Stalked By Shadows
Stalked by Shadows
CHRIS COLLETT
Hachette Digital
Table of Contents
Chris Collett
was born in East Anglia and graduated in Liverpool, before moving to Birmingham to teach both children and adults with varying degrees of learning disability. Chris is married with two grown-up children.
She is the author of
The Worm in the Bud
,
Blood of the Innocents
,
Written in Blood
and
Blood Money
, also available from Piatkus.
Also available in the DI Tom Mariner series
:
The Worm in the Bud
Blood of the Innocents
Written in Blood
Blood Money
Stalked by Shadows
CHRIS COLLETT
Hachette Digital
Published by Hachette Digital 2009
Copyright © 2009 by Chris Collett
The moral right of the author has been asserted
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 permission in
writing 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
including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
All characters and events in this publication, other than those
clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance
to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book
is available from the British Library
eISBN : 978 0 7481 1269 2
This ebook produced by JOUVE, FRANCE
Hachette Digital
An imprint of
Little, Brown Book Group
100 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DY
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For Joe and Beth
CHAPTER ONE
PC Ralph Solomon was facing a dilemma. Ten minutes ago he’d picked up a call to go to the home of one Nina Silvero, to check that there was nothing amiss. Apparently a friend of Mrs Silvero, who was aged sixty-one and a widow, had contacted the station concerned that she had not turned up to an appointment for that afternoon. Since then, said friend had been ringing Mrs Silvero’s house continually and been unable to raise anyone. Finally she had contacted the police. There could, as far as Solomon could see, be any number of reasons why Mrs Silvero had not kept that appointment, not least that she had wanted to avoid a woman who was clearly a busybody. Now, in the early evening, after nightfall and in a blustery breeze, Solomon happened to be in the area so had been asked to go and check over the house, and that was what he was doing. The March winds came in gusts, rattling the street lights and rustling the emerging leaves on the horse chestnut tree in the corner of Mrs Silvero’s front garden, all of which reminded Solomon of
The Munsters
. It was a nicer house, though - detached, with a mature garden. Solomon had been brought up on a council estate not two miles away, where his parents still lived, the only African-Caribbean family in their road, and this was the kind of house his mother had aspired to.
As he walked up the drive, across the pool of light cast from the hall, and around to the side of the house, he could see the promising glare that he guessed was from the kitchen. Solomon’s substantial stomach rumbled loudly and he optimistically envisaged a short and apologetic conversation with Mrs Silvero, during which she would confirm his theory about the neurotic friend, and he’d be on his way, back to the station for R&R, a thick bacon sandwich and mug of strong coffee, very soon. After a weekend off it would be nice if his first night back was an uneventful one.
Solomon rang the doorbell and was rewarded by the prolonged and satisfying peal of a bell inside the house. But there was no movement behind the frosted glass. It didn’t mean anything of course. The old dear could have gone out anyway, just not with her over-anxious friend. Crouching down, Solomon could see nothing through the spring-flap letterbox except a long and empty hallway, with its perfectly centred carpet runner, though he thought he spied the corner of a couple of letters immediately below him on the mat. Similarly the lounge, though only partially illuminated by the residual light from the hallway, viewed through the front windows looked perfectly normal, the furniture and ornaments all intact and in place. Solomon walked round to the side of the house, coming to a seven-foot-high wooden side gate that blocked access to the back garden. It was, of course, bolted from the inside; and this was his dilemma.
Solomon had scraped by his medical a couple of months ago and was neither slim nor athletic. Should he take the undisturbed nature of the house as proof positive that all was well with Nina Silvero, or should he try to heave his considerable bulk over the wooden gate?
Lucy Jarrett looked down from the computer screen, picked up her pen and scored a line through the last item on the Post-it note stuck to her diary. It was after six and she’d completed everything on the list she had intended to do this afternoon. Not bad for a Monday. Clicking the mouse, she logged off and closed down the computer. She should have been satisfied with such a productive day. She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of occasions when she had previously cleared her in-tray, and those harked back years to the time when she was newly qualified. But, instead of satisfaction, all she felt was the bubble of anxiety that rose in her stomach like indigestion, because now the only remaining option was to go home.
The sole person left in the office was the contract cleaner, an efficient woman of Eastern European origin who spoke little English, except to say hello and goodnight. And now Lucy must go out into the dark alone. The feeling was disconcerting. For once in her life, she, a grown, mature woman, who had always been so absolutely in control, was afraid. And afraid of what exactly? A feeling; no more, no less. She got her coat on and, calling out goodbye to the cleaner, went down the stairs. The lobby was empty. On impulse she took out her mobile and speed-dialled Will. She had no idea what he’d be up to but -
‘Hey, babe.’
He made her smile instantly. A few months off his fortieth birthday and he still insisted on talking like a fifteen-year-old. Occupational hazard, she supposed. Even he admitted that his was the kind of job that rendered him the eternal teenager. ‘Hi. What are you doing?’ In the background she could hear the thrum of an acoustic guitar over the random clatter of drums.
‘Setting up. We go on pretty soon.’ It was a couple of hours by her reckoning but he was telling her this was a bad time. ‘You OK?’
‘I’m fine.’
Just needed to hear your voice.
‘I’m just leaving work.’
‘It’s late.’
‘What’s new?’
She heard a yell in the background to which Will responded, turning away from the phone.
‘You should go. I’ll talk to you later,’ she said.
‘Sure. It’s all happening here. I’ll call you.’
‘When? What time?’ Lucy knew as soon as she’d said it that it was a mistake.
‘I don’t know.’ His voice had hardened, almost imperceptibly. ‘Does it matter?’
Yes, she wanted to say, it does.
‘Of course not, have a good -’ But he’d already, abruptly, ended the call and now she had no more delaying tactics in her armament. Pocketing the phone, she took a deep calming breath. Pull yourself together, woman. In ten minutes you’ll be home and tonight it may not even happen. She used to be irritated by media commentators who made Birmingham sound like the knife- and gun-crime capital of Britain, but now, after dark, even for her, the city took on a menacing feel.
Cautiously she emerged from the building and quickly crossed the almost empty floodlit car park, buffeted by the gusts of wind that swept across the open space. The few remaining vehicles all seemed empty and there were none that she recognised, but the park was also used by shoppers for the main street and customers for the nearby video store and cashpoint. She couldn’t ever remember seeing the same car twice. Her own car was in the middle of the compound, parked under a light, and fumbling for her car keys Lucy felt suddenly exposed; she’d been so busy on the phone she hadn’t thought to have them ready. Panic began to bubble up inside her. At last she got the door open, threw herself inside and slammed shut the door, locking it again immediately. Her hand trembled as she sought out the ignition, eventually finding it and revving too hard as the engine started. She paused at the car-park entrance, but her rearview mirror showed nothing behind her. Which way to go home; the short way or the best-lit way? Would it make any difference? She’d play it safe and stick to the main roads.
Pulling out, Lucy drove into the side street and up to the traffic lights with the main road, glancing behind as she pulled to a halt. A car had fallen into line behind her and Lucy tried to make out the driver, male or female. She couldn’t. A horn blared, making her jump; the lights had changed. Signalling left, she turned on to the dual carriageway, the car behind her keeping close, but then this was a major road; the main Bristol Road going south out of the city. And, as she accelerated away from the lights, it almost immediately pulled out and overtook her. Going down the hill, the road behind her was clear, in her rearview mirror she could see the trees that lined the route rolling and swaying in the wind. She kept steadily to the speed limit and a couple of cars passed her on the outside, brake lights flaring as they hit the speed camera zone. Lucy began to relax. Then, as she was approaching the footbridge, headlights homed in towards her, hugging her tail unnecessarily closely, and as she signalled and left the main road, heading towards her estate, it did likewise; the same pattern as before. Inside she could just make out the outline of a single occupant. Lucy’s mouth went dry and her heart rate quickened. Only headlights, but driving too close, crowding her, urging on her speed in the narrow winding lane, the headlights dazzling in her mirrors, and nowhere to pull over to let him pass. Fear propelled her even faster, until finally, turning into the estate, she glanced into the rear-view mirror again. The road was completely empty. Relief washed over her. It was going to be all right. And, by the time she pulled into her driveway, she wondered if it was all in her imagination.
Glancing across as she got out of her car, she could just about make out her neighbour at number sixteen, hunched as always over his computer. She waved to him but he didn’t respond, staring instead into space, and she realised that he probably couldn’t see her at this distance, beyond the half-open slatted blinds. Nonetheless, Lucy took some comfort from seeing another familiar presence so close and lightened her step with relief as she walked up to the house. She started as something nearby clattered, and hastily got her key in the lock, pushing her way in through the front door and stepping over the ever increasing pile of junk mail that greeted her every day. She slammed the door behind her, and switched on the lights, exhaling with relief. The house was all in order, everything right with the world. The phone rang. Will, ringing to check that she’d got home all right and apologise for being short with her. She picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’