Evil Intent

Jane Isaac

Description

When a series of women’s bodies is discovered in the heart of rural Hamptonshire with a pentagram carved on their chests, DCI Helen Lavery is forced into a cat-and-mouse chase with a murderer who ultimately turns the tables and targets her.

Meanwhile, she is shocked to discover that her younger son’s new best friend is the nephew of organised crime boss Chilli Franks – the man who has held a grudge against Helen’s family since her father first put him away in the 1990s.

As her personal and professional lives collide, Helen finds herself in mortal danger as she races to track down the serial killer and restore safety to the streets of Hampton.

‘Gripping’ Clare Chase

‘Ingenious’ Merilyn Davies

‘Kept me guessing until the end’ Joy Kluver

‘A real adrenaline rush’ Kate Rhodes

‘Compelling’ Sarah Ward

‘Unforgettable’ Louise Beech

Sujets

• Thriller
• Women Sleuths
• Suspense
• Psychological
• Fiction
• Detective
• Crime
• Suspenso
• Asesino en serie
• Shocking
• Page Turner
• TNFRSF10B
• James Oswald
• Gillian Flynn
• Stephen Booth
• Sophie Hannah
• Mark Billingham
• Grit
• Leading lady
• Police procedural
• Crime fiction
• Serial killer
• Psychology
• Detective fiction
• Author
• Killer
• Peter Robinson
• Michael Connelly
• Agatha Christie
• Tueur en série

Informations

• Publié par: Legend Press
• Date de parution: 01 février 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 10
• EAN13: 9781800310117
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

Legend Press Ltd, 51 Gower Street, London, WC1E 6HJ
[e-mail] | www.legendpress.co.uk
Contents Jane Isaac 2022
The right of the above author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data available.
Print ISBN 978-1-80031-0-100
Ebook ISBN 978-1-80031-0-117
Set in Times. Printing managed by Jellyfish Solutions Ltd
Cover Design by Rose Cooper | www.rosecooper.com
All characters, other than those clearly in the public domain, and place names, other than those well-established such as towns and cities, are fictitious and any resemblance is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Jane Isaac studied creative writing with the Writers Bureau and the London School of Journalism. Jane s short stories have appeared in several crime fiction anthologies. Her debut novel, An Unfamiliar Murder , was published in the US in 2012, and was followed by five novels with Legend Press: The Truth Will Out in 2014, Before It s Too Late in 2015, Beneath the Ashes in 2016, The Lies Within in 2017, and A Deathly Silence in 2019.
Jane lives in rural Northamptonshire with her husband, daughter and dog, Bollo.
Visit Jane at
janeisaac.co.uk
or on Twitter
@JaneIsaacAuthor
In memory of the late Helen Sargeant, taken far too soon.
Also to Martin Sargeant - one of the most talented artists I know and a dear friend.
PROLOGUE
Across the dark fields, Shauna runs. Where stones in the soil pick at her stockinged feet and clods of earth conspire to throw her off balance.
Footfalls thud the ground behind her. He doesn t speak, doesn t call out. But she s already seen the hunger in his eyes, the visceral determination.
The tall firs of Blackwell Wood loom in the distance. It s her beacon, her chance for safety. Somewhere to think. Somewhere to hide.
She trips, hears the tear of her dress as she clambers back up and glances over her shoulder. The tunnel of light is blinding. She quickens to a sprint, tears streaking her face, lungs burning. Over the low fence and into the wood. Veering off at a side path, breaking through the bracken.
He s behind her, zigzagging through the undergrowth, his presence signalled by flickers of torchlight bouncing off the tree trunks. But not for long. Shauna knows this wood better than anyone. She grew up near here. Hacked her horse along its bridleways, explored the back paths and gullies with her brother, Tom.
She navigates east towards the river, away from the firs. To the broad-leafed trees with their wide protective branches and dark canopy. Tall, strong. Like Tom. Self-preservation numbing her torn, bleeding feet. Her toe catches a root, her ankle turns. She falls again. Splays her hands to gain purchase, staggers back up. He s so close now she can smell him: stale sweat, the thick nicotine in the folds of his clothes.
A bramble rips at her cheek as she lunges forward.
She needs to make it to the river. There s a recess there where the bank has eroded beneath an old willow; its overhanging branches providing a curtain of cover to a secret haven. She and Tom used it as a den when they were young. That s where Tom would go.
She s crossing the bridge when the beam touches her. She ignores it, scoots down the riverbank. Gnarly roots rip at her palms as she slides into the water, suppressing a gasp. It s icy cold. Shivers skitter through every fibre of her being.
The light weaves through the trees. Frantically, she stays beneath the beam and moves down the river, searching for the willow. It s further down than she remembered, around the bend. She almost gives up when she spots it, sinks into the recess behind, pulls the spindly branches across her front. And waits.
The torchlight fades. The air quietens.
She holds her breath, hardly daring to wonder if she s lost him. Sharp tears prick her eyes.
Seconds turn into minutes. An owl calls to its mate, who responds with a hoot. The wind rustles through the trees. Her shoulders slacken. She pushes her back against the riverbank, desperately trying to stop her teeth chattering. She needs to bide her time. Make sure he s far enough away before she climbs out and finds the path back to the road. Another shiver, stronger. She clamps her jaw shut.
The arm appears from nowhere.
She didn t hear him navigate the bank behind her. Didn t sense his presence nearby, the water smothering the stench of stale nicotine. He reaches through the willow, fingernails snagging at her skin. A hand grabs her hair. Pulling, dragging.
She screams now. Shrill and loud. Arms windmilling, splashing through the water as she struggles for purchase on the riverbed.
Then he s gone. And the water stills.
Heart pounding her chest, her eyes dart in all directions, checking the area. She s about to move off when something is flung around her neck. Instinctively, her hands go to it. A thread. No, a wire. Pulling tighter and tighter. She panics, tries to grab at it, but it s too far embedded. Sinking into the skin. Tightening her throat. Constricting her airway. Her eyes bulge, her tongue fills her mouth.
A bat swoops in front. It s the last thing she sees before the river blurs and descends into darkness.
CHAPTER 1
Acting Detective Superintendent Helen Lavery squeezed through the bodies to reach the bar, supressing a chuckle as she watched a rather sheepish DC Steve Spencer step onto the stage in the corner, raise a microphone to his mouth and sing the opening lines to Livin on a Prayer . Colleagues rushed to the wooden dance floor, pressing themselves into the small area, jigging along to the tune.
A cheer rose from the back of the crowd, followed by a whoop. DC Rosa Dark s petite frame shimmied as she raised a glass to her colleague, her glittery dress swishing around her hips. It was Rosa s engagement party and Helen, sidling in late, found the celebrations already in full swing.
She slid onto a bar stool, ordered a large glass of Merlot and rested her elbow on the bar, her chin on her hand. Spencer was tapping his heel now, bobbing to the beat of the music, buoyed up by the bodies singing along at his feet.
I didn t know he had it in him.
Helen swivelled to face the broad Yorkshire accent and smiled at the bear of a man holding up a half-full pint of Guinness. I don t think he did, she said and laughed. The disco strobe lighting flashed across DS Sean Pemberton s bald scalp. He looked well, the open-necked navy shirt and fitted beige slacks accentuating his recent weight loss.
Perhaps we should introduce a karaoke machine to the team briefing, he said.
Helen gave a wry smile. Is Jenny here?
No, Mrs P s taken a pass.
Ah. Helen gave a backward nod of acknowledgement. Looking around, few of her colleagues had partners in tow. Not surprising really. Police had a habit of talking shop, even when they were supposed to be letting their hair down, celebrating.
How was the dinner? he asked.
Fine. When her mother had suggested a family meal out to celebrate Helen s eldest son, Matthew, finishing his last GCSE exam, she was pretty sure she d imagined them spending an evening in a classy restaurant sipping wine rather than the local pizzeria with its bottomless, refillable soft drinks. But it was Matthew s choice, and everyone seemed to enjoy it in the end. I made the boys night when I took them home, she said. Let them have a half a lager shandy each.
Pemberton snorted. Nothing like a bit of under-age drinking.
A round of applause cut in. Having finished the song, Steve was taking a low bow, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.
Helen scanned the room, past the friends and family, the cops dressed up for a night out. Rosa had moved to the entrance and was chatting to a new arrival. Helen watched her throw her head back and laugh, her engagement ring glittering under the lights as she adjusted the scarf at her neck. The bruises were barely visible now, though Rosa still felt the need to cover them.
The young woman caught Helen s eye and gave an excited wave, excusing herself and rushing over. I wasn t sure if you d make it! she said.
Oh, you know me, Helen said. Anything for a party.
Rosa tittered at the sarcasm in her voice. If only. Helen enjoyed a get-together as much as any of them but usually bailed out before the drunken dancers filled the floor.
Tim, you remember the boss, Rosa said as her fianc arrived at her side.
Helen, Helen corrected.
Sure. He gave a thin smile that didn t reach his eyes and turned back to the stage. The karaoke s going down a storm, he said.
His coolness wasn t surprising. Images of his bride-to-be s bruised and bound frame, teetering on the lip of a roof, flashed into Helen s mind. Helen wasn t to know the danger the young detective would face when she ordered Rosa to make a routine visit on their last case. It was a cop facing an unexpected dangerous situation in the course of duty. Even after assessing all the usual risks, it happened sometimes. Still, Tim felt the need to justify the incident by apportioning blame and he clearly wasn t about to forgive Helen, despite the senior detective saving his fianc e s life.
Auntie Ellen s leaving, he said to Rosa. We need to say goodbye.
R