The Ex

Diane Saxon

Description

Sometimes your past just won't let go...

As a heat wave grips the country, DS Jenna Morgan is called to a domestic incident at the home of a young family in Ironbridge.

Pregnant Imelda Cheetham-Epstein has been found unconscious by her husband, Zak with serious head injuries.

When Jenna arrives on the scene, she discovers something even more disturbing – the couple's eleven-month-old son, Joshua, is missing and the race against time begins to find him.

Is this an accident or something more sinister?

Are the two incidents linked?

Or has something in the Cheetham-Epstein's past caught up with them?

Diane Saxon is back with a gripping new psychological crime novel, perfect for fans of Cara Hunter and Carol Wyer.

The fourth installment in the thrilling DS Jenna Morgan series.

Praise for Diane Saxon:

'Crime fiction at its best.' Keri Beevis

'An addictive 5* read that kept me guessing. Diane Saxon's DS Jenna Morgan series is brilliant!' Ross Greenwood'This latest novel leaves you enthralled, it's nail biting, spine tingling & so difficult to put down.'

Sujets

• Policier & Thriller
• Thriller
• Policier
• Vie de famille
• Relations familiales
• Mashups
• Women Sleuths
• Private Investigators
• Amateur Sleuth
• Traditional
• Conflict Resolution
• Alternative Family
• Thrillers
• Friendship
• Dating
• General officer
• General
• Crime
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Boldwood Books
• Date de parution: 02 mars 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 2
• EAN13: 9781838892739
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Ex


Diane Saxon
To my mum, Margaret Ann Saxon, without whom the art of exaggeration may well never have been gifted to me.
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

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46


Acknowledgments

More from Diane Saxon

About the Author

About Boldwood Books
1
Saturday 10 July 23:25 hrs

Emily Shenton punched open the door to the deserted ladies’ room with the heel of her hand and stormed inside before it rebounded off the wall and slammed shut behind her.
The emptiness inside still failed to block out the rhythmic thud of music and only dimmed the laughter and conversation of over eighty people at the company’s summer ball.
She hated them. Every single one of them. The gossipmongers who couldn’t wait to spread their vileness under the guise of good wishes and happy vibes. When they knew. They all knew.
Temper spilled from her. A foetid pus spreading from the core of her in a boiling, seething mass.
She tipped her head back and drank straight from the full bottle of rosé she’d swiped from a deserted table on her way past. No one would notice, no one would care. She’d no idea why the company insisted on paying for so much wine – red, white and rosé – when most of the men wanted beer, for God’s sake. The women preferred red or Prosecco and the rosé was left for the waiters to sweep away at the end of the night. Lucky bloody waiters.
She stepped into the oversized disabled cubicle and balled up the skirt of her black gown with one hand as she slapped her back against the chill of the wall and slid down until her backside met the floor. Sweat slicked the back of her knees as she pressed them flat to the floor tiles to absorb every bit of coolness. Heat pulsed through her chest and up her neck as she tore into the fine organza material of the overskirt, ripping weak nails until they were jagged. Tears burnt the back of her eyes as she ground her teeth and took another slug of wine.
She wished she’d never come. Wished she’d never overheard it. That’s why she avoided these functions like the plague. She hated the gossip, preferred to keep to herself and block out the voices. But she’d felt good. Strong.
So strong, she’d decided not to take her medication.
Again.
Tears filled her eyes and washed over her vision.
It wasn’t lack of medication that had her temper surging. It was the damned infernal gossip.
Bastards!
Why couldn’t they keep their mouths shut?
They had to know she’d been stood on the edge of the circle when Chris Whittington raised his glass and hee-hawed like the ass he was as he brayed his drunken words. ‘Here’s to Zak Cheetham-Epstein and his new wife, Imelda.’
Nausea clawed the back of her throat.
How was it so many of them knew Zak, had evidently kept in contact?
Zak. The love of her life. The only man she’d truly loved.
There’d been others before him, of course there had, but they’d faded into insignificance in the heat of her adoration for Zak.
The bottle clinked as she placed it on the tiled floor at her side. She covered her face with her hands, a helpless moan slipped from her lips as the familiar hissing sound swirled around her head. ‘For God’s sake!’ She tried to push it back, but it was insistent. The sound of a seashell shushing, filling her mind so she could no longer concentrate. She rolled her head from side to side, her hot, florid face couched in the palms of her sweaty hands.
She’d never forgive him for leaving. Leaving the company.
Leaving her.
But she knew. Knew he still loved her. He had to.
Memories nudged in with cruel disregard and she raised her head to stare through the open door of the cubicle at the row of white porcelain sinks in front of the glare of oversized mirrors.
She’d caught him flirting with the girl in accounts. The skinny emaciated little bitch with too much make-up and those tattooed eyebrows. The girl hadn’t stayed at the firm long, not after it emerged she had a night job as a topless waitress servicing private parties.
It wasn’t difficult to gather information on anyone. Facebook was the go-to stalking site. It was even easier to get that information into the public domain where assumptions were jumped to, judgements made.
Zak had taken umbrage. Said she was unreasonable. She’d lost her mind. Insisted she move out when she’d only just moved in.
He hadn’t meant it, of course. His mother had influenced him. Emily knew the woman didn’t like her. The feeling was mutual.
There was no denying Zak and Emily loved each other. He was her soulmate. Her destiny. Convinced of it, she’d told him enough times.
Begged.
Pleaded.
Even after he announced he’d found a new job and put his notice in, she’d continued to try and persuade him, right up until he left the company, claiming every holiday owed to him instead of taking them in lieu. Almost two years ago. She wanted to give him space back then, but he’d consumed her mind.
She’d checked the HR records under the pension scheme for his new address when he moved out of the flat they’d shared together. Started to set up home together. The one he’d already made her leave. Their little love nest he’d broken apart, with the help of his mother.
Emily had driven past the three-storey Victorian house he’d purchased since he’d left the company. Not something she’d have chosen for their lives together, but confident he’d change his mind, she waited. There would be time enough to persuade him to sell the place. Once they were together again. She just needed to give him some space. Space he needed to realise how much he missed her. How much he loved her.
She gave him the space. Resisted contacting him, but she couldn’t let go altogether.
She couldn’t help driving past his house again, and again. In the hope she’d catch a glimpse of him. So many times, until she made herself sick.
Wanda had made her better. Wanda Stilgoe. Her counsellor. Assigned to her when she had her meltdown a few months after Zak had gone, when the obsession had taken hold and wouldn’t let go. Wanda, the only person who never treated her with disapproval or judgement. But Wanda had been gone for three weeks now and wouldn’t be coming back.
Nor had Emily been assigned another counsellor yet. They were in no hurry, under pressure and short-staffed.
She was better, they said. They believed she was better, so she must be. They spoke once a week to her. Reassured her it wouldn’t be long until they found someone suitable to talk to.
Emily ground her teeth as she dug her fingers deep into her scalp and wrenched at the perfect coiffure of teased curls tumbling from where they’d been piled on top of her head by Teresa at A-Head. She’d spent good money and time on the hairstyle to make certain it looked the very best of casual elegance. Teresa had accomplished that.
With a pained yowl, Emily yanked the pins out and hurled them across the stained floor of the ladies’ room of the top-notch hotel the company had held their summer ball at for the past five years.
No originality or thought around the whole concept of the idea of the ball. A reward. An acknowledgement of the tough work, blood, sweat and tears that went into every day of hard slog. And it was a slog.
She hated her job, she hated the people.
Except for Zak. She loved him with her entire being. But he’d been gone for so long and nothing had been the same since. There was an emptiness in her world. A vacuum of nothingness.
Emily flopped her head down onto her hands and let the anger vibrate from the pit of her stomach until it flowed from her tightened throat in a feral growl. No longer empty but overflowing with fury. A fury she’d not experienced for so long. Not since the medication had flattened everything until she no longer lived, simply existed.
What the hell had happened? Where did it go wrong?
She thought she had it in hand. The whole situation. Convinced to stay away, she’d not driven past his house in more than a year, possibly longer. The days had all merged into a foggy passage of time she’d lost a grip on, no longer cared about while the medication lulled her, and her counsellor reassured her.
Wanda had persuaded her not to check on him. She’d said it would only make Emily sick again. Wanda, her counsellor. Her saviour.
Emily reached for the bottle of wine and took a good healthy swig before she slapped it back down on the floor again. She tipped her head back and let the mouthful of liquid wash the dryness in her throat away as she let out a little moan.
Wanda wasn’t there any more to keep the demons away and now they came crowding back in, elbowing their way into her mind, like they did before Wanda, only louder and more voracious. As though the volume had been turned up.
The tears that threatened washed across her vision and made the over-bright lights in the ladies’ room dance and sway.
It was a lifetime since she’d seen her beautiful black-haired, violet-eyed Welshman. She’d believed he’d be back when he was ready. She’d thought he’d return to her.
Wanda hadn’t been privy to that thought. If she’d known, she’d have tried to persuade Emily otherwise, so Emily had kept it to herself. Nurtured it. Sure if she let him have his time, sow his wild oats, he’d realise how much he missed her and come back. He needed to grow up, be ready to settle down.
Well, he had grown up, he had settled down. Just not with