The Carmarthen Murders

John Nicholl

Description

One missing girl. Five bodies. Time is running out.

When nineteen-year-old university student Emma goes missing, Detective Inspector Gareth Gravel is called in. But what is a simple missing person case soon turns into something much darker as Gravel’s inquiries lead him to the graves of five young women - each of whom looks just like Emma.

With a serial killer on the loose and his latest victim already in his control, can the police find Emma in time? Or will Emma have to save herself?

The Carmarthen Murders is the first book in the dark, edge-of-your-seat Carmarthen Crime thriller series set in the stunning West Wales countryside.

*Previously published as Portraits of the Dead*

Sujets

• Policier & Thriller
• Thriller
• Policier
• Vie de famille
• Soutien psychologique et conseils familiaux
• Mashups
• Psychological
• Private Investigators
• Hard-Boiled
• Traditional
• Thrillers
• Bereavement
• Women
• Suspenso
• Street crime
• Psychological thriller
• Domestic
• Violent crime
• Woman
• Psychology
• Organized crime
• The Women
• Grief
• Crime
• Wales
• Suspense
• Death
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Boldwood Books
• Date de parution: 20 juin 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781804262979
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE CARMARTHEN MURDERS
THE CARMARTHEN CRIME SERIES BOOK 1


JOHN NICHOLL
To Dianne with love
CONTENTS



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


More from John Nicholl

About the Author

About Boldwood Books
1

Emma didn’t know how long he hid in the large Victorian wardrobe to the side of her single bed. She didn’t know how long he peered between the two heavy oak doors, and watched, as she slowly drifted into fitful sleep. She didn’t know what time he pushed the doors open and crept towards her in the darkness of the night. But he did. She knew that he did.
Emma woke with a start, telling herself that the dark silhouette slowly approaching her was the nightmare construct of her subconscious mind. But she froze, statue like, as the inky shadow took on an obvious human form that suddenly gained pace and loomed over her. And then a hand, a large hot clammy hand, pulled the bedclothes over her head, clamped her mouth tight shut and silenced her scream before it materialised.
A myriad unwelcome thoughts invaded her mind as he pinned her head to the pillow and raised his free arm high above his head, before forming his hand into a weapon, and bringing it crashing down, again and again, rendering her unconscious and bleeding.
Emma didn’t know how long she remained senseless, or what he did to her while she slept. She didn’t know what time he lifted her from her bed and carried her down the staircase and out into the Welsh city street. But he did. She knew that he did.



When she first awoke from her enforced slumber, Emma thought, for one glorious but all too fleeting moment, that the events of the previous night were just a nightmare. But the throbbing pain seemingly erupting from every inch of her face and the congealed blood around her nose and mouth brought reality into sharp focus. The bed was too soft, the quilt too heavy, the room too warm, the total absence of light alien to her experience, and terrifying, totally terrifying. She wasn’t in her familiar surroundings. Oh, God, it was real. It was all too real. Where was she? Oh, God, where the hell was she? What to do? Should she shout out? Should she scream? Should she yell for help and continue shouting, louder and louder, until someone responded to her plight? Surely she should call for help. But, no, hold on a second… what if he was there somewhere and hidden by the darkness? What if he was listening and ready to feed on her fear? What if he was poised, ready to attack and silence her as soon as she uttered the slightest sound? Come on, Emma, do something. Don’t just lie still, girl. You have to do something.
She ran her hands over her body and realised that she was naked, as she eased back the quilt, sat upright, and climbed off the bed with both her hands held out in front of her. Keep me safe, God. I’ll be a good girl, a really good girl. Please keep me safe.
Emma felt her heart pounding in her throat as she took her first tentative step forwards in the gloom, then another, then another, willing herself onwards, four steps, five steps, six, until her probing fingers found a wall only seconds later. That’s it, Emma, that’s it, find a switch, you can do it, girl, find a switch. There had to be a light switch somewhere.
She sucked repeated gulps of fetid air deep into her lungs as she ran the palms of both hands over every inch of the wall, in every conceivable direction. But she didn’t find anything of note. Don’t give up, Emma. You’ve got all your life to live. You can do it, girl. Please don’t give up. It was much too soon for that.
She allowed the wall to support her slight nine-and-a-half-stone frame for a second or two, before counting to three inside her head, and forcing herself to move slowly to her right in a sideways motion, all the time keeping contact with the wall. But she found nothing, except for what felt like a large picture frame secured to its surface. Was she in a house? It seemed she was in a house. That had to be a good thing, didn’t it? Surely it was a good thing. Yes, yes, of course it was. If it was a house, there must be doors, there must be windows… there may be neighbours. There was a way out of there. She could feel the warm red blood surging through her veins and arteries. She was alive. There was hope. There was always hope. Keep moving, Emma. Be brave, girl. There just had to be a way out of there.
She transferred her hands to the second wall and moved gradually to her right, one step, two steps, three steps, four, another picture frame, yet another frame, and then… a door. Yes, yes, yes! It had to be a door. Come on, Emma, you can do it, girl. She’d be out of there before she knew it… wouldn’t she?
Adrenalin surged through her bloodstream as her hope of escape leapt and danced in her mind and left her giddy. But her newfound euphoria didn’t last. The surface of the door was cold, not icy cold, but colder than the wall. It was metal. Oh, God, it was metal. What other explanation was there?
Emma reached up and clawed at the metal surface until her painted nails were broken and her fingertips bled. There was no handle, no way of opening it, just a vent or serving hatch at the centre point of the door, at eye level. She slumped to the floor. Oh, God, that wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all.
Suddenly, a bright white light flooded the room and temporarily blinded her, as she lowered her head and hugged her knees to her chest. At first, as she looked up and her sight gradually adjusted to the extreme brightness, the room’s comfortably furnished appearance reassured her in some strange way, as if the bohemian decor somehow introduced a degree of normality to an outlandish situation. But, all too soon, as she slowly swivelled her aching head, taking it all in for the first time, she gasped and spluttered for oxygen. There were no windows, just four walls covered from floor to ceiling with red-and-gold flock wallpaper, adorned with large black-and-white portraits of individual girls of about her age in various states of undress; and a glass door in the rear wall to the side of the bed, through which she could see a white porcelain toilet.
Emma sat upright, shielding her face with one hand, and studied each of the photographs in turn. There were five in total. Five grinning, pouting girls who she observed had an unmistakable air of sadness about them, despite their lipstick smiles. All the girls were white, young and slim and had shoulder-length blonde hair cut in a similar style. Just like her. They all looked just like her.
Emma winced. Where on earth were those girls now? Would hers be the sixth portrait hanging on the wall? Don’t think it, Emma. Just don’t think it and hope for the best.
As she folded her arms in an attempt to mask her nakedness, a sudden electric hum filled the space with sound. Emma slowly raised her head, and saw a wall-mounted video camera located high in one corner of the room, directly opposite the bed. The camera buzzed and swivelled slightly as she moved, focussed on her and only on her. She couldn’t actually see the shadow man of her waking nightmare, but she was certain he was watching her every move.
As she sat there with her mind racing, a disembodied male voice emanated from two speakers fixed in the ceiling at opposite ends of the room, and made her flinch, ‘Welcome to your new home, my lovely. I hope you find the accommodation satisfactory.’
She parted her lips as if to speak, but then closed her mouth when she couldn’t find the words.
‘I will refer to you as Venus Six during your stay. I hope that won’t be too much of an inconvenience.’
She looked up and focussed on the camera, despite the glare of the spotlights. She wanted him to see her as a real person, an individual with a personality, hopes and dreams. A girl with thoughts, feelings and a life to live in that big wide world beyond the room. ‘My name’s Emma, I’m a student at the university. I’m in my second year. I’m studying to be a sci…’
The room was returned to darkness at the flick of an unseen switch, and was instantly filled with the noise of female whimpers that gradually evolved into ear-piercing screams that got louder and louder causing her to clutch at both sides of her head and cover her ears. She lifted herself onto all fours, crawled forwards and threw up against a wall in a corner of the room.
After what seemed like an age, but in reality was no more than two minutes, silence prevailed and the light dazzled her for a second time. ‘Emma is dead and buried, my lovely. She’s gone. She no longer exists. Your name is Venus Six, although I’ll just call you Venus for the sake of convenience. I hope that’s clear enough. It would not be a good idea to displease me again. Others have made the same mistake and paid a heavy price.’
She sat there in silence, not knowing what to do or say. ‘What’s your name, my lovely?’
Emma looked directly at the camera lens and forced a less-than-plausible smile. It seemed sensible to cooperate, sensible to appease him in any way she could. Maybe if he liked her, he wouldn’t hurt her again. Maybe he’d let her go. Maybe if—
‘I’m waiting for an answer. Disappoint me one too many times and the last sound you will hear will be your own screams.’
She swallowed hard as violent images played behind her eyes. ‘Venus, my name’s Venus.’
‘What was that? What did you say? You appeared to be choking on your words. I wouldn’t go giving me any ideas, if I were you. Strangulation isn’t a pleasant way to die. The victim’s eyes bulge and dim as their