Each Day I Wake: A gripping psychological thriller: US Edition

by Seb Kirby

  Strange to think that to the outside world he was respectable, unremarkable, a pillar of society, even. Here in this darkest of dark places the animal beneath that untarnished outer skin was about to reveal itself once more.

  She’d thought of running away. That wouldn’t help her. He’d find her and kill her. And, in any case she was tied to him by more than chains.

  She’d thought of pleading with him to not see her any more. That wouldn’t help either. He’d told her more than once in that cultured voice of his that he was besotted with her. And she needed him as much as he needed her.

  Thinking back, it was a mistake to have done nothing when he confessed the first of his murders to her. She didn’t know if what he was saying was real or if it was just a story he’d invented to scare her and give a cutting edge to what they did together. When, the second time he confessed to her, he provided detail – so much detail – she began to wonder if what he was telling her could indeed be true after all. The girl, her name, where he’d first seen her, where he took her, how he took her, the precise sexual details, how he killed her and buried her. When he told her about his second and third victims in the same detail, she was even more convinced that what he was telling her could be real.

  Her client was a killer.

  He had killed and would kill again.

  When she first met him she was attracted to him. That was the mistake she regretted now with all her heart. He was so likable, so respectful, so different from most of her clients.

  To be honest, for a short while, she’d fallen head over heels for him. To be honest, she still loved him in some way she knew she could never shake.

  Even when their pillow talk, as he would call it, turned to what she convinced herself were his fantasies about killing young women.

  And even if she did consider telling someone, he could always demonstrate his power over her because he had made it impossible for her to go to the police.

  She depended on him.

  More than she could say. More than she would admit to anyone, more than she could admit to herself.

  He was the one who provided her with the heroin that fed her habit.

  The real thing that had kept her sane when she did what she had to do in this life in which she found herself.

  She shivered.

  She thought of the John Lennon song. Cold Turkey. Yes, it had her on the run.

  She hated herself for being this weak but she knew she would never be able to tell anyone about those girls.

  There were times when the way he looked at her made her think she might be next.

  But the only thing that mattered now was that he’d soon be here bringing her next fix with him.

  CHAPTER 38

  He gave a false name when making the appointment.

  Didn’t everyone?

  Marshall Brogan wouldn’t do. Not for booking a date through Diamond Escorts.

  He chose Daniel Gillespie. It had the right ring to it, somehow.

  They showed surprise when he wanted to be specific. Why would only Stella DaSilva do? The Agency discouraged repeat dates. That was regarded as inappropriate when it was made clear from the start that the escorts were not allowed to enter into relationships. Why wouldn’t he accept their suggestion?

  When he told them his was not a repeat date, the authoritative sounding woman on the other end of the line wanted to know where, then, had he learned of Stella?

  Brogan took a chance and told her it was a recommendation. When he was asked who had given it, he took another chance and said it was Tyrone Montague.

  There were no more questions. He was offered a choice of days when Stella would be free. He chose the first one available and here he was in a hired suit waiting for her in the lounge of the Richards Hotel, feeling nervous, looking at his watch, trying to play down the churning nausea in his stomach that told him that after all these years he was at last to make contact with his sister.

  He looked down as she approached so she would not see his face and have the chance to run away before he could speak to her.

  As she came near and sat opposite him, he raised his head and looked at her for the first time. He could see what the men who used the Agency saw in her. She was, by any account, a woman of real beauty. Raven black hair. Bright, shining eyes. Slim, not too thin.

  Della started when she saw him and began to get up in order to leave.

  He reached forward and took hold of her wrist. “Della, I’d given up hope that I’d ever find you. And here you are, in London all the time.”

  She tried to pull away. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

  He tried to calm her by making her smile. “You know I could really fancy you if you weren’t my sister.”

  She didn’t smile. “How did you find me?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I need to know.”

  “Tyrone Montague.”

  “Now, why would he tell you about me?”

  “Let’s say I tricked him. What does it matter now? We’re together. I’ve found you.”

  She breathed deeply. “How much did you pay for the privilege?”

  “The usual rate.”

  “You must think badly of me. Knowing what I do.”

  Brogan shook his head. “I could never think ill of you, sis. We’ve both had to survive. I’m none too proud of where I’ve been and what I’ve done.”

  As he paused, he could see tears forming in her eyes. She reached for a tissue from the small dress bag she carried and used it to prevent her eyeliner running.

  When they began to talk, the words came rushing out and resonated between them as if they’d never been apart. He told her about the homes he’d suffered through, his time in prison, life on the boats, the places he’d seen around the world.

  She asked questions without passing judgment. “You were angry?”

  Brogan nodded. “Doesn’t matter how you describe it. I thought what happened to us was bad luck but the more I saw, the more places I visited and the more people I talked with, the more I realized that what happened was nothing more than par for the course. What happens to a million and one people every day on this god-forsaken world we’ve made for ourselves. Built brick by brick with our own hands. It made me bitter. And more angry than I could ever tell.”

  “But you’re less bitter now.”

  “How could I be now I’m here with you?”

  He sat beside her on the couch and held her. He kissed her on the forehead. “I give you a promise. On our father’s grave. Nothing’s going to come between us again.”

  She pulled away. “Marshall, you need to know the kind of woman I’ve become. What’s the good in reminding me of those times in Nottingham when the whole world was so different. I’ve had to put those days behind me.”

  He tried not to show any distaste for what she was about to tell him. “I don’t need to know, sis. I just want to help you find a way to make a fresh start. I don’t have much but all I have is yours.”

  She gave him a look he would never forget. It was the look of bravado concealing despair and it chilled him to the bone. “You’re not trying to reform me, are you? Just like all those well-meaning jerks I’ve had to fight my way past half my life?”

  “I only want to help.”

  Her eyes were flaming now. “Who says I need help? Who says I don’t enjoy this life I lead?”

  “With men like Montague?”

  “He’s good to me. Without him I’d still be on the street.”

  “You’ll never be able to trust a man like that. He’ll use you and dump you once it suits him.”

  “I’ll take my chance.”

  Brogan knew he was in danger of losing her. He shouldn’t have come on so strong. It was time to apologize. “I didn’t mean to pass judgment. Let’s accept each other for what we are.”

  She looked doubtful but relieved. “OK, brother, I’ll take you at your word. But criticize me and the people I choose to be with at your peril.
Do that and the deal is off. Understand?”

  He didn’t like this but he knew he must accept it. “OK. Let’s start all over again.”

  They went upstairs to the hotel room and sat and talked through the night.

  They recalled hot summer evenings playing in the fields at the rear of their parents’ house. Climbing the Bash Tree, jumping to the ground with the other children, pledging their lives together forever as blood brothers and sisters.

  CHAPTER 39

  It was a mug’s game. That was Mike Quinn’s take on his father’s so-called empire.

  Why try to take on the law when there are so many rackets that are legal? Cast iron legal.

  OK. He owed the old man. It was his father’s idea that his deserving son should have a better start in life. Times had been tough back then and there was no one on Brick Lane who was unaware of what Charlie Quinn had been through to raise his children and give them that better start in life. But the loan sharking, deal making and small time roughing up of late payers and loan defaulters was so much a thing of the past. Charlie Quinn had called it right in directing his son to a career in the City and opening what doors he could open for him there. What Charlie had not foreseen was the scope for money making opportunity that Mike Quinn had found there.

  The players were better educated. They wore smarter clothes and lived in bigger and better houses. They thought a lot of themselves. But at heart the game was no different to that played by Quinn’s father in the East End. Though the rules these money men played by were tilted in the one way direction of the making of profits, there were times when something more than verbal persuasion was required to make a deal go through or to insist that a promise made was kept. That was where Mike Quinn and his men came in.

  It was no good doubting that this had brought success. Quinn controlled a property portfolio the likes of which his father could only have dreamed. He vacationed on his own yacht. His children, who knew nothing of how he maintained his wealth, attended top fee paying schools. And his wife, Elena, was one of the most admired beauties in London, snatched away from a successful modeling career to be with him.

  No, Charlie had never come close to having any of this.

  Quinn paused in his reflections. It was dangerous to spend too much time congratulating himself. He knew that. But what was the harm? It was all true.

  Still, he knew he had to get down to the business in hand.

  He pulled out his phone and called his driver. “Malcolm. It’s time we kept our appointment with Albert Emery.”

  CHAPTER 40

  She would never have thought she’d come to hate him this much but, every time Stella DaSilva thought about last night, the loathing she had for Ty Montague grew stronger.

  It wasn’t just that he’d passed over her for that younger, prettier thing that had been trying to get into his bed for weeks now; it was the way he’d humiliated her that hurt so much. If he’d wanted to dump her after all these years, why choose a place as public as the New Era club in the Shard, of all places, to do it. And why make such a show of leaving her there waiting for him to return from some supposed urgent business call before coming back into the room with that shallow Patsy McNair on his arm and walking straight past her? Making everyone look at Stella as she stormed out.

  She might have seen it coming. She’d become too sure of her position, too convinced that she could see off the younger, shinier, oh-so-much-more wantable girls who appeared on the scene.

  She’d tried to phone Ty more than once but had not got through. Now at last he’d picked up.

  “Not your usual style, Ty.”

  He was playing it down. “As in?”

  “Dumping me in public like that.”

  “You know we always said no ties.”

  “And I’ve played by your rules.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “Why humiliate me with Patsy McNair? What were you trying to say?”

  When he paused for too long, she knew there was more to come. “OK, Stella, I was going to find a better time and place to say this, but here it is. I’m separating from Nancy. The children are old enough to understand. I proposed to Patsy last night. We’re going to marry as soon as my divorce comes through.”

  “How long have you been seeing her?”

  “Six months, if you really want to know.”

  “So, she’s really got to you.”

  “She has class, Stella. You’ll never know what that means.”

  Stella bit her lip. She was not going to break down. “I can’t say I won’t miss you.”

  He chuckled. “It’s been good fun. Let’s leave it at that. You’d have been nothing without me.”

  She detested him all the more for his fake attempt at good humor. She determined then that he would pay. “And you’ve gone up in the world since I first met you.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning you’ve made money, Ty. Don’t pretend you’ve forgotten how many times you’ve used me to sweeten the deals that have made you rich.”

  “Is that some kind of threat?”

  “Just a little advice. Dumping me without taking care of me would be a mistake.”

  “You have the Agency.”

  “You know I’m not going to last long at that. I want more. I want a share of what we’ve built together.”

  He was trying to hide it but it was clear there was real outrage in his voice. “Don’t get above yourself, Stella. Don’t get ideas beyond your station. You’ve built nothing. You’ve been a pretty plaything to adorn the real business that I’ve been creating. You’re nothing more, nothing more than that.”

  “You might say I’m nothing but that’s not the point. I know, Ty. I know enough to sink your precious business.”

  “So, this is a threat. You know how unwise that is, Stella.”

  “Then take care of me. Offer me enough to secure my future or pay the price.”

  The phone went dead. Ty Montague had closed the line.

  She began to tremble. She knew she’d gone too far but he deserved nothing less. He owed her a future.

  Stella opened her tablet and entered the security code to call up her online journal. It was all here. All the secrets she’d picked up in the pillow talk of the last years. Enough to sink Ty Montague ten times over.

  She trembled again. It was more than a tremble. It was the full on shakes.

  Cold turkey.

  The thing she’d kept from Montague, his crowd and the rest of the world all these years.

  The reason why she would not be able to survive without some serious compensation from Montague.

  The darkest side of her life.

  Waiting for her man to deliver the next fix.

  CHAPTER 41

  There was no way that the meeting with Mike Quinn could be sidestepped. If he didn’t agree, Quinn would come to find him anyway.

  Albert Emery straightened his necktie and brushed down the front of his business suit with the palms of his hands. It was important to show all the authority he could muster when facing a man like Quinn.

  Yet it wouldn’t be like this if Ty Montague had kept his part of the agreement. If Emery was to use his accountancy and auditing skills to benefit OAM, Montague would ensure that Emery was invisible. That was the arrangement. No one would need to know that Emery was the brains behind the auditing of the OAM accounts. The proxy accountants would do as he said but be unaware of his identity. Without that level of assurance, Emery would never have been drawn into working with a man like Montague.

  He wished with all his might now that he hadn’t.

  Sure, he’d done well enough out of it. The house in Esher was all paid for and worth upwards of five million. His children were prospering at their fee-paying schools. Emery’s wife was a magistrate, for goodness sake. They had the country cottage that they used as a weekend retreat. They gave substantial support to a half dozen charities. They were pillars of society. There were even soundings that Emery could rec
eive honors, if not at this New Year then the next. Yet all this did was make the prospect of a fall from grace all the more unbearable.

  It had come as a shock when Tunny had contacted him and told him he knew that Emery was cooking the books at OAM.

  His first thought had been to fight back the best way he knew. Tunny claimed he was working for Medway, a private investigations firm, protecting the interests of a group of investors who’d sunk their money in OAM. Yet when Emery used his contacts to check into the company, he found that no one named Geoff Tunny worked there.

  So, what or who was Tunny? An undercover cop? A villain bent on blackmail? An undercover journalist? Emery didn’t know and none of his enquiries made him any the wiser.

  When Emery tried to tough it out, to call Tunny’s bluff, what came back was even more worrying. Chapter and verse accounts of the detailed mechanisms Emery was employing to inflate the OAM balance sheet. Details that only an insider would know about. How Emery was using a Special Purpose Vehicle to conceal transactions and corporate dealing. Nothing schematic, nothing that smacked of guesswork. Real details of how the SPV was working. It hadn’t stopped there. Tunny had a working knowledge of how Emery was helping OAM avoid losses being reported by concealing payments made during acquisitions as the company continued its expansion. And this was not to mention the hints that he knew about the misrepresented cash flows and the outright tax evasion.

  Emery had expected support when he took his concerns to Ty Montague. Instead he’d been regarded as a weak link, as someone who might break under pressure.

  Montague should have known that Emery had too much to lose, that going to the police, making a clean breast of it, was not an option for him.

  Montague had told him not to worry and that Mike Quinn was here to take care of such threats. Emery was not reassured. Knowing Montague and his ways, it was probable that Quinn was as much of a threat as Tunny.

  Emery heard a vehicle crunching its way up the long gravel drive of his Esher home. Emery’s wife was at a charity dinner that evening and the children were asleep upstairs. It was now too late to think that it was a mistake to have agreed to meet here.