by M K Farrar
“What are you going to do with me?”
A scraping met her ears, and a chink of light appeared, followed by another. He was unblocking the platform from the Tube line on the other side. They were right by the spot where Chris had died.
Erica wanted to scream.
She looked over her shoulder, trying to figure out how he’d got her in here in the first place. If he’d managed to drag her in, there must be a way out, too. That was what she needed to focus on. Getting out. But all that was behind her were more bricks. Some of them would be loose—enough that a person could fit through—she was sure of it, but it would take her time to figure out which ones, and she didn’t think time was something she had on her side.
Had anyone realised she was missing yet? Yes, they must have. She’d been supposed to pick up Poppy, so Natasha would be worried by now. She’d probably call Shawn, wondering if they’d got caught up in a case. With a spark of hope, she remembered telling DC Rudd where she was going.
“You’re not going to get away with this, you know,” she said. “My colleagues know I came to see you.”
He paused in unbricking the tunnel to glance over his shoulder at her. “But they won’t know where you are now.”
What had she done with her phone? She checked her pockets for it but then remembered dropping it back at the flat. Shit.
“Why are you doing this?” she dared to ask.
“You probably want some heart-wrenching story about how the police had terrorised me when I’d been younger, or that you reminded me of some parent who never loved me right. You want to understand me, Erica, don’t you? But the truth is that you can’t. I’m doing this simply because I can. The world bores me.”
She remembered how Keith Allen from Forensic Submissions had said how psychopaths and sociopaths seemed like perfectly normal people on the surface and that people who considered themselves good judges of character had been taken in by them. They’d been talking about Robert Day at the time, though, not Brandon Skehan.
“So, this is all a game? A way of playing with us?”
“Not just you. Nicholas Bailey interested me. I thought it would be an...achievement...to finish what he started.”
“By killing me?”
“Exactly.”
“You’re going to end up in prison.”
“No, I won’t. I have a second passport in a different name. I’ll be gone the moment your heart stops beating.”
“What?” Her sarcasm surprised her. “And not be around to get all the glory?”
“Good to see you still have your sense of humour, Erica, even after everything you’ve been through.”
She gritted her teeth. “It’s DI Swift to you.”
He chuckled and continued working each brick out of the wall. Already, the gap was big enough to fit a small person through.
Each of the bricks was stacked on top of the other, she assumed to be replaced, later, covering his tracks. If she could get her hands on one of them, it would make a decent weapon.
A train suddenly rushed past, a blast of heat and energy filling the space, and Brandon let out a whoop of exhilaration. He turned to her, his one good eye wild with excitement.
“Can you feel that?” he exclaimed. “That rush of power? What a way to go.”
Erica slowly got to her hands and knees. One of the bricks had slid from the pile and was closer to her than the others. All it would take was a well-aimed swing to the back of the head and she’d take him down.
Would she get there before he noticed her moving, though? Was it better to go slowly, or get fully to her feet and make a run to try to grab it?
Carefully, she got into a position like a sprinter about to start a race. She did her best to ignore the wave of dizziness that threatened to take over. Her heart pounded. She expected him to look back at her and see what she was doing, but he was distracted by his job. The gap was almost empty of bricks now.
She sucked in a breath, and with a sudden burst of speed, lunged for the nearest brick. Her fingers closed around the rough surface, and with a scream of fury, she swung it at the back of Brandon’s head. The end of the brick connected with his skull, and he fell sideways.
He let out a grunt and put his hand to his head. He looked at the blood on his fingertips as though surprised she’d hurt him.
Shit, she hadn’t managed to knock him unconscious. He was far bigger than her, and she was still groggy from whatever he’d put in her tea. If it came down to a one-on-one fight, she had a feeling she’d lose.
There was only one way to escape, and that was through the same hole he’d just cleared. The Tube line lay beyond. If she landed on the tracks, she’d be electrocuted. If she stayed, he’d kill her.
She decided to take her chance with the tracks.
Not giving herself any time to back out, she climbed over the side and dropped down. A startled mouse scurried away, her feet only narrowly missing it. In the distance, the thunder and rumble and screech of distant Tube trains filled the tunnels. Not this one, though. Not yet. They were on other lines.
“Bitch!” Brandon yelled from behind her.
She got moving, unsure where she was even going or what her plan was. The walls were lit, but only dimly. She was terrified she’d catch her foot on something and fall.
The thud of feet landing on concrete came behind her, and she turned to find Brandon giving chase.
Shit, shit, shit.
She was painfully aware that she was in a Tube tunnel. How much of the rails and wires beside her had electricity running through them?
Poppy, Poppy, Poppy, Poppy.
Her daughter was the thing front and centre of her mind. She couldn’t let this lunatic make Poppy an orphan.
She glanced back again. Brandon was gaining on her.
How long until the next train came along? Three minutes? Less? She focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
A hand suddenly grabbed her hair, yanking her back. A scream burst from her lips, but she lashed out, swinging her arm backwards. Her elbow connected with the cut across his eye.
Brandon’s head snapped back, his hands automatically going to his face. “Ah, fuck!”
Erica kept going, but things felt futile. Even though she’d hurt him, it had been a lucky strike. The moment a train came along this line, she was a goner. They both were.
She couldn’t help checking on his position as he came after her. Blood soaked through the white bandages across his face. The elbow she’d given him must have undone some of the stitches across the wound. It turned one half of his face red, even in the low lighting of the Tube tunnel, and it was terrifying.
Where was the train? Shouldn’t one have come along by now?
The lights along the tunnel walls went dim.
Hands grabbed her from behind. “Got you now, bitch.”
His knee struck the rear of hers, and her legs folded beneath her. His fingers were a clamp around the back of her neck, shoving her forward. The rail track was right beneath her. Erica fought against him, pushing with everything she had, but he was stronger. If he threw her on the line, she’d die.
His grip loosened, and she fell.
She hit the track, face first. Terror filled her. She was certain this would be her last moment, and hundreds of volts of electricity were about to course through her body.
“Police! Stay right where you are!” The shout echoed down the tunnel.
Relief flooded through her, and she found her voice. “Here! I’m over here. Brandon Skehan is here, too.”
At the shout of ‘police’, Brandon had turned and run back in the direction they’d come. Feet thudded up the tunnel towards her.
“Erica?”
She recognised Shawn’s voice, and a moment later, he was beside her, helping her up off the tracks.
“What happened?” she asked. “The tracks should have had electricity running through it.”
“We held up the train at the previous station and switched the
power off to this line.”
“Oh God. I thought I was going to die. I thought I was never going to see Poppy again.” She clutched at him. “How did you know?”
“He was copying your previous cases. I knew he’d bring you here. He wanted to finish off what Nicholas Bailey had started.”
Shouts came from farther down the tunnel as uniformed officers caught up with Brandon. The light was good enough for her to make out them wrestling him to the floor and handcuffs being clipped around his wrists.
“It’s okay,” Shawn said, “they’ve got him. It’s over.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Erica had wondered if he’d be willing to meet her. A week had passed since her abduction by Brandon, and she’d realised she wouldn’t be able to rest until she closed this part of the case as well.
How much information had Nicholas Bailey been given about what had happened? He must have watched the news, but the details hadn’t been shared to the national channels. Just an ‘incident’ in the same place a police officer’s husband had been killed two years earlier.
She approached the legal visits room where she’d interviewed him before, but this time she wasn’t nervous or anxious in any way. Instead, she walked with a straight spine and her chin lifted. Nicholas could have helped them catch Brandon, but instead, he’d chosen to put his own needs ahead of what was important.
Nicholas sat with his arms folded, his legs splayed out, the look of a sulky teenager across his face. He glanced over at Erica as she entered, and his lips tightened, his eyes narrowing.
He didn’t speak.
“I wasn’t sure you’d see me,” she said, taking a seat opposite.
“Didn’t realise I had much of a choice. You’re the police, aren’t you?”
“You had a choice. You could have refused me, but you didn’t, did you, because you wanted to find out what happened.”
“What happened about what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t want to know what happened to the man who had been writing you those letters?”
His gaze flicked to hers, and then he sat up in his seat. He was interested. “Go on then, tell me.”
“You didn’t win, Nicholas. Brandon Skehan, the same man who called himself M Cimi or The Mimic, as he’s now known, is in custody. You may even find yourself meeting him in person soon. As you can see, I’m very much alive, and Skehan won’t be hurting anyone else ever again.”
She’d looked up mimicry after DC Rudd explained to her what the name M Cimi had meant. She’d found a definition called aggressive mimicry, which was found in predators or parasites. It was where the creature shared the characteristics of a harmless species, allowing them to avoid detection. Initially, she’d thought he’d referred to himself as a mimic because he’d been copying her past cases, but in the end, she decided it was because he’d been mimicking one of his victims.
LIFE FELL BACK INTO its usual routine—or at least as routine as it could be as a detective. She was up to her neck in paperwork when her DCI called her into his office.
“Everything okay, sir?”
“Take a seat, please, Erica.” Gibbs gestured to the chair opposite his desk.
She sat and clasped her hands between her knees. “That sounds ominous.”
“I just got news that Nicholas Bailey died in his cell last night.”
Her mouth dropped open. “What? How?”
“Looks like suicide. He used an uncut length of zip he stole from the workshop.”
Her mind reeled. “How is that even possible?”
“He tied the ends together and hung himself from the top rail of his bunk.”
“I...I thought he was in a double cell? How did it happen without anyone noticing?”
“His cellmate didn’t do anything to help. Says he was asleep when it happened, but apparently the two of them never really got along. There’s no proof he had anything to do with it, or that he helped.”
“Jesus Christ.”
The strength went out of her body, the air leaving her lungs in a whoosh, and she found herself slumped in the chair. Her hand went to her mouth, and she stared down at the floor.
Gibbs frowned at her. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She’d been there the other week. What had been her motivation for going? Just to rub it in?
“Was it me?” she said eventually. “Did I prompt him to kill himself?”
“Nicholas Bailey was a sick man. His cellmate says he was talking to someone in the end, as in, talking to someone who wasn’t there. He said he kept calling the person Danny.”
“Danny? You mean his brother?”
“That’s right.”
She remembered how he’d kept looking over at something she couldn’t see. How he’d jumped at a noise she didn’t hear. Had Nicholas been listening to the ghost of his brother the whole time? Not that Erica believed in such things—unless it was three in the morning and she was alone after just watching a scary film—but Nicholas had believed.
Had Danny been the one to encourage Nicholas to end things? Should there be some comfort that Nicholas had at least had the company of his brother in his final moments, even if it had all been in his head?
Whatever had happened, Nicholas Bailey was dead.
That part of her life was over.
THE END
ENJOYED The Mimic? Don’t miss out on book seven of the Erica Swift series, The Gathering Man, which is available to order from Amazon today! Keep going to learn more! Sign up to M K Farrar’s newsletter, get a free copy of ‘Twice the Lie: A DI Erica Swift Prequel’ and ensure you don’t miss out on any news of freebies, sales, cover reveals and new releases!
EVIL COMES IN THE FORM of a man...
When the body of a young woman is discovered in an East London park, DI Erica Swift and her Violent Crimes taskforce are called in to investigate.
The victim appears to be uninjured, but symbols drawn on her body tell of a more sinister story.
The case is confusing, with question upon question mounting.
Why are there no signs of violence on the body? How did she die? And what do the symbols mean?
When Erica discovers that many more lives are in danger, she finds herself in a race against the clock to track down the person responsible.
Order book seven of the DI Erica Swift series here!
Acknowledgements
I had a couple of new people helping me out on The Mimic, in particular with how day to day life went inside a prison. So, thank you to Ali Mountjoy and to David Monaghan-Jones for answering my numerous questions about all things related to prison life. I may have taken some liberties to make the storyline work, so anything that wasn’t quite right is all down to me!
Thank you, as always, to my editor, Emmy Ellis, for working on yet another book for me. I don’t know how I’d manage without you.
Thanks to Patrick O’Donnell, who runs the Cops and Writers facebook group, and who consults with me on the aspects of police procedural for this series. If you’re a writer who needs help with their book, I highly recommend both the group and Patrick.
Thank you to my proofreaders, Tammy Payne, Jacqueline Beard, and Glynis Elliott for doing that final read through for me. Typos are like weeds, and I’m a terrible gardener!
And as always, lots of love and thanks to you, the reader, for reading my Erica Swift books. I hope you enjoyed The Mimic.
Until next time!
M K Farrar
About the Author
M K Farrar is the pen name for a USA Today Bestselling author of more than thirty novels. Though 'Some They Lie' was her first psychological thriller, it wasn't her last, and she’s now written eight novels of crime and psychological fiction. When she's not writing, M.K. is rescuing animals from far off places, binge watching shows on Netflix, or reading. She lives in the English countryside with her husband, three daughters, and menagerie of pets.
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Also by the Author
Crime after Crime series, written with M A Comley
Watching Over Me: Crime after Crime, Book One
Down to Sleep: Crime after Crime, Book Two
If I Should Die: Crime after Crime, Book Three
Standalone Psychological Thrillers
Some They Lie
On His Grave
In the Woods
