The Lost Boy

Rachel Amphlett

Description

Run. Don’t look back. When a young teenager is stabbed to death at a busy fairground, Detective Mark Turpin is assigned the task of finding the boy’s killer. But this was no random murder. Mark knows the victim, and the man who ordered his death. As he sifts through the young victim’s final days, he uncovers a powerful crime syndicate that will do anything to protect its interests. Then tragedy strikes, and suddenly Mark isn’t just trying to solve a murder – he’s fighting for his own survival. The Lost Boy is the third book in a gripping murder mystery series from USA Today bestselling author Rachel Amphlett.

Sujets

• Mystère
• Suspense
• Crime
• Suspenso

Informations

• Publié par: Saxon Publishing
• Date de parution: 11 octobre 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Lost Boy
A Detective Mark Turpin crime thriller


Rachel Amphlett
The Lost Boy © 2021 Rachel Amphlett
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. While the locations in this book are a mixture of real and imagined, the characters are totally fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Contents



Reading Order & Checklist


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

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52


About the Author
Missed a book? Download the FREE Official Reading Order and Checklist to Rachel Amphlett’s books here


Also available in audiobook
Chapter One

Run .
Matthew Arkdale gritted his teeth as his ankle rolled, then stumbled and kept going.
His breath escaped his lips in gasps, the cold October breeze slapping at his ears and cheeks while he ran past a bright yellow security barrier and pushed a middle-aged man out of his way.
He ignored the glare from the security crew loitering at the fringes of the crowd. The man’s loud curse was lost within seconds, drowned amongst a cacophony of shouts from the people lining the street and cluttering the road.
Don’t look back .
There were no vehicles here, no risk of being run over. The whole of the town centre had been closed off for the fair, save for a scant number of diversion routes that snaked around the periphery.
His pace slowed to a fast walk – the pavement was cluttered by parents with pushchairs and toddlers, teenagers walking four abreast in the middle of the street, older people strolling at leisure.
A thumping bass accompanied the roar of a commentator over the heads of the people in front of him, calling them to the more expensive rides, the ones with spiralling metalwork that curled up into the night sky and carried the screams of excited thrill seekers across the town centre.
A prickling sensation crawled between his shoulders and up his spine, settling at the base of his neck. Goosebumps spread across his arms, the fine hairs itching against the long-sleeved sports top he wore under his hooded sweatshirt.
Eyes darting left then right, he threaded his way between a couple with twin boys next to the dodgems, the kids bickering about which coloured car they wanted to ride in, and then ducked into a side street.
A gloom enveloped him, a blanket of grey light that made him blink to counteract the night blindness caused by the bright lights of the rides over his shoulder.
Stumbling into the covered doorway of one of the Regency houses that crowded the narrow road, Matthew leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees, panting. His lungs ached from the effort to stay ahead of his pursuer – a deep pain that wracked his chest and was echoed by the pounding of his heart.
A heaving sigh escaped his lips as he peered towards the throng lining the main street.
He had no idea where he was, where to go, or what to do next.
This wasn’t his town.
He had never seen the man until this morning – but he knew.
Knew now that coincidence had nothing to do with spotting him a second time only moments before his eyes had widened in recognition.
Moments before, Matthew had seen the knife in the man’s hand and fled.
Shaking from hunger, fear, and the damp chill that seeped through his clothing, he held his breath as the man appeared at the apex to the T-junction, one side of his face in shadow, the other a flickering concoction of colour caused by the strobing lights from the funhouse to the left of the street.
Voices, similar in age to his, rang out within the four-storey structure as they navigated sloping floors and rope bridges while calling down to their parents from barriers that prevented them from falling out of the windows carved into the painted frontage.
The man sniffed the air, then moved away out of sight.
A hollowness permeated Matthew’s slight frame as he cowered back into the shadows, fatigued. He blinked to counteract a sudden dizziness that seized his vision, and clenched his teeth as a painful cramp clawed at his stomach.
He cried out at a movement behind the door where he cowered, voices on the other side reaching his ears before the latch turned.
He couldn’t stay here.
Keep moving .
Matthew flipped up the hood of his sweatshirt, pulled it forward until it left his features in shadow, then shoved his hands in his pockets and jogged along the pavement until he was level with the main thoroughfare once more.
The noise assaulted his ears, numbing his senses and creating a disorientation that unnerved him.
A young child, no more than six years old, started bawling beside a stall offering prizes of soft toys, her teary gaze watching as a pink helium-filled balloon, having escaped her grasp, lifted into the air. Her cries of anguish blended with an argument that broke out between four teenagers queuing for the gravity wheel ride, the raised voices making him jump as he passed.
He lowered his chin, ignoring the cat-calls that trailed in his wake as he became the new focus for the teenagers’ disdain, and pushed into the shadows cast by the dimmed lights of a home interiors shop closed up for the night.
Pausing a moment, he craned his neck and peered amongst the crowd but the man who was hunting him was nowhere to be seen.
A cheer rose from another stall, the sound effects from a laser gun game driving him forward with a renewed urgency.
Run.
Hunkered low, his slight frame weaving left and right, he negotiated the busy street and dodged around discarded coffee cups and soft drink cans.
The road widened out into a marketplace, and Matthew turned his attention to the children’s rides that crowded the uneven cobblestones. A long line of people encircled a brightly lit carousel, jostling for space beside a large roundabout with teacups for seats.
He passed by all of it, his thoughts a blur as his fingers wrapped around the small bag in his left pocket. He could feel the hard round pills pushing against the plastic, and swallowed to lose the sour taste in his mouth.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time.
Easy money.
Freedom.
A sense of taking back control of his life.
And now look at him – a fugitive, on the run in a town where he had no friends, and pursued by someone who would kill him, of that he had no doubt.
The entrance to an alleyway caught his eye, a darkened maw that led out of the market square, away from the bright lights and noise.
Matthew shot a glance over his shoulder, saw no-one observing his movements, and ran the final few metres to reach it.
The shadows welcomed him, the neon lights trailing after his silhouette until he outpaced them.
He winced as a stitch tore into his ribs, and slowed to a walking pace, his breathing laboured.
Don’t stop.
A groan escaped his lips as he passed a side door into the café that bordered one side of the alleyway, the sound of a radio playing carrying through the woodwork.
He was so damn tired.
Exhausted.
Scared.
Three large industrial-sized bins lined the wall opposite the doorway and Matthew edged past them, gagging at the stench of rotten food and waste.
The fine hairs on the back of his neck prickled a split second before he heard the voice.
‘Where d’you think you’re running to, Matty?’
He threw himself against the wall behind the last bin and brought his fist to his mouth, holding his breath in a desperate attempt to conceal his whereabouts.
Heavy footsteps approached, the man unhurried.
Run .
I can’t , he thought.
I’m tired.
I want to go home .
Except he couldn’t, could he?
There was no home.
The footsteps drew closer.
He could hear the man breathing, hard.
‘Come out, Matty. There’s nowhere to go. Doesn’t matter if you run. We’ll find you. He’ll find you…’
He could smell him before he saw him – a fetid stink of unwashed clothing, body odour, sweat.
Matthew gagged, then broke cover.
He didn’t stand a chance.
The man reached out, snatched hold of the back of his jacket and jerked him to a standstill.