Scream, You Die

Caffeine Nights Publishing

SCREAM, YOU DIE

The first DS Scarlett Macey Novel

Michael Fowler

Fiction aimed at the heart

                         and the head...

Published by Caffeine Nights Publishing 2015

Copyright © Michael Fowler 2015

Michael Fowler has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998 to be identified as the author of this work.

CONDITIONS OF SALE

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, scanning, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

This book has been sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Published in Great Britain by

Caffeine Nights Publishing

4 Eton Close

Walderslade

Chatham

Kent

ME5 9AT

www.caffeine-nights.com

www.caffeinenightsbooks.com

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN: 978-1-910720-0
5-9
4-2

Cover design by

Mark (Wills) Williams

Everything else by

Default, Luck and Accident

Michael Fowler was born and brought up in the Dearne Valley area of Yorkshire where he still lives with his wife and two sons.

At the age of 16 he left school with the ambition of going to art college, but his parents’ financial circumstances meant he had to find work and so joined the police.

He has never regretted that decision, serving as a police officer for thirty-two years, both in uniform and in plain clothes, working in CID, and undercover in Vice Squad and Drug Squad, retiring as an Inspector in charge of a busy CID in 2006.

Since leaving the police he has written and painted professionally. As an artist he has numerous artistic accolades to his name, and currently, his work can be found in the galleries of Spencer Coleman Fine Arts at Lincoln and Stamford. As a writer he is the author of the DS Hunter Kerr series and the DS Scarlett Macey series. He has also written a true crime novel.

He is a member of the Crime Writers Association and International Thriller Writers.

Find out more at 
www.mjfowler.co.uk

or follow him on Twitter @MichaelFowler1.

and on facebook

This is for the real Scarlett Macey

Also by Michael Fowler

DS Hunter Kerr series

Heart of the Demon

Cold Death

Secrets of the Dead

Coming, Ready or Not

Black & Blue

(e-book novella)

I am passionate about writing, but like my previous career it requires the support of a team to provide the end result, and to that end I owe thanks to my initial proofreader Sam Swanney, my editor Emma Grundy Haigh, Mark (Wills) Williams for the cover design and Darren Laws, CEO of Caffeine Nights. Without them this would never appear on bookshelves.

Once more I want to thank my good friend Stuart Sosnowski, crime scene investigation supervisor. I continually drag him along to the crime scenes I conjure up for my stories and he always provides me with the evidence for my characters to work with.

I owe a debt of gratitude to Detective Superintendent Lisa Ray, who gave me an insight into her working practices and decision making when a murder enquiry was ongoing.

Many thanks also to my friend Giles, who helped me with much of the scene-setting in and around Richmond upon Thames.

Finally, I also want to thank ex-colleague Nick Kinsella QPM, currently working with the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime, who passed on both his knowledge and information into the cruel and degrading issue of human trafficking in certain parts of the world, and in particular how difficult it is to tackle. And, although this is a piece of fiction, I hope my story highlights the tragedy of what is happening to some of the world’s most vulnerable.

It was almost midnight on Halloween and Scarlett Macey was chasing demons. Tonight though, it wasn’t her usual inner demons she was contending with, but the two masked thugs who twenty seconds ago had steamed into her, bowling her over, and nicked her shoulder bag.

Now she was haring after them, arms and legs pumping in unison, like a sprinter exploding out of the starting blocks. Even in her heavy motorcycle boots, and them getting a good fifty-yard start, she could see that she was beginning to gain ground.

Grabbing a lungful of air she bellowed, “Stop, police!”

Her cry got a reaction. The one wearing the
Scream
mask looked back over his shoulder, losing some of his pace. But it was only momentary. Kicking up his heels he shouldered his accomplice, shot him a sideways glance and split left across the road. The one to the right took a few more runs and ducked into a side street, disappearing from view.

For a second the action threw Scarlett, but only briefly. She still had the guy in the
Scream
mask in her sights – and he was the one running away with her bag. She clawed in more air and drew on her training: as a junior champion at the fifteen hundred metres and a competitive runner at university she knew she had a chance as long he didn’t start scrambling over walls and gardens, though with shop fronts as far as the eye could see there was no chance of that. She upped her pace and zeroed in on her prey.

Seconds later Scarlett caught him glancing over his shoulder again. She was getting closer. She would have loved to see his face behind that mask. On any other occasion she might have broken into a triumphant smile, but her mouth was sucking in and blowing out air almost simultaneously, as she squeezed that little bit more from her ever-tightening chest. It had been a long time since she had sprinted like this and it was telling.

Conscious of her ragged breathing she caught herself and sucked in extra air. The adrenaline was kicking in. She could hear the blood beating inside her ears and her footfalls echoing back. The pace was good – measured, fast.

Another ten seconds you little shit!
When she caught up with him she was going to make damn sure he would regret this.

Then from nowhere a speeding human shape appeared at the corner of her eye. Although the vision was fleeting her brain registered this was her thief’s accomplice who had dodged away at the beginning of the chase. She had no time to react and he smashed into her with the force of a wrecking ball, scuttling her feet from beneath her. She hit the ground hard, hip first, followed quickly by her upper arm and then shoulder. All the air broke out from her lungs and fireworks exploded behind her eyes.

Gasping for air, the flashes and sparks dancing before her soon subsided and a cloudy night sky entered her vision. She became conscious of running footsteps fading out of earshot. From her prostrate position she gazed along the street. Her two attackers were together again, the one in the
Scream
mask jogging backwards and staring back at her, waving her shoulder bag in the air as if it was a trophy. She could hear them both laughing.

The mask’s grimace bore into her and she tried to push herself up but a sharp pain tore from her hip joint, making her wince.

For a second she lay there fighting to catch her breath, her clothing wet through from the puddle she’d fallen into.

Clenching her teeth, she cursed, “Bastards!”

Rolling onto her hands and knees she eased herself up and in a fit of temper and frustration kicked up a spray of water from the wet tarmac.