Also by Will Shindler

  The Burning Men

  The Killing Choice

  The Hunting Ground

  The Blood Line

  The Cold Case

  Will Shindler

  www.hodder.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain in 2023 by Hodder & Stoughton Limited

  An Hachette UK company

  Copyright © Will Shindler 2023

  The right of Will Shindler to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Cover images © Shutterstock.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

  ebook ISBN 978 1 529 38387 4

  Hodder & Stoughton Limited

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  www.hodder.co.uk

  I sometimes hold it half a sin

  To put in words the grief I feel:

  For words, like Nature, half reveal

  And half conceal the Soul within.

  Alfred Tennyson

  Contents

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  2009

  The air itself felt suffocating. It was half past four in the afternoon and the summer heatwave was showing no signs of mercy. The three of them weren’t rushing. No one was rushing anywhere at the moment. They were in the happy corridor between the end of another school day and an evening full of homework. Billy Rickson resented the very principle of homework. White, eighteen, with a sharp angular face, as far as he was concerned his schooldays were almost over – homework, revision and everything else that came with it was very nearly history. With the end in sight the same old routine felt like an imposition.

  ‘It’s too hot to be outside,’ whined Lee Ellis. They were classmates at the same secondary school in South Croydon. With a shock of styled black hair above cobalt blue eyes and flushed pink cheeks, Lee was a favourite with the school’s female population even if he was already taken.

  Some way up the pavement was his girlfriend Jemma Vickers, a tall young Black teen from the same class who was striding towards the entrance of a small corner shop. She turned round and gave them both a withering glare.

  ‘I’m not buying yours as well if that’s what you’re both thinking,’ she shouted loudly. Lee and Billy exchanged a smile. She’d always been something of a tomboy right from their first days at school – now she was a tomboy with almost fashion-model looks – at least that’s what Billy thought.

  She possessed long dark hair, a finely chiselled face and soulful brown eyes – which right now were regarding them both with mild contempt. He loved her a little bit, which both she and her boyfriend knew. It was a crush he’d struggled with at times, but since Lee and Jemma had got together the previous year there was a general assumption that his feelings had gone away. It wasn’t true of course, but pride kept him from letting them know that. Now that university beckoned, a little bit of him was selfishly hoping that going separate ways might help split the pair up.

  ‘What are we getting?’ said Lee as they caught up with her.

  ‘Beer,’ said Jemma firmly.

  ‘I want cider,’ said Billy.

  She rolled her eyes.

  ‘We’ll get both,’ said Lee and they all grinned.

  A few minutes later they emerged from the shop carrying a four-pack of beer, a two-litre bottle of cider and multiple packets of crisps, which they began stuffing into their school bags. Lee wiped the sweat from his brow.

  ‘Do you know what – I might just go home,’ he said, suddenly tired. ‘Right now, all I want is a cold shower.’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ said Jemma, striding ahead without waiting for a response. She marched on while Lee waited with Billy, as he tried to find space in his sports bag for the beer.

  ‘I just want to get out of this heat,’ panted Lee.

  ‘So do I but why are you in such a rush to go home?’ said Billy as he watched Jemma turn a bend and disappear from view. Why would anyone want to rush away from her? he thought. ‘Come on,’ he continued. ‘It’s not like we haven’t got somewhere to go, is it? And it’ll be cool in there,’ he added conspiratorially.

  Lee knew exactly where he meant. They’d found a disused electrical substation up in the woods near Addington Hills and had made it their own over the summer. A place where all their appetites could be indulged without prying eyes.

  The boys turned the corner and stopped in sudden shock at the sight that greeted them. A white van was parked by the pavement, its back door wide open. Jemma was lying on the ground motionless while a man in a ski mask knelt next to her. Bizarrely, Billy’s first thought wasn’t for his friend – more how anyone could be wearing a covering like that in this heat. The man turned and rose to his feet. Before they could react, he was sprinting straight at them holding something up.

  Billy heard a spray and felt a fine mist surround his face. For a fraction of a second, it was almost welcome – cooling and wet. Then there was pain and the smell of something like chilli pepper. His eyes immediately began streaming and he started to cough violently. With it came terror, the realisation that he was utterly defenceless now. He swung out a hand, but it didn’t connect with anything, and he fell to his knees, furiously rubbing at his eyes.

  All he could see were bright kaleidoscoping colours. He was coughing so hard he thought he might throw up. Something was happening though; he was aware of that even if he couldn’t see it. He could also hear a voice now, calling out. Someone was running towards him, a young woman by the sounds of her. He heard a door slamming, and blurrily he saw the van accelerate away. He tried to speak but all that came out of his mouth was a dry croak.

  Today

  ‘Fucking hell it’s cold,’ said Detective Inspector Alex Finn. Dressed in full running gear, he was bent forwards, hands on his hips, panting hard. Clapham Common was shrouded in early morning darkness, the falling snow visible under the yellow street lamps. He looked up at his companion, who was barely suppressing a smirk. ‘And don’t tell me this is bracing or normal for where you come from,’ he added, balefully. The tall track-suited figure looked over at him pityingly.

  ‘Christ on a bike, don’t coppers have to pass bleep tests or something?’ he said in a dry Glaswegian accent. Murray Saunders might just slowly have become one of Finn’s closest friends. They were of a similar age, both in their late forties, though Murray certainly looked the more battle-hardened of the two. He ran an Alcoholics Anonymous Group close to Cedar House, the station where Finn worked, and possessed an insight into human nature that the policeman had come to value. He was also someone who thoroughly enjoyed poking fun at his rather uptight façade.

  ‘I’m as fit as I’ve ever been, thanks – it’s just too bloody arctic for this today,’ said Finn straightening up.

  ‘Exercise is good for you. Good for your body, good for your brain and good for your soul,’ said Murray more seriously.

  Finn knew what he meant. They’d started this tradition a few weeks before, an early morning run together before work. It was in part a response to a recent loss Finn had suffered. Detective Sergeant Jackie Ojo had died in the line of duty and her death was something Finn felt personally responsible for. She’d been more than just a member of his team; she’d been a good friend too. She’d never let rank get in the way of saying what needed to be said to him and he missed her greatly. It was the second major bereavement he’d been forced to go through in recent times. His wife Karin had died three years earlier and he’d just been emerging from that long dark shadow when he’d been hit by this latest tragedy.

  It had been Murray’s idea to go running together – he thought, correctly, it might help prevent Finn from retreating inside himself again in response to his loss. The two had first met when Finn’s grief had been at its lowest ebb, and the counsellor had helped him find a way through, something the policeman would always be grateful for. However, here, now – in the falling snow at silly o’clock in the morning – all he wanted was a warm shower and a large breakfast. He held out his hands in surrender.

  ‘Seriously – is this doing either of us an y good?’

  Murray smiled.

  ‘It is a little on the fresh side – I’ll give you that,’ he said. ‘Do you fancy grabbing a coffee instead?’

  Finn nodded in relief.

  ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

  They turned and began trudging towards the main drag of shops on the other side of the common. The rush hour traffic was just starting to build on the South Circular and the smell of petrol fumes was drifting over.

  ‘We haven’t talked about Jackie for a while – don’t think I haven’t noticed,’ said Murray casually.

  ‘It’s still a bit raw, mate,’ said Finn.

  ‘I get that – but I also know what you’re like. What you show the world and what you’re feeling aren’t always the same thing are they?’

  ‘I promise if I need to talk, then I’ll be in touch . . . and then I’ll try and get a word in edgeways. That’s usually how it works,’ said Finn. Before he could add any more his smartwatch lit up. He checked the incoming message and his expression turned serious.

  ‘We’ll have to postpone that coffee, I’m afraid. Something’s come up.’

  ‘A dead body I take it?’

  Finn nodded ruefully.

  ‘You know the drill.’

  And then his watch flashed with a second message and this time he stopped still to take in what it was telling him.

  ‘Oh no,’ he murmured.

  A short while later, following the swiftest of showers and shaves, Finn parked up in the snow and looked at his reflection in the car mirror. A gaunt, pale face stared back at him. Carefully moisturised skin and expensive designer glasses projected a sensitive, almost scholarly look. But there were bags under his eyes that spoke of the recent lack of sleep and near-permanent fatigue he was experiencing.

  He took a deep breath, snapped on some nitrile gloves and stepped out into the cold. He was parked in a back street in Tooting, out of the way of the morning rush hour. He felt his foot immediately slide on the icy pavement and slowed down – the gritters had, as usual, stuck only to the main thoroughfares. Ahead he could see the police cordon tape sealing off a road that wound into a tunnel beneath a railway bridge. He knew what he was about to see, who he was about to find and wrapped his coat tightly around him. It was important to park his emotions and keep things dispassionate. He used to be good at that.

  The freezing wind whipped sharply around his cheeks as he flashed his warrant card at the PC manning the cordon and dipped under the tape. He walked down towards the forensic tent, which had been set up on the pavement ahead of the tunnel’s entrance. The forensics operation was only just in the process of beginning. Ahead, he could see the familiar silhouette of DC Sami Dattani talking to the forensic pathologist. Another member of his team at Cedar House, even Sami’s usual boyish demeanour seemed to have altered in the past few months. An easy-going enthusiasm replaced by something quieter and more brooding. The DC looked around, saw Finn approaching and came over to join him.

  ‘Rigor mortis hasn’t set in yet, so it looks like the time of death would have been within the last six hours or so,’ he said.

  Finn checked his watch. It was only just past eight in the morning.

  ‘Likely cause of death?’ he asked.

  ‘You better come and see for yourself,’ replied Dattani. Finn went over to a crate by the cordon’s entrance and helped himself to the necessary forensic apparel and slipped into it. He followed the DC over to the tent’s entrance and peered inside. A Black female who looked to be in her early thirties was lying on the ground face up. Blood had pooled around her head and there was a cut on her face. She seemed to be staring back up at them with an almost glassy disappointment.

  ‘Pathologist thinks there might have been a fight of some sort. There appears to be two sets of footprints in places – it could be a mugging gone wrong in these conditions. A high chance there was a struggle – she slipped and smashed her head on the pavement, though obviously, we’ll have to wait for the post-mortem to firm that up,’ said Dattani.

  ‘Was anything taken?’ asked Finn but Dattani shook his head.

  ‘The attacker might have been too freaked out when he saw her head smash open.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Uniform found her driving licence in her pocket, which they identified her with,’ added Dattani, slightly hesitantly. ‘They said that you knew this woman, guv – when they called to inform you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Finn replied quietly. ‘Her name was Jemma Vickers.’ He almost added something else but then stopped, his gaze not shifting from the body.

  Dattani looked at him uncertainly as if waiting for more.

  ‘She was somebody I let down once, Sami.’ He faltered. ‘Someone else I let down. If the DCI asks, tell him I’ll be with Lee Ellis. He’ll know who he is and why I’ve gone to see him.’

  Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heels and walked back to his car.

  Ten minutes later Finn pulled up in a small street in the hinterland between Croydon and South Norwood. It was mainly a strip of 1930s terraced houses with a newsagent and a pub at one end and, midway down, where Finn was parking up, a small cafe. As he shut the car door behind him, he briefly surveyed the place – it wasn’t your classic greasy spoon.

  Written across the frontage in large navy-blue lettering was the word Randelli’s. Money had clearly been spent and although not exactly spacious it looked clean and pleasant inside. The windows were partially steamed up and he could see a handful of punters enjoying their breakfasts. As he entered, he was hit by the smell of fried bacon and good coffee, and he felt his stomach rumble. In the background, a radio was loudly blasting out Magic FM. The place looked like it had recently been redecorated, all brilliant white brickwork with framed pictures of what looked like the Inter Milan football team on the walls.

  Behind the counter was a muscly, olive-skinned man in his twenties with slick black hair. He greeted Finn with a cheery smile.

  ‘Yes chief – what can I get you?’ he said.

  Finn produced his warrant card and introduced himself.

  ‘I’m here to see Lee Ellis,’ he said, and the man’s face darkened. ‘It’s alright, he’s not in any trouble. Tell him it’s Alex Finn – he knows who I am.’

  The man looked at Finn curiously, then turned and opened a small door that led into the cafe’s kitchen area.

  ‘Lee, there’s some copper here to see you. Says he knows you,’ he shouted. Finn looked around – the rest of the clientele didn’t seem bothered, and the steady chink of cutlery on china continued unabated.

  After a moment, a man Finn hadn’t seen for a long while slowly emerged. He was wearing a white T-shirt and jeans covered by a chef’s apron and had a fully shaven scalp that gave him an almost skeletal appearance. Sharp cobalt blue eyes locked on to Finn straight away but there was no warmth in them. There seemed to be even more tattoos than he remembered from their last encounter. Intricate blue-green designs laced both arms and there was something that resembled a Japanese dragon around his throat. But the marking Finn remembered the most – the spiral of psychedelic colour that grew out of his neck and across one side of his face – was as startling as ever.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he said tonelessly.

  Finn braced himself and looked at him levelly.

  ‘I’m sorry, Lee – it’s about Jemma . . .’ Those laser blue eyes immediately flared at the name. ‘I’m afraid she’s dead – we found her body earlier this morning.’

  Lee stood motionless as he received the news.

  ‘How?’ he rasped.

  ‘We don’t know yet. We’re still investigating the circumstances. Maybe a robbery that went wrong – there were signs of a second person there . . .’

  The younger man’s breathing had become shallow, the pain starting to spread out across his face.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Finn gently.

  Lee didn’t reply but slowly one hand moved as if to scratch the small of his back. When he brought it back around Finn saw a gun was being pointed at him – now it was his turn to be shocked.

 

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