It means that all this has been for nothing; and it’ll stay that way unless I change tactics.”

The man was a nutter, that was it, and a clever nutter too because it would take someone with unusual talent to corner him. He had to get out — and quick.

“Be still, maggot brain! I need to think,” he barked at the naked, struggling figure. “The press can’t ignore this; I won’t let them,” he assured the lad. “And as for your families,” he scoffed, “incredible as it seems, no one has missed you yet.” He placed his hands on his hips and moved closer to his captive. “Sad eh? Not even that thin-lipped, dyed blonde who calls herself your mother has bothered to come looking.”

Who did this nutter think he was? This wasn’t how folk behaved around him and he was becoming more and more angry. He wanted to roar a reply, to scream at him, to use his fists and beat this bastard into the ground. No one spoke to him like that, they wouldn’t dare. But he couldn’t — he was helpless.

“Surely someone out there must wonder what’s happened to you,” the voice taunted on. “Doesn’t anyone wonder why you’re not lurking in the estate alleyways, dealing dope anymore?

This was stupid — how had he got into this mess? The lad closed his eyes, he needed to think. He tried to reassure himself that it would be okay. But would it? Not if no one knew he was here it wouldn’t.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” his captor told him softly. “You see I’d expected publicity; bags of it. I’d expected the local rag to be asking questions by now? People don’t go missing every day, not even in this godforsaken community. So tell me, where the hell are the headlines, bad boy?”

The gag in his mouth meant he couldn’t say anything so he simply gurgled a frustrated reply and pulled again on the ties.

“I’ve never done this sort of thing before,” his captor confided, moving even closer to the lad. “So I’m bound to make mistakes. As far as killing goes, I’m a rank amateur. What d’you think? I’ll just have to try harder, won’t I?

The pain, the anger and the tirade of words was all too much and he slipped into semi-consciousness again.

“I’d wake up if I were you,” was the words that dragged him back. The man sneered as the lad’s head lolled forwards, “or you’ll miss all the fun.”

Ian was trying to stay conscious. For fuck’s sake, he needed his wits about him, but the pain was excruciating.

“As it is, I’ve had to start without you.”

More of the nutter’s sniggering and he could feel the bastard’s breath on his wounded hand.

“No matter — I haven’t done the other one yet.” And the snigger grew into a demonic chuckle.

The sound cut into the young man’s very soul.

BOOK: Dead Wrong
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