by Carol Wyer
The Secret Admirer
An absolutely gripping crime thriller
Carol Wyer
Books by Carol Wyer
The DI Natalie Ward series
The Birthday
Last Lullaby
The Dare
The Sleepover
The Blossom Twins
The Secret Admirer
The DI Robyn Carter series
Little Girl Lost
Secrets of the Dead
The Missing Girls
The Silent Children
The Chosen Ones
Other titles
Life Swap
Take a Chance on Me
Mini Skirts and Laughter Lines
Surfing in Stilettos
Just Add Spice
Grumpy Old Menopause
How Not to Murder Your Grumpy
Grumpies On Board
Love Hurts
Available in Audio
The DI Natalie Ward series
The Birthday (Available in the UK and the US)
Last Lullaby (Available in the UK and the US)
The Dare (Available in the UK and the US)
The Sleepover (Available in the UK and the US)
The Blossom Twins (Available in the UK and the US)
The DI Robyn Carter series
Little Girl Lost (Available in the UK and the US)
Secrets of the Dead (Available in the UK and the US)
The Missing Girls (Available in the UK and the US)
The Silent Children (Available in the UK and the US)
The Chosen Ones (Available in the UK and the US)
Contents
Prologue
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
Hear More from Carol
Books by Carol Wyer
A Letter from Carol
The Birthday
Last Lullaby
The Dare
The Sleepover
The Blossom Twins
Little Girl Lost
Secrets of the Dead
The Missing Girls
The Silent Children
The Chosen Ones
Life Swap
Take a Chance on Me
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Dear Gemma,
Hi!
I wanted to tell you that I think you’re incredible.
I saw you in town today with your mother. I stopped and stared at you. I wasn’t being rude. In fact, quite the opposite. I was hypnotised by you: the way you walk, the way you hold your head to one side when you are listening intently to somebody, and your smile. It is… perfect.
Anyway, now you know how I feel and I’ll pick the right moment to make myself known to you.
I’m excited and nervous to find out how you will react when I speak to you.
I hope you will smile at me.
An Admirer
Chapter One
Friday, 16 November – Evening
Nineteen-year-old Gemma Barnes threw her head forward and deftly raked her fingers through her long, ash-blond hair, pulled the elastic band from between her teeth and wound it around the locks, securing them into a ponytail before lifting her head again. She didn’t bother checking her reflection in the darkened and smeared glass of the bus window. She knew she looked good.
The bus was travelling through the sprawling university campus and slowed to allow a group of students to race across the road. Gemma stared at the office-block buildings with several storeys of glass windows that made up the science department. She’d never been inside any of them, but according to one of her housemates, Lennox, there were laboratories and classrooms on every level, and on the top floor, a research area that was out of bounds to all students. They drew level with the car park. Lennox’s distinguishable battered red Saab was parked directly outside the chemistry block. Although Gemma would have liked the freedom associated with owning a vehicle, she was happy enough to take public transport. Cars cost money to run and she didn’t have a lot to spare.
She stretched out her legs under the seat in front of her and flexed her feet in their thick-soled boots, ideal for wet weather but less practical for a lengthy day of tutorials and lectures until seven o’clock in hot stuffy rooms. The day wasn’t over yet. She had a tricky translation to complete for the following week, but she also had to finish reading the original version of The Tin Drum by Günter Grass in German for a seminar presentation on Monday. She stifled a yawn and lifted her canvas bag, containing her notes, books and laptop, from the well-worn seat next to her and stood up. She’d agreed to work shifts at Chancer’s Bar on both Saturday and Sunday nights, which meant she’d really have to knuckle down tonight. The university library would provide fewer distractions than the house, where some of the students would be in a more party mood. It was Friday evening and she should have been joining them, playing music in her room and getting ready to head off to the students’ union, or one of the many pubs in the area, for some time off. She bit back a laugh. She hadn’t been out on a weekend in months, not since she’d started working at the same bar as her mum.
She thumbed the bell on the handrail to alert the driver. She was minutes away from Samford University library, located in what was once a grand manor house with three storeys of galleried landings, sweeping staircases and silence. She preferred working in her own homely bedroom, cluttered with familiar objects, but it was too easy to be sidetracked and nip downstairs to get a snack, or take a break to watch some television, then get chatting to somebody. The student house was home to five of them: twenty-year-olds Lennox, Fran and Ryan, and a mature student, Hattie. Gemma had only been living there since late August but got on with all the housemates, especially divorcée Hattie, who at twenty-six was the matriarch of the house and arranged all the cleaning rotas. Without Hattie, the two bathrooms, the kitchen and the large communal sitting room would be chaotically filthy.
Living with her mum, Sasha, while at university had never been an option. Gemma needed freedom to come and go as she fancied, keep irregular hours to suit her workload, and not have Sasha fuss over her and worry over little things – such as if Gemma was eating regular meals, or overdoing it – or ask about her life all the time. Besides, her mother needed to move on too. Sasha was only thirty-five herself, and because she had fallen pregnant with Gemma while still at school and chosen to bring up her daughter alone, she’d missed out on many opportunities, including romantic ones. It was time for her to find a new path too. They were close – closer than most mothers and daughte
rs – but living apart was healthier for them both. It gave each of them the opportunity to become independent.
Gemma’s phone buzzed and she looked down. It was Sasha. The bus lurched to a halt and she glanced at the message.
Finished this outfit today. Want your opinion.
The photo was of her mother, wearing impossibly large hooped earrings and her mane of white-blond hair piled high on her head. She was in a baby-blue jumpsuit that flattered her curvaceous figure. With her flawless complexion and naturally plump lips, she looked the same age as her daughter. Gemma smiled at the image. Her mother had no idea how beautiful she was. The doors swished open and Gemma bounced down the steps, thumbing a reply.
You look amazing. I love the jumpsuit. XX
She shouldered the heavy bag and slid the phone into her pocket, mind on Sasha. Some days, she didn’t know who was the adult in their relationship. In many ways they were more best friends than mother and daughter.
It had been drizzling heavily for hours, and puddles had formed on the cracked pavement, shimmering under the lamplight like tiny black lakes. She splashed through them. The library loomed up ahead of her, dark and uninviting. She could still get back on the bus and make a return trip to Eastview Avenue, work at home, maybe even in her bed, snuggled under a duvet instead of sitting at a large table on a hard chair. Behind her, the bus pulled away with a fatigued hiss and she sighed; the work had to be done. She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her coat, wishing she’d worn gloves. It was a full-blown, miserable wintry evening.
The stone steps to the library were in front of her. Her phone buzzed again. She withdrew it and read:
Love you.
In a couple of hours, her mum would be at the bar in town. With Gemma no longer living at home, talented seamstress Sasha had begun to pursue a new career. Encouraged by her daughter, she’d saved some seed money to start up a new business, and the jumpsuit was a sign she was taking it all seriously and getting together a collection to show off her talents.
Engrossed in her thoughts, Gemma didn’t hear the low cough or the gentle pop of a lid being unscrewed. She wasn’t aware of the shuffling of feet. She didn’t look up or notice any movement until a figure broke free of the shadows at the side of the huge building and rushed towards her. She looked up in surprise at the sound and motion, stared briefly at the raised hand, but her brain didn’t register the jar of liquid being thrown until it hit her face. As pain seared across her nerves, and she clawed first her cheeks and then her eyes, she understood what was happening with sudden clarity. Someone had thrown acid into her face. Fear coiled around her heart and she screamed for all she was worth.
Chapter Two
Friday, 16 November – Evening
The dried mug squeaked a faint protest as the tea towel continued to revolve around and around its surface. DI Natalie Ward repeated the action as she stared out of the kitchen window onto the road beyond. Even at this late hour traffic rolled past, an incessant hum that could be heard inside the flat. Samford HQ was only a few minutes’ drive up the same road, which was one of the reasons she’d chosen to live here. Work! She hadn’t been in since August. Three horrendous, agonising months of purgatory, during which time she’d shed more tears than she’d ever imagined possible. It was only eight o’clock and far too early for bed. Even when she did finally give in and try to sleep, she knew what to expect: nightmares in which she’d relive the hours leading up to her daughter’s murder, hours that couldn’t ever be turned back and consequences that could never be changed.
She wiped the inside of the mug one last time then replaced it on the kitchen top, fingers sticking to the porcelain handle as she fought the guilt that billowed around her: an invisible, slow-moving fog that, as usual, started at her feet and rose up her body until it reached her throat, and she had to force herself to draw deep breaths, or she’d suffocate. Count! The psychiatrist had taught her the method to calm herself. She counted slowly on each intake of breath until she reached twenty. The imaginary haze subsided. This time, tears didn’t sting at the backs of her eyes. She was making progress. She needed to. Her seventeen-year-old son, Josh, had texted her earlier to ask if he could stay over the following weekend. At the moment, he was still living in their old house with her estranged husband, David, but the place was up for sale and soon it – along with all the memories of Leigh living there – would be consigned to the past.
She ran her clammy palms under the cold tap and patted them dry on the tea towel, which she hung on the plastic hook next to the sink. The flat was functional and not at all homely but it served a purpose. It provided a roof over her head and enabled her to stay away from the family home in Castergate – a place filled with haunting memories. It gave her the space she needed to grieve alone and to help her come to terms with reality. Natalie’s marriage to David had been in tatters long before Leigh and her best friend, Zoe, had been murdered, but afterwards, it had collapsed completely and David had turned his back on her. His contempt for her no longer hurt her. In some ways, she could expect nothing less; after all, her intention had been to leave him for Mike Sullivan – David’s best friend and head of Forensics at Samford HQ, but then Leigh had been murdered and all Natalie’s plans had been thrown out the window. David’s crimes of lying and gambling seemed to pale into insignificance compared to hers. She had failed to save Leigh or Zoe, and that was unforgivable.
The hardest part of it all had been the effect on Josh, who’d initially taken his father’s side and held her responsible for the family breakdown and for not preventing the murders. It had been raw and incredibly painful to have him retreat from her and her love. Having parents split up was a lot for any child to take on board, but to have it happen at the same time as losing a sibling was far worse, and he ought not to have been punished. He had surprised her though. He might have withdrawn from them both yet he’d still held down his summer job at McDonald’s and started college as planned in early September. On the surface, he was coping better than her and David, and Natalie suspected it was in part down to the new friends he’d made and to his girlfriend, Pippa, who he’d met in August while on holiday with Leigh, their grandfather, Eric, and his girlfriend, Pam.
Over the weeks, Josh’s attitude had changed and he no longer blamed her for the break-up or for his sister’s death, but Eric, David’s father, was struggling with the situation, and David himself still refused to have any dealings with her. Zoe’s parents – Rowena and Patrick Keighley – wouldn’t talk to her either. She had been ostracised. Had it not been for the support of her work colleagues and Mike, she would have gone under.
There was a pattering against the window, a faltering rhythm of large raindrops that slid down the glass and distorted the shapes of the vehicles below. Canned laughter rose from behind her. She’d left the television in the sitting room on for company but had no idea what was being aired. Every programme was a blur these days, exactly like her life. Initially, there’d been much to organise and she’d been kept busy with all the media fallout and endless arrangements: the funeral, dealing with relatives and friends and authorities; then afterwards, when Leigh and Zoe had been laid side by side in Castergate cemetery, she’d had to deal with Leigh’s belongings. With the house up for sale, neither she nor David had wanted strangers to set eyes on their daughter’s personal possessions. They’d become important – the only reminders of their beautiful daughter’s life. They’d packed everything precious to Leigh into boxes to be brought out at a later date when they had moved on emotionally and physically. There’d been such a lot to deal with – the tidying up of one person’s life was time-consuming and heart-breaking and had sucked from her every ounce of emotional energy.
She glanced at the silver circle frame – engraved with Leigh’s name, and from which dangled a silver heart, inset with a large crystal – that stood on the kitchen window ledge. She didn’t need a crystal heart to remind her of her daughter. Leigh would be locked forever in her own heart and soul.
A single tear squeezed its way through her lashes and trickled down her cheek, and she let it fall, tickling its way down her face. She eventually brushed it from her chin and concluded she couldn’t keep tormenting herself. Three months had passed since Leigh’s murder, and Natalie could continue taking compassionate leave or she could return to work. She weighed up the choices again, thought about Josh, who was getting on with his life, reminded herself of who she was before all of this, and decided she couldn’t remain in this limbo forever.
She reached for her mobile and rang Superintendent Dan Tasker on his private number. He was not upset at the intrusion into his evening. His voice was low and concerned.
‘Hi, Natalie. How are you?’
‘I’m fine, thanks. I only rang to say I’m ready to return to work.’
