Dark Truths

A.J. Cross

Description

A fresh case lays bare old bones for DI Watt's teamWhen a young woman's body is discovered on a popular jogging trail in Birmingham, Detective Inspector Bernard Watts and his team are plunged into a disturbing murder investigation. Not only has the woman been violently stabbed - her head is missing. When a close examination of the crime scene results in a shocking discovery linking the present murder to a past crime, criminologist Will Traynor is brought in to assist the police. Aware of Traynor's troubled past, Watts is sceptical that Will can contribute anything useful to the investigation. He's about to be proved very wrong . . .

Sujets

• Thriller

Informations

• Publié par: Canongate Books
• Date de parution: 04 février 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781838853952
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Also by A.J. Cross
Kate Hanson Mysteries
Gone in Seconds
Art of Deception
A Little Death
Something Evil Comes
Cold, Cold Heart
Will Traynor Forensic Mysteries
Devil in the Detail

 
 
The paperback edition published in Great Britain, the USA and Canada in 2021 by Black Thorn, an imprint of Canongate Books Ltd, 14 High Street, Edinburgh EH1 1TE
Distributed in the USA by Publishers Group West
and in Canada by Publishers Group Canada
First published in 2019 by Severn House Publishers Ltd,
Eardley House, 4 Uxbridge Street, London W8 7SY
blackthornbooks.com
This digital edition first published in 2021 by Canongate Books
Copyright © A.J. Cross, 2019
The right of A.J. Cross to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available on request from the British Library
ISBN 978 1 83885 394 5 eISBN 978 1 83885 395 2
CONTENTS
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
ONE
Saturday 13 August. Nine p.m.
The sports car turned into the entrance and came to a stop. Its lights went out. The young woman in the passenger seat gazed around. ‘Why here?’
‘Because you said you wanted us to get away, be out of doors, in the dark.’ He glanced down at her, grinning. ‘Why didn’t you change into something less . . . “pure”?’
She pushed open the door. ‘I wanted to keep it on.’
‘And I’ll have you out of it in the next twenty seconds.’ Out of the car, they gazed at each other across its roof.
Her brows rose. ‘ You sound confident.’
He came around the car towards her, a travel rug under one arm. ‘I am.’
Her face glowing, she laughed, started running. He went after her along the black tarmac, followed as she veered from it to the grassy sloping field below them, lost her balance and went down in a pool of pale light. He came to her, put out his hand. She took it, removed her shoes, then watched as he spread the rug on the grass, held out his hands and bowed low from the waist.
‘ Madame said she fancied it al fresco.’
She came to him, took his hands in hers. ‘I want us to be on our own.’ She pointed down the hill. ‘Look. There are some houses down there.’
He reached for her, pulled her gently down, whispered, ‘Let’s give them something to talk about.’
After a few minutes she tensed, sat up.
He touched her bare shoulder. ‘What’s wrong?’
She held up her hand. ‘ Sssshh! Did you hear that?’
‘Hear what?’
‘The voice,’ she whispered. ‘There’s someone here. Up there. People.’
He looked in the direction she was pointing. ‘How do you know it’s people?’ He reached for her. ‘Oh, come on , Lucy—’
‘No.’ She got to her feet, gathering up her skirt. ‘I’m not staying here with some angry, menacing person hanging around.’
‘I didn’t hear anything.’
‘Your ears are full of champagne.’
‘I think it’s the champagne that’s getting to you.’
‘I heard it, Hugo, and I don’t want to be here. Come on.’
He watched her walk carefully up the slope and on to the tarmac. Folding the rug, reaching for her shoes, he followed, quickening his pace, his tone low and teasing. ‘Here I co- ome . Coming to get you . . . in a weirdly menacing way . . .’
Squealing with laughter, she took off in the direction of the car park.
Monday 15 August. Six forty-five a.m.
THE ATHLETIC-LOOKING BLONDE MOVED along the trail, ponytail flipping from side to side, the sun strong on her thumping head. Her date the previous evening had let her drive his car. She’d got it up to seventy, immediately pulling it back to forty as headlights appeared behind them. The car had followed them for a couple of agonizing minutes before pulling around and away. Her date had laughed as she’d given the police car the finger.
Now, she sped along the familiar tarmac, ignoring the headache, revelling in her own fitness, savouring the softness of the white vest against her skin, well worth its hundred-plus price tag. In another eight minutes she reached her usual turnaround spot and headed back, getting the familiar endorphin rush. Runner’s high. Exhilarated, she upped her speed, picking up a distant, steady rhythm some distance behind her. She grinned, increased her speed again. Within seconds the footfalls were gaining on her. She increased her speed some more, flying now. He passed her on a blast of displaced air, causing her to flinch, almost stumble. Regaining her balance, she shouted, ‘Too damn close, moronic idiot !’ The car park was directly ahead. If he was still there when she reached it, she would tell him there was an etiquette to running. She ran on, reached it, chest heaving. It was deserted. She checked her fitness watch, smiled. Despite the moron, she had reduced her time by five whole seconds. She went to her car without a glance for another parked on the opposite side. She took out a water bottle and drank from it, eyes on the heavy tree-cover just ahead. Tensing at a soft movement, she half-turned, felt breath on her cheek, in her hair, thumps to her chest. She sank, still looking at trees, letting go of the day and her life as the soft white vest grew red.
TWO
Monday 15 August. Nine thirty a.m.
Detective Inspector Bernard Watts squirmed on the wooden seat, his shirt sticking to him. He took a fifth glance at his watch in as many minutes, picking up the ping of a phone. Organ music swelled, the sizeable crowd got to its feet and turned. Watts did the same, followed it to the door and out into the hot morning sun. He joined those walking past the floral tributes laid along the edge of the wide path because he couldn’t think of anything else to do. He gazed down at them, stopped at the large wreath bearing the West Midlands police logo, muted comments from fellow officers drifting to him. He looked back at the church. Acting Chief Inspector James Brophy from Thames Valley, in full dress uniform, was emerging. Watts’ thoughts drifted to his own father’s funeral years before. His view of life while he still had some had been straightforward: life was about class. That was class with an a , not an ar. He’d extolled Birmingham’s car industry as the place to work. As well he might, with seven kids to support, even if he hated the mindless work. ‘And people will always want cars, our kid. British cars.’ Even in the mid-seventies, there were signs that his father had got it wrong. In the years that followed, Watts had learned that education was what life was really about. He’d made sure his own daughter knew it. It had got her to Oxford.
He looked up, smiled. Pathologist Connie Chong was coming towards him. ‘Wherever you are, it’s miles away.’
‘True.’
‘Weather like this is enough to remind us that it’s good to be alive.’
‘Too hot for me.’
Her eyes drifted over him. ‘Why aren’t you looking pleased with yourself? Twenty-nine pounds takes a lot of getting rid of.’
He followed her gaze to the church and the large coffin emerging from it. ‘You know I haven’t got a face that does “pleased”.’ They watched Brophy stop to talk to Maurice Gander’s widow. Watts imagined the sentiments being expressed, suspected that Brophy was good at that kind of thing. On a series of soothing nods, Brophy shook Mrs Gander’s hand then headed quickly in their direction.
‘That went well, wouldn’t you say?’
Chong expressed agreement. Watts said nothing, thinking that as funerals go, it had gone. Brophy took his arm and steered him away from the other mourners.
‘This concerns you too, Dr Chong. Police in the south of the city have a situation. An attack on a woman early this morning. I don’t have the details but I’ve agreed for headquarters to assume overall responsibility for the investigation. SOCOs and forensics are already on their way to the scene, plus uniformed officers.’ He looked at Watts. ‘I know there’s four days of your leave still outstanding, Bernard, but I want you on it now, as senior investigative officer. Here.’ Watts took the location details from him. It had been a while since he’d been part of a large, ongoing investigation, let alone running one. For the last five or so years he’d headed the cold case unit at headquarters with just two colleagues. Brophy turned to Chong. ‘You’re also needed as soon as possible’ – his mouth crimped – ‘because of the heat.’ And to Watts, ‘Take PC Judd with you.’
Memory supplied Watts with a hazy picture of a newly qualified constable with spiky blonde hair who looked about fifteen. ‘Judd? She’s just out of training. She’s raw. Knows next to nothing—’
‘And I’ve got six officers already working a murder, another four on beaches hundreds of miles away and Judd needs the investigative experience. She’s now part of this investigation under your guidance. You’ll find her in the squad room.’ Brophy looked at him through heavy-framed glasses. ‘Police Constable Judd doesn’t share your summation, by the way. In her opinion, she’s destined for great things in this force. You can tell me who’s right.’
WATTS WENT DIRECTLY TO the squad room, picking up the tension among the few remaining officers getting ready to leave. She was sitting in a corner, frowning at her phone, thumbs in a frenzy. ‘Judd!’
Her head came up. She sprang to her fee