Death Trap

About the author

Dreda Say Mitchell, who grew up on a housing estate in

east London, is an award-winning novelist, broadcaster,

journalist and freelance education consultant. For more

information and news, visit Dreda’s website:

www.dredasaymitchell.com

Follow Dreda on Twitter: @DredaMitchell

Also by Dreda Say Mitchell:

Running Hot

Killer Tune

Geezer Girls

Gangster Girl

Hit Girls

Vendetta

Snatched (an eNovella)

Death Trap

Dreda Say Mitchell

www.hodder.co.uk

First published in Great Britain in 2015 by

Hodder & Stoughton

An Hachette UK company

Copyright © Dreda Say Mitchell 2015

The right of Dreda Say Mitchell to be identified as the Author of the

Work has been asserted by her in accordance with

the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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.

ISBN 978 1 444 78946 1

Hodder & Stoughton Ltd

Carmelite House

50 Victoria Embankment

London

EC4Y 0DZ

www.hodder.co.uk

To all my readers on Facebook and Twitter who have supported my books and spread the word, a massive thank you for your time and energy.

And to my agent, the amazing Amanda Preston, for all those fruitful brainstorming sessions.

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

thirty-five

thirty-six

thirty-seven

thirty-eight

thirty-nine

forty

forty-one

forty-two

forty-three

forty-four

forty-five

forty-six

forty-seven

forty-eight

forty-nine

fifty

fifty-one

fifty-two

fifty-three

fifty-four

fifty-five

fifty-six

fifty-seven

fifty-eight

fifty-nine

sixty

sixty-one

sixty-two

sixty-three

sixty-four

sixty-five

sixty-six

sixty-seven

sixty-eight

sixty-nine

seventy

seventy-one

seventy-two

seventy-three

seventy-four

Alternative ending

Acknowledgements

Enjoyed Death Trap?

one

Day One

6:40 a.m.

Madam B:
I am going to kill them.

se15:
How???

Madam B:
Machete. No axe to the head. Quick. Bloody.

se15:
Nah gotta be nice n sloooow. Waterboarding. Pure agony.

Madam B:
Hahaha. Should Kung Fu chop ’em up to DEATH.

se15:
Too much body contact. Your fingerprints everywhere
?

Sixteen-year-old Nikki grinned as she stared at her iPad screen, dreaming up different ways to kill her parents. She sat crossed-legged on the bed, tablet in her lap, her trademark fingerless gloves covering her hands. She was on Yakkety-Yak, the latest social networking craze, chatting to user se15. Fantasising about how to take down her parents melted away some of the stress – bought that chill-thrill back into her life. Of course she didn’t really want to kill them, but she was sick to death of them going on and on and on at her all the time like a pair of rabies-ridden dogs just waiting to sink their teeth into her.

You can’t do that, Nicola . . .

You can’t do this, Nicola . . .

And, of course, there was the classic,

We didn’t do that in my day . . .

Nikki rolled her storm-grey eyes as the memory of her mum yelling that one at her – yet again – ricocheted in her mind, before she’d flipped a finger and banged out of the house yesterday evening.

But Nikki didn’t have to worry about moan-fest Mummy at the present; she was safely tucked up in the best spot in town – the cosy bedroom on the top floor of the large house in Surrey: her pod of peace. As soon as she entered the room, her routine was always the same. Shut the door, drop the blinds, pop on the side lamp and then flip up the lid of her iPad to start chit-chatting to people who hid behind images of alter-egos and false names. Her lips pulled into a long, quick smile as she thought of another fantasy deadly deed to dispatch her parents permanently out of this life.

Madam B:
Smother them with that mega size pillow they bought from Ikea . . .

Her fingers stopped moving when the door swung halfway open. A woman in her early twenties leaned her head into the room.

‘Nicola, breakfast is ready,’ she said in a gentle, Polish accent.

Nikki leaned back against the pillows as she answered Ania, the cleaner. ‘It’s too early too eat—’

‘You know they have an urgent appointment this morning,’ Ania smiled. ‘Come on. And don’t forget to take your gloves off.’

Then Ania was gone, but the door was left open.

Ping.

Hearing the sound, Nikki forgot about breakfast and went back to her Yakkety-Yak two-way conversation.

se15:
Thought you wanted something nice n quick. Smothering takes way too looooong.

Nikki’s fingers got ready to answer, but her head hitched up and forwards when she heard a noise from downstairs; like something falling over. Then silence. She shrugged, thinking it couldn’t be anything to worry about and turned her attention back to se15.

Madam B: Maybe I should cut out mum’s tongue . . .

Her head snapped as she heard a crashing sound coming from downstairs.

Pop. Pop.

Her heartbeat kicked into high alert as she froze at the strange sound. Before she could try to figure out what the popping sound might be, two screams ripped through the air accompanied by shouting. Nicola jumped up, her iPad bouncing off her lap and onto the bed. Something was going on downstairs. No one yelled in this house, no one screamed. That’s what she loved about it: the peace and calm, the way it made her feel like she was a person worth loving. Her body shook as quiet settled over the house again. But it didn’t soothe her; something was terribly wrong. But what should she do? Stay here? Go downstairs?

Ping.

Nikki looked over at her iPad on the bed. Grabbed it up. Didn’t look at the screen this time; instead shut the lid. Breathing way too high in her chest she moved towards the partially opened door. Stopped for a few seconds. Then used the fingers poking out of her right glove to ease the door – really slowly – further back. Nikki took a deep breath as she stepped into the small landing.

No one there. Her gaze settled on the corner that would take her to the remainder of the landing that led to the stairs. Her hand tightened around her iPad as she started to move forwards, slowly. Forwards again, and again. She reached the corner, turned, and crashed straight into another person.

Nikki staggered back. Automatically opened her mouth about to scream . . . A hand slammed over her mouth holding the noise back. She stared up into the wild, terrified eyes of Ania.

‘Shhh,’ Ania whispered.

Nicola nodded back. The other woman pulled her hand away. She twisted away from the teenager as she wildly looked around. Her gaze stopped on the doors of the airing cupboard. Quickly she turned back to Nicola and gestured with her hand at the cupboard. The girl stared back in confusion, not understanding what the cleaner wanted her to do. Her heartbeat pounded harder, and harder.

Ania grabbed her arm and hustled her towards the cupboard, which was opposite the room Nikki had previously been in. The double doors of the cupboard were the same height as the doors of the rooms around it, but with open wooden slats in the top half. Ania threw the doors open. The shelves were deep, with towels, bed linen and two duvets folded neatly on them.

‘Get. In,’ Ania shot out again.