Fatal Secrets

Anita Waller

Description

Nothing is more important than family . . .

Matt Forrester has followed in his dad’s footsteps, climbing the police ranks to become a DI. But when he receives an urgent call for help, Matt has to rethink his career. His dad has been murdered, and Matt’s not going to let this case go. It doesn’t help that his current boss is sleeping with his ex-wife.

Hermia Forrester didn’t follow her brother into the police force, instead she works in research at the university. But, she’s not going to let that stop her from helping her brother find out what happened to their dad.

But the siblings soon find themselves surrounded by more danger than they ever imagined. Can they both survive this case or will there be more of their family in the morgue?

The thrilling first instalment in the Forrester Detective Agency Mystery series.

Sujets

• Policier & Thriller
• Policier
• Thriller
• Mashups
• Psychological
• Women Sleuths
• Private Investigators
• Hard-Boiled
• Amateur Sleuth
• Siblings
• Disabilities
• World Literature
• Thrillers
• Women
• Adventure (Guyana)
• Suspenso
• Condado de Yorkshire (Reino Unido)
• Inglaterra
• 21st century
• Friendship
• Psychological thriller
• Domestic
• Sibling
• Disability
• Woman
• Psychology
• The Women
• Adventure
• Crime
• Family Life
• England
• Suspense
• Yorkshire
• Noir
• Fiction
• Sheffield

Informations

• Publié par: Boldwood Books
• Date de parution: 08 février 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781804153208
• Langue: English

Extrait

FATAL SECRETS


ANITA WALLER
To my dad, Ernest Havenhand, 1922–1975, who taught me to read and gave me my love of books
If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE , ACT 3 SCENE 1, SHYLOCK
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

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Epilogue


More From Anita Waller

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Anita Waller

The Murder List

About Boldwood Books
PROLOGUE
JANUARY 2013, A LAYBY ON THE A57

DI Dave Forrester’s radio crackled into life.
‘Mondeo pulled into layby just before M1 slip road. Shall we carry on?’ He knew the two occupants of the squad car had been the first to catch sight of the Mondeo, but he didn’t want inexperience causing problems. They were foot soldiers, not CID.
‘Thanks, lads,’ was his swift response. ‘Just drive past him and wait up near the roundabout; we’re one minute away. I’ll pull in behind him in the layby. Keep your eyes open and follow him if he drives off and passes you; we can’t lose this bastard.’
Dave increased his speed, and DS Johnny Keane grabbed onto the door handle. ‘We’ve got him.’ His words were full of the anger they both felt whenever Andy Beardow’s name cropped up – Andy Beardow who had been in hiding since he had killed one of their own by beating her to death. DC Cathy Adams would never be forgotten, any more than Andy Beardow would.
A tip-off that they only half-believed had led them to this stage in the hunt for the man who had killed just for the hell of it, who had never considered the woman he was hitting with a hammer would have a husband and a child at home; a three-year-old girl who cried every night for her mummy to read her a story.
Cathy had spotted him dealing one night while out on patrol and had pulled the car over to arrest him while she waited for back-up. The back-up arrived too late to save her and it had catapulted Andy Beardow to Sheffield’s most wanted in the blink of an eye.
The tip-off earlier that evening had come via an anonymous telephone call. The caller had given details of what car Beardow was driving and as a result of good police surveillance work combined with ANPR, the automatic number plate recognition system, the car had been in their sights as it headed out of Sheffield and either towards the Worksop area or the slip road at Aston for the M1.
Dave Forrester spotted the layby coming up on his left and slowed the car. He didn’t want the Mondeo associating a speeding car with plans to trap him; he needed for it to look normal. He pulled in three car lengths behind the silver car and spoke into his radio. ‘Confirmed sighting of Mondeo. I am behind it in the layby. Grant, how long before you get here?’
The voice of DC Grant Carney crackled into life. ‘Thirty seconds, boss.’
‘Okay.’ His back-up team all heard him say, ‘Let’s go get the bastard, Johnny,’ and an immediate increase in speed happened in the three cars still to arrive on scene.
‘Wait till we’re there, boss,’ was Carney’s taut response.
The two men got out of the car and began to walk towards the Mondeo, both holding Tasers. They had been responsible for the last ten-year incarceration of this man and this time, he was going down for life. Cathy Adams’s death would ensure that.
Johnny headed for the passenger side, Dave Forrester taking the driver’s side. He felt grateful for the lack of street lighting, hoping the darkness would hide their approach. He reached the driver’s door and swiftly tugged on it to open it, but nothing happened.
He peered into the car, shading his eyes to cut out any reflection, and looked across at Johnny.
‘It’s empty…’
The shot was loud and Dave Forrester slid down the door as he slowly collapsed onto the tarmac, the silver car turning red with his blood. Johnny, too, dropped and moved round to the back of the car, intent on reaching his mate. ‘Dave,’ he shouted, ‘you okay?’
There was no response, and he pulled out his phone.



* * *
They saved DI Forrester’s life, but at some cost. Andy Beardow disappeared once again, and only the spectacular skills of surgeons helped Dave Forrester through that first week.
When they said he would never walk again, Dave Forrester had felt overwhelming anger, but slowly he began to accept his life as a Detective Inspector was over; his son would now hopefully be the one to fulfil his hopes and dreams of promotion within South Yorkshire Police, and he had no choice but to retire.
1
NINE YEARS LATER

That Saturday in March 2022, the twelfth to be exact, was memorable for many reasons.
Cambridge United had travelled up the A1 for a League One match against Sheffield Wednesday, and DI Matt Forrester and his sister Hermia had both managed to make use of their season tickets without work interfering to stop them; their seats were adjoining on the Hillsborough Kop, and he hoped it would be an excellent game.
Hillsborough stadium looked magnificent as always, and Matt turned with a smile on his face as he sensed Hermia’s arrival.
‘Hey, sis, cut it a bit fine.’
She gave a slight nod and lowered her seat. ‘Dropped some flowers off at the memorial first.’
He should have known. She brought flowers to every home match she managed to attend. There hadn’t been so many games this year, he realised. More responsibility for both of them at work meant football had to take a back seat; not a good state of affairs, he sometimes thought.
He studied her face for a moment. At twenty-six, she was beautiful, her long blonde hair swept up into a ponytail, held in place by a Sheffield Wednesday scrunchie. The blue of the team colours in her shirt and scarf brought out the vivid blue of her eyes, and the hint of pink on her lips made any man catching sight of her do a double take.
‘Looking tired, sis.’
‘Not just looking it. I am tired. This lot had better play well today, or I might just nod off.’
‘You due a holiday?’
She laughed. ‘What’s a holiday? I don’t work for the police, you know. I don’t get four weeks’ annual paid leave, a pension, a uniform, have people touch their forelocks as I walk by…’
‘Yes, you do get several weeks’ leave. You just don’t take them.’ He grinned. ‘We could book a couple of weeks in Crete or one of the other islands. It’s only you saying you can’t go on holiday, not the university. And nobody touches their forelocks to me, not sure I’d know what to do if they did. Most I get is being called boss when they’re being polite. God knows what they call me when I balls things up.’
‘But I’ve got a team. I can’t just up and leave them to go on a drunken two-week break in the sun with my brother! Oh, look, they’re coming out…’
The entire Kop rose as one and the strains of ‘Hi Ho Sheffield Wednesday’ filled the air.
Smiles automatically appeared on the faces of Matt and Hermia, and after the initial start of game introductions, everyone sat back down, but not for long. An unfortunate own goal provided by the visitors gave Wednesday a one-nil lead, and it was during the uproar around this bonus goal that Matt felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ he growled, and Hermia glanced at him.
‘Problem?’
‘It means Russian oligarchs have taken over the Town Hall if this is the station ringing me. I told them where I was going and that would be the only thing that I would accept as a valid reason for a phone call.’
He looked at the screen before answering. ‘Shit… it’s Dad.’
‘But Dad knows…’
‘Exactly.’ He pressed the green button. ‘Dad?’
‘Need help.’ The voice was weak, nothing like the strident tones usually evident in the older man’s voice. ‘Need…’
And there was silence.
Matt put his phone away and stood, folding his six-foot frame over as he pushed his way past fellow supporters. Hermia followed, hoping he would explain when they were away from the crowds.



* * *
They left Hillsborough in Matt’s car, as it was the first one they reached, and they sped across the city heading for Gleadless, where their father lived and worked. An ex-policeman himself, Dave Forrester now owned the Forrester Investigation Agency, based in a shop he had converted to accommodate his wheelchair.
Hermia rang her father’s phone again, but there was no answer. ‘Had he got something special on? Some job he was worried about?’ she asked, glancing sideways at Matt.
‘Not that I know of. As you know, he’s kind of morphed into dealing with forensic accountancy, and Johnny, being the more mobile of them, deals with the odd case of adultery and missing persons. Dad did say he was extra busy, but he seemed happy enough. And where’s Johnny? He’s always in the office, even if he’s not got much on with his own cases.’
Johnny Keane was their dad’s oldest friend, going back to schooldays, and had hardly left Dave’s side since the accident. Once it became clear Dave would never work again, Johnny put in his papers and retired alongside his friend. He’d been there when Dave had taken the decision to buy the shop with the upstairs living accommodation, and he did any legwork required so that Dave didn’t have to do much other than the clever stuff. Making the final decision to move into Dave’s spare bedroom was a no-brainer, and the friends became inseparable. Again, the thought flashed across Matt’s mind. Where’s Johnny?
Matt manoeuvred smartly around two lorries, and put his foot down. He felt sick at the thought of wha