by Carol Wyer
He gave her a salute and headed for the door. ‘I miss Mitch a great deal. He was one of the best.’
Chris gave a low chuckle. ‘Don’t be fooled. William is corrupt.’
She tried to guess what her journalist husband might have uncovered about her mentor then abandoned the thought. She’d seen the look on William’s face as he spoke about her father, and heard the crack in his voice. Chasing after Dickson was one matter, but not William. She cared about him too much. She got to her feet and left the room. There were some things she was unable to accept.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Emma dropped a weary Kate off outside her house. Her shoulder was throbbing and her sole thought was to go to bed and sleep for a fortnight. She waved goodbye to Emma with her good arm, then faced her silent house. She ought to download an app to turn on the lights and heating before she came in, so it felt as if somebody was there for her. And buy a cat, or a dog, or a parrot. She could do with the company.
The intruder light illuminated and she fumbled for her key, had to drop her bag on the doorstep to fish it out, then opened the door. She could immediately sense something wasn’t right. The tiredness evaporated and her keen eyes swept the entrance and the stairs directly in front of her. She spotted the evidence somebody had been in, or was still in, her home. The large wooden capital letters that spelled out the word HOME and ran along the wall beside the white staircase were out of alignment. The letter ‘M’ had been knocked.
She didn’t move, straining her ears for any sound, her nose twitching to pick up any strange scents. She crept first to the lounge, then the kitchen, and finding them both empty made for Chris’s study. The smiley stress ball lay on the floor and the top desk drawer was slightly ajar.
‘It was to be expected,’ said Chris. ‘You know who’s behind this. You solved the investigation and didn’t screw up as Dickson hoped you would. He’s got no reason to discredit you, so now he wants to find out exactly how much you know about him. Whoever broke in was careful, but not careful enough. My keyboard’s been moved. I expect somebody has tried to access my computer.’
She sighed. This was becoming a dangerous situation. Fortunately, she’d taken down her makeshift board of suspects. However, if the intruder had got their hands on the interview with Farai and the video Bradley sent her, heaven knew what might happen to her.
‘You’d better make sure the USB is safe,’ Chris said.
‘First, I’m going to make sure nobody is still here,’ she replied and tiptoed up the stairs. There was no sign of any intruder. Whoever had broken in had left.
‘Check it,’ Chris urged again.
She made for the kitchen and padded to the cupboards where she pulled out the bird seed from under the sink before unlocking the door into the garden. She lifted the empty, swaying bird feeder from the hook and undid it, checking as she poured in the seed. The USB was still taped to the underside of the lid. Nobody had uncovered it.
Back indoors, and wrapped in her duvet, she knew she couldn’t say anything about the break-in. It was best to pretend she wasn’t aware it had happened. She was glad she’d downloaded Bradley’s video onto the stick and deleted the email, and got rid of Chris’s journal. At the moment, she was one step ahead of Dickson and she intended to keep it that way.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
There was a huge roaring of engines, causing Tilly to shout, ‘Look, Daniel, there’s one taking off now.’
First a nose cone appeared as if rising out of the terminal building, then the blue and yellow fuselage of the airplane as it left the runway behind the airport, climbing rapidly as it flew over the car park, until it was the size of a large bird.
Daniel watched it disappear into the clouds while Tilly wiped her eyes. ‘Don’t come inside. I’ll be in bits if you do. Say goodbye here.’
Kate embraced her, fiercely. The last couple of weeks had reset the clock and she felt even closer to Tilly than when they’d been younger. The pain in her chest was real. She was going to miss her and Daniel, who now stood to one side, clutching the handle of his suitcase in one hand and the toy dinosaur Kate had bought him at Drayton Manor Theme Park. She released Tilly, who gulped noisily, her eyes moist and shining with unshed tears.
‘I need to blow my nose. I can’t check in like this, blubbing like a kid.’ She gave a brave smile. Kate dropped to her knees to embrace the child, inhaling the fruity scent from his freshly shampooed hair. She rubbed his back then planted a kiss on his head. Her heart splintered.
‘You promise you’ll visit us?’ said Tilly.
‘I promise. I’ll book some leave when I can – at least a month.’
‘And you’ll Skype us as we arranged, once a week?’
‘Definitely.’
‘And you’ll look after yourself and not get too serious about work?’
‘I’ll try.’
Tilly looked at her through still damp eyes. ‘Stay in touch.’
‘I promise.’
‘Thank you. Thanks for . . . you know.’
‘Say hi to Jordan for me.’
‘For sure. Okay, champ, you ready for the long journey back home to Daddy?’
He grinned and nodded.
‘Bye, Kate,’ said Tilly.
‘Bye. Love you.’
Tilly made the shape of a heart with her hands, then took the handle of her suitcase. ‘I won’t look back. I hate goodbyes.’
Kate couldn’t leave the car park, not until she’d watched the automatic doors swish open and the terminal interior engulf the two people she loved. Tilly hadn’t turned around but Daniel had, waving the toy dinosaur at her and grinning. She would keep her promise and go to Australia. They were the only family she had, and Chris would have wanted her to visit them.
Back home, she kicked off her shoes and headed straight for Chris’s office where she’d already laid out photocopies of documents from the Ryan Holder investigation. Although Ryan was going to be charged with Heather’s death, he’d been adamant she was alive when he left her in the skip. The more she thought about it, the more she believed his version of events; after all, he’d admitted to accidentally murdering Laura, and killing his victims went against what he wanted most – for them to remember him.
She’d downloaded the video of Heather talking to Rosa at Stoke-on-Trent station onto Chris’s computer and although she’d watched it a few times, she couldn’t guess what they were discussing.
Rosa had disappeared soon after the meeting and Heather had died the following day. There was no way she could shake off the ever-growing, nagging feeling that Dickson was behind her death.
She glanced at the time. Tilly would still be in the airport departure lounge, waiting for her flight to board. She texted her to wish her a safe journey and got an immediate reply. Their flight had been called and they were on their way to the boarding gate. Kate sent an emoji heart then meandered into the kitchen, poured a glass of wine and watched a robin peck at the feeder. ‘Best hiding place ever, Chris,’ she mumbled.
Taking the glass with her, she returned to the computer and pressed fast forward on the video, speeding up the process. A few travellers arrived on the platform, standing some distance from the two women. None of them looked like Dickson. She drained the glass, considered having another drink, then hit the pause button. She’d glimpsed a face she recognised. She rewound the footage and watched again as her officer, Jamie, emerged from the subway and lounged against a wall, his head turned in the women’s direction. Heather stood up, hugged the girl and headed off down the same subway, followed by Jamie. The timeclock showed it was ten past ten. His explanation for being late when he was unable to reach Abbots Bromley on Friday morning had been little more than a pack of lies. Jamie must be working for Dickson, feeding him back information about Heather and Rosa. Jamie was probably also keeping Dickson informed about her every move, which would explain how Dickson had found out about Emma’s visit to Felicity. Only the team members knew Emma had been to see her a
nd got information from Heather’s computer.
‘Fuck. Looks like I’ve got a spy on my team. The cunning bastard’s put somebody inside to keep an eye on me.’
She rested her head in her hands. What the hell was she supposed to do about this? Dickson didn’t trust her one inch, and who on earth was she supposed to trust?
She downloaded the video onto a fresh USB stick before deleting the original and the email it came attached to. She’d hide this information in a second bird feeder. Sitting back in Chris’s chair, a tsunami of fatigue washed over her. She suddenly didn’t have the energy to fight whatever it was she was battling against. Corruption was rife. Chris’s file was testament to that fact.
Heading upstairs, she dropped onto the bed, hugged the toy starfish she’d propped against Chris’s pillow and stared at her reflection in the long mirror. The harder she looked, the better she could picture Chris beside her, until the mirage seemed so realistic, she felt sure she could reach out to him and interlink fingers with him. She blinked to dispel the image. All of this wasn’t helping her: imagining he was talking to her, lying beside her. She was losing her grip on reality and was close to mania. She knew it and yet she smiled at the mirror. Chris became brighter again.
‘Stay with me. Please. I can’t seek vengeance for your death or the wrongdoings against my father – I simply can’t do this alone. I’m not up to it.’
Her face transformed, her voice grew gruff and she answered, ‘Don’t worry, Kate. I’ll never leave you.’
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I can’t convey how much I’ve enjoyed writing A Cut for a Cut and it’s largely down to the dynamic and enthusiastic team at Thomas & Mercer, who held my hand throughout the process.
Biggest thanks go to Jack Butler, who took on Kate and helped me develop a one-book idea into an entire series. His enthusiasm for the project has matched my own and together we have conjured up ideas for future Kate Young books.
I also have Jack to thank for teaming me up with Russel McLean, an author in his own right and a top editor, whose sense of humour has me in stitches. He has, once again, worked his magic on my manuscript, transforming it into one I can be truly proud of. Russel, thank you for the laughs along the way.
Many thanks to everyone at Jane Rotrosen Agency, especially my agent, Amy Tannenbaum. I am so grateful for all your support.
Other thanks go to my amazing street team, who keep me going on days when I struggle, and who always offer generous amounts of their time to promote my books. I love you guys.
To all the book bloggers, readers and reviewers who champion my work. A simple thank you never seems to be reward enough for the amount of effort you put into supporting us authors. It is enormously appreciated.
Massive thanks to technical guru Xavier Hugonet, who constantly astounds me with his knowledge about all things technical and who has been a great help to Kate and her team.
To Alicia McCarty for lending her name to one of the characters in the book.
It isn’t really a proper acknowledgement, but I’d like to mention here that Abbots Bromley is a truly lovely village. The village hall is not as described in the book, nor have any murders taken place in the village or region. (At least, none that I am aware of!) The place and the surrounding area, especially Blithfield Reservoir, have provided me with endless inspiration and I count myself incredibly fortunate to live in such a wonderful part of the country.
To you for purchasing A Cut for a Cut. Thank you for your kind emails and messages, telling me how much you’ve enjoyed reading my books. They mean the world to me.
And last but not least to the man who manages to survive months of neglect while I work on the books and never complains about it – Mr Grumpy. You are the best!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
USA Today bestselling author and winner of The People’s Book Prize Award, Carol Wyer’s crime novels have sold over 800,000 copies and been translated into nine languages. A move from humour to the ‘dark side’ in 2017 saw the introduction of popular DI Robyn Carter in Little Girl Lost, and proved that Carol had found her true niche. Carol has been interviewed on numerous radio shows discussing ‘Irritable Male Syndrome’ and ‘Ageing Disgracefully’, and on BBC Breakfast television. She has written for Woman’s Weekly, Take A Break, Choice, Yours, Woman’s Own and HuffPost. She currently lives on a windy hill in rural Staffordshire with her husband, Mr Grumpy . . . who is very, very grumpy. When she is not plotting devious murders, she can be found performing her comedy routine, Smile While You Still Have Teeth.
To learn more about Carol, go to www.carolwyer.co.uk or follow Carol on Twitter: @carolewyer. Carol also blogs at www.carolwyer.com.
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