The Principle of Evil: A Fast-Paced Serial Killer Thriller. T.M.E. Walsh
Читать онлайн книгу.
her eyes, casting a critical eye over her stomach when she lifted her jumper.
For someone who had once taken so much pride in her appearance, even she knew her standards had slipped a little.
She could hear her colleagues’ comments in her head, whispering their concerns when they thought she couldn’t hear them.
The self-pity crept in briefly, before it was pushed aside by the resilience she was known for. Soft, kind eyes became hard once again, a steely glare cast at her reflection in the mirror.
Fuck them, she thought.
She splashed cold water on her cheeks, determined she would leave the house and at least appear to be social.
This is not me, she told herself inwardly. I am in control.
Minutes later she was sitting in her car, engine running, heaters clearing the fog from the windows, tapping out a text.
You twisted my arm. On my way.
She pressed send before she could change her mind, put the phone in her pocket, and headed down the drive, mindful of the ice on the ground that twinkled in the brightness of the headlights.
She headed out of Hexton, and on towards Haverbridge, taking the scenic route, passing another sleepy village before the road cut through open fields.
She sucked in deep breaths when her mind started to clog with the familiar uneasiness of before. When she breathed, she could see the faintness of her breath expelled like puffs of smoke from between parched lips.
She turned the heating up a little more and tried to relax her body. Tight muscles soon began to relax into the seat. She felt the ache in her jaw and realised she’d been clenching her teeth together. She swallowed hard, focusing on the stillness of the country road, where frosty skeletal trees and bushes hugged it from both sides.
This year autumn appeared to have bypassed the UK entirely, and winter seemed to have taken the Hertfordshire town of Haverbridge, where she worked, into its relentless clutches much earlier than anticipated.
The large town had a population just short of 100,000 people and was situated some thirty miles from London. Haverbridge had grown over the years, becoming a commuters’ paradise for those who worked in the capital but didn’t want the bright lights of the colourful city in their backyard at home time. They wanted to say goodnight and really mean it.
Haverbridge was beautiful, yet ugly in so many ways – not dissimilar to other towns and cities up and down the UK – but Haverbridge had a different side to it. It was exceptionally beautiful in the darker months. What made it so striking, you couldn’t easily describe; it just was.
The summer sun had long disappeared and the threat of early snowfall was a very real one.
For Claire, it was bad news. It made her fall easily into an abyss of self-loathing and bitterness, something she was prone to. The cold haunted her like a restless spirit and the chill was not good for her bones.
She glanced at the clock on the dash. She’d be a little late, but she knew Stefan would understand. She took the road leading to the motorway, and as she travelled at a steady 60mph, she looked at the road ahead, bright lights and traffic rushing past, through eyes that didn’t quite feel like her own.
One day earlier
The man glanced around the car park and stifled a yawn as he looked down at his watch. He snuggled down further in the driver’s seat; his thick padded coat was warm and inviting. He was sleepy and wished he could close his eyes.
The body in the boot – it’s now or never.
His car was the only one there, almost hidden in the darkness. The cold air hit his face when he emerged from the car. It caught him unawares and he gasped instinctively, clasping his hands tightly together, rubbing them for warmth.
When he stood in front of the boot, his hand hovered over it as if he had second thoughts about what he was about to do, as if the final act were any worse than what came before it.
The light inside the boot cast a dull light on what was inside. He looked down at the black bin liners, wrapped crudely around the majority of the body. Only the bottom half of the legs were left uncovered.
The once soft skin now looked waxy. He thought back to when those legs had kicked out at him, before he’d secured them together.
Shame, really.
This one had had such spirit.
His hands reached in and grabbed cold limbs. He began to haul the body carefully out onto the frozen ground.
5th November
There was a huge whizz followed by a violent crack in the night sky as the firework exploded high above their heads.
Claire jumped, instinctively closing the gap between herself and Detective Inspector Stefan Fletcher. He glanced down at her, his tall thin frame buried in an oversized padded coat against the cold. He saw her tense, and ease herself a step or two away from his personal space.
He smiled inwardly.
Aloof and sometimes proud, with walls built so high that they could rarely be penetrated. These were Claire’s bad points, but she wore the traits with pride, giving off the impression that nothing could faze her.
Stefan knew different though.
After a high-profile case the previous year, Claire had put Haverbridge back on the map. Not always for the right reasons, but in Claire’s case, any publicity had turned out to be fairly good publicity. She’d become one of Haverbridge CID’s best, and had ridden out the storm, forging some close allies amongst her team, and Stefan was one of those people.
Despite Claire’s misgivings about herself, she was extremely good at her job, and respected. No one would’ve been justified in calling her incompetent, or an easy target.
But Stefan had seen the signs, seen the cracks appear since that investigation. It had exhausted her, changed her forever in some ways.
The murdered priest case – how could anyone come back from that completely unscathed?
More fireworks whizzed skywards, drawing appreciation from the assembled mass around them. Stefan watched Claire from the corner of his eye. Whilst she looked to the heavens with everyone else, he saw the glassy look of her eyes. She was there in body but the mind was elsewhere.
‘The kids would’ve loved this,’ he said, his blue eyes scrutinising every twitch in her face when she heard him speak.
She glanced at him, gave a weak smile.
Stefan would normally take his kids to Haverbridge Lake’s annual firework display, but his ex had changed her plans and he was expected to fall in line. He felt sad at not seeing his children but, surprisingly, he was very glad to have Claire’s company.
In the past, Claire had had a few detective sergeants as her subordinates. Most hadn’t lived up to her expectations but Stefan had been different. Having watched him come into his own, and making DI in recent years, she’d relished the chance to work alongside him permanently, where possible, as an equal, despite the difference in rank.
‘They wouldn’t have liked the cold, Fletch’ she said, at length. ‘The kids I mean.’
Stefan shook his head. ‘Kids are tougher than they look.’
He saw her bite her lip. Claire didn’t have children, or was ever likely to. Sometimes he felt like he was walking on eggshells in the last year. He didn’t know what might upset her, so topics of conversation sometimes felt stilted.
Claire had her vulnerabilities as much as the next person. She had closed the gap between them earlier, something she’d never admit to if he called her out on it.
He’d noticed her weight loss, although