The Killer on The Heath
The Cassidy Newbold, Clairvoyant
Collection - Book One
Karen J. Mossman
Norns Triad Publications
Copyright © 2021 Karen J. Mossman
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Edited by J.M. Northup & Marnie Cate
Cover design by: J.M. Northup
Printed in the United States of America
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
This book was born from a much shorter story. With the help of my editors, J.M. Northup and Marnie Cate, I developed Cassie into the person she has become. I want to thank them from the bottom of my heart for showing me how to write in new ways.
Also, a big thank you to my beta readers - not only for helping to pick up anything we missed but for volunteering to be the first to read it.
And lastly, a great big thanks to you, the reader, for taking a chance and downloading this book. I hope you will consider leaving me a short review to let me know you enjoyed it.
Chapter One
Lowhampton Heath sits on elevated ground with views of the village below. It’s beautiful in the early morning sunlight. The dew sparkles on the grass, giving everywhere a magical glow. It’s unusual for me to be there, especially at that time of day, but I was on the trail of a killer.
My name is Cassidy – Cassie for short. Yes, as in David Cassidy. My mother was a big fan of the seventies pop idol and convinced she was having a boy (who was to be called David). Instead, out popped me – a girl. Though, I was followed quickly by a boy – my brother, Seb.
Now, you’re probably asking why my mother didn’t call him David, as she’d planned. After all, that would make sense. Well, it’s my understanding that, by then, her admiration had moved on to an athlete and, once mum got over the shock of unexpected twins, she named my brother after him.
Her nostalgia stuck me with Cassidy.
Twins of the opposite sex are not identical. Genetically speaking, they are no different from any other set of siblings. They just happened to share the womb. Still, Seb and I, although not quite the same, are as similar as a brother and sister can be.
What’s interesting about us is that I’m a clairvoyant empath (the two talents don’t always go hand-in-hand). In layman’s terms, I would be considered a psychic, but that is inaccurate. My abilities not only allow the dead to speak to me, but also, I’m highly attuned to other people’s emotions. I’m convinced this has to do with our ancestry – certainly, something in my family’s deep past made me this way, though I’ve no idea what it is.
Oddly enough, Seb wasn’t born with a talent. He just has an uncanny instinct for finding things.
I remember when we were small children, and our mum lost a ring somewhere in the house. Seb found it by retracing her steps meticulously. Even at that young age, he took his time to inspect every square inch of each room. This came in handy as we grew up. Whenever I’d lose my keys and panic, he’d patiently calmed me down before we’d go through everything I had done together. His attention to detail was incredible, so no one was surprised when Seb joined the police nor how quickly he gained a reputation for being successful via his meticulous and thorough methodologies.
Seb, also, senses my moods. He always knows if I’m upset or in trouble. I don’t know how he does it, but he’s even able to tell the difference between what’s really me and what I’m absorbing from others. It might be a ‘twin thing’ – who knows? At any rate, I teasingly call him ‘a seeker’ because it’s almost disturbing how good he is.
At times, Detective Inspector Newbold’s success is partly due to me. Don’t get me wrong – he’s good at what he does – but, sometimes, my brother asks for help. Though, that’s not something we can explain to other people. So, to make things easier, Seb fixed me up as a prison visitor, granting me an identity card and legitimizing my visits to the police station whenever my gifts are needed to see into a prisoner’s psyche.
A Prison Visitor checks on the welfare of inmates, so it’s the perfect cover. And, as a volunteer position, I can visit the nick as many times as I wish, though there’s a minimum requirement of once a month. Of course, when I’m not giving tours part-time at the historic Spanner House or meeting clients in need of my special talents, I try to visit the detainees, so my frequency isn’t questioned.
The police station is a difficult place to be, especially since I’m not in complete control of my gifts. I have a good mastery of them now, after time and a steep learning curve that wasn’t always pretty. Still, sometimes, my empathic cues work on touch alone. While, other times, I’m bombarded by images, emotions, or both. When that happens, I must sift through the information, trying to make sense of it before I can extract any viable data. That isn’t always easy because people are complex, and it becomes worse when it’s intensified by a stressful situation – like being behind bars.
The negativity of the nick can be overwhelming. Thankfully, not everyone is open to me – some can block me without knowing they’re doing it. Occasionally, I must disengage myself because I simply don’t want to see the private things people keep to themselves – whatever that might be. After all, I’m not at the station to judge. I really just want to help, and most of the people there are good. They’ve just found themselves in a bad position. And, in the end, nothing about solving crimes is straightforward, and I’m only an aid to help.
The case at hand involved a woman. Mandy Smith. She was murdered on Lowhampton Heath about five miles from where I lived. Though a known jogger in the area, who regularly came to the heath to take her exercise due to her nearby residence, I didn’t know her personally.
The story of the missing woman had been all over the papers for weeks. Finally, her shallow grave was discovered by a man walking his dog. According to forensics, her time of death was placed a week earlier. When Seb told me the grim details of the case, that fact disturbed me. It meant she’d been kept alive somewhere before her murder.
“The police haven’t got much to go on in identifying the killer,” my brother informed me. “Now, matters have taken a twist.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, a wave of trepidation washing over me.
“A second girl has gone missing from the same area.”
I couldn’t stop the audible gasp that passed my lips. All I kept thinking was how Mandy had been captive before she was killed.
Seb rubbed his temple. “Look, Cassie, I know this is hard for you, but… maybe, if you walked in Mandy Smith’s footsteps, you might pick something up. I know there are no promises, but we’ve got nothing right now to help catch this guy.”
“Okay,” I agreed. “I’ll try.”
The early morning was quieter than the popular heath was by later day. I sensed Seb somewhere behind me and appreciated how he knew to stay out of the way. It was important for him not to intervene during this stage of my process. Taking in a deep breath, I tried to shake off my tension.
The sky was already a deep blue, promising to be a beautiful day. The seasons influence my life, so the dark green trees filled my heart with happiness. I loved this time of year when nature came alive after a long winter.
The colours and the moods were all part of me. They seemed to enhance my skills.
As I gazed over at the trees, I took another deep breath, exhaling slowly and deliberately. I feel her. She was here.
My chest rose and dropped again. My feet moved along the trail, stepping in the victim’s footsteps. It wasn’t long before I shuddered to a halt. This was where her enjoyment had turned to fear.
My heart thumped as my breath grew jagged. Blood rushed through my veins at speed as Mandy’s fear bubbled under the surface and a sob rose in my throat. It was her cry and her terror that mounted inside me. It caused me to flee as my “fight or flight” instincts kicked in.
He was chasing us.
Her feet became mine as we moved together towards the trees. Entering a pathway surrounded by woodland, I knew beyond a doubt this was where he had grabbed her. My panic rose, and I moved quickly. The action made me lose my footing slightly and caused me to turn my head just as a shadow leapt at me. Crying out, I threw my arms wide, hoping to knock my attacker sideways, even though I knew he wasn’t real.
We rolled, interlocked, on the ground until we slammed into a large boulder. The impact forced the breath from my lungs as I came to an abrupt halt with a shadow from the past. Gasping for air, I heard Seb scrambling towards me from the side. Just at that moment, a shaft of sunlight hit the trees, and I finally saw the perpetrator’s face.
“Are you alright?” Seb asked, his eyes wide with concern. He offered a hand to help me to my feet.
I nodded eagerly, accepting his aid. “I saw his face.”
My brother’s smile was wide. “Good. We’ll go to the station and have someone draw it up.”
Chapter 2
My sketch of the murderer went wide on all networks – television, newspaper, and social media. There were a few leads phoned in, which were followed up on, but they came to nothing. Perhaps my view of the killer was off, causing the low response. After all, I can never guarantee perfection.
Worryingly, there was still no news on Chantelle Parslow, the other girl who had gone missing. It’d been almost a week since I walked in the killer’s footsteps, yet we were no further along in the case. In the hope of moving forward, I tried to channel Mandy Smith, even though I knew my talents didn’t work that way. As expected, that yielded no leads. There was just no connection between us. Most likely, she’d been laid to rest without a residual link to this world.
Twice a month, I rent a room at our local community centre. It’s there that I hold paid gatherings, giving spontaneous readings for people hoping to communicate with their deceased loved ones. My group sessions are popular, and I get booked up quickly. Though it gives me a small income, I limit the attendees to keep it more intimate.
I always start these sessions by explaining what it means to be a clairvoyant, a little about my background, and what the audience can expect during the event. We move on to a question-and-answer section, then I invite people from ‘the other side’ to join us. I let the spirits speak to me, relaying any messages I can to the audience, and, more often than not, someone knows when it’s their loved one speaking to them.
If my clients desire a private reading or séance, they take a leaflet and contact me independently. I hold individual readings at The Dandelion Café near my flat. However, I perform séances for exclusive groups at their homes or a place of their choosing.
My usual clientele tends to be older and mostly female, so I immediately noticed when the well-groomed, sophisticated man entered the room for one of my sessions. He was wearing jeans and a jumper with brown brogues, which flattered his physique. I’m such a sucker for good-looking men, and he definitely drew me in – tall, dark, and handsome.
That day, I had over ten people in attendance and could not get around to personally greet everyone before we began. Sadly, he was one I missed, but I took note as to where he was seated and hoped he would ask a question so I could hear his voice. Unfortunately, the dashing fellow didn’t. He remained quiet, listening intently as his expression alternated between hope and disappointment.
Despite the activity, my eyes kept returning to the swarthy visitor. His presence made it hard to concentrate at times, especially when he flashed his pearly whites at me. It was so warm and inviting that I melted like the chocolate his compelling gaze reminded me of.
Speaking of eyes, have you heard of the expression ‘eye candy?’ Well, it’s one of my favourite phrases, and I really appreciate it when I see some. And he most definitely was a treat to behold.
Even though I was single, my only intention was to enjoy my delicious view. Still, it’d been a while since I’d had a boyfriend, so I won’t lie – It brightened my day to see something pleasant, but it was even better feeling the attraction returned. I relished in the warmth that radiated from the stranger, reaching towards me, and proving he liked what he saw, too.
After the session finished, people came up to talk with me. During that time, as often happens, a queue formed. Glancing down the line, I was thrilled to see my mystery man waiting. Despite his dazzling smile, my excitement turned to sadness when he finally stopped in front of me, and I was assaulted by his sorrow.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, feeling sympathetic.
“My twin sister is missing.”
A small gasp escaped from my lips before I could stop it. He’s a twin? This immediately made my connection to him stronger.
“I wondered if… there was anything you could help with…” He shook his head as though words eluded him.
I looked at the queue behind him and knew we wouldn’t have time to talk. Normally, I’d invite the person to the next scheduled session (free of charge), but I didn’t want to wait. Impulsively, I scribbled my personal number on the back of my business card before handing it to him.
“Why don’t you give me a call or, better still, text me, and I’ll see if there’s something I can do. Although, I can’t promise anything.” My eyes bore into his as I willed him to take me up on my offer. Despite my attraction, I really wanted to help.
“Thank you.” Taking it, he looked at the paper in his hand. “I will be in touch – soon.”
“Please do,” I encouraged, hoping he had picked up my silent message.
“My name is Pedro, by the way.” He smiled warmly and I felt the draw between us grow.
“You can call me Cassie.”
“Cassie,” he repeated in the sweetest voice. “Thanks again.”
I wished I could talk to Pedro longer, but the people in the queue were becoming impatient. Bidding him goodbye, I continued with my duties. Once I had finished with the reception line, I pondered what I had done while I stacked the chairs along the side of the room.
Giving Pedro my mobile number was impulsive. After all, I didn’t know him. Still, I worked on instinct, which gave me all the right signals, and it was obvious he needed my services.
My flat was located in the perfect place - above a shop, right in the centre of the main thoroughfare through the village. The roadway had a proper name, but everyone simply referred to it as ‘The High Street.’ And just down the avenue was The Dandelion Café, where I liked to hang out.
Sipping coffee, I stared out of the window from my regular table. There was something satisfying about being amongst living people, especially during the busier weekends. The tree-lined boulevard was just buzzing with shoppers, who popped in and out of the colourful artisan boutiques and various shops.
As I idly watched the world around me, my mind ruminated on the man Seb was trying to locate. I pondered who the murderer might be, and how these shoppers would feel if they knew a killer walked amongst them.
He could be anywhere, I realised. He might be striding down this very street, seemingly normal. That’s what made him even more dangerous. He could be choosing another victim from the crowd while everyone else just thought him to be a regular guy. They wouldn’t know what he’s done, or the life he’s taken for his own gratification.
On the hea
th, I’d felt his joy as he went after his prey. His energy and pleasure were there for me to absorb as I grappled with him – well, his residual being, anyway. It sickened me then, just as it did while I sat there, staring down at my fingers, and worked a bit of cloth that came from an evidence bag. It had come out of my pocket when I looked for change to pay Sue, the waitress.
Though I felt Mandy Smith in my core, the fabric I held gave me nothing new. Usually, holding something a victim owned opened a channel for them to speak to me, but that wasn’t always the case. Like now, I saw Mandy’s life - her hopes and dreams for a future she’d no longer have. I could feel her, but it was like an impression. She wasn’t there.
Sometimes, it happens like that. I’ve learnt that along the way, which is one of the reasons why I never give guarantees. You can’t rely on the dead. You can only trust your own instinct when trying to give comfort.
Comfort, I thought to myself with a quiet snort. Will things ever feel comfortable again? I’d always felt safe here, but now, well, things are different.
Crime occurs everywhere, but this kind of thing didn’t happen in our towns – not in our villages. We were a safe community, yet now it had. For the first time in my life, my hometown felt like a dangerous place to live.
Suddenly, a coldness swept over me, and, for a second, everything around me became silent. I inhaled sharply. The fabric seemed to come alive in my hands as if trying to tell me something.
Oh my God! He’s here. The murderer is here!
The surrounding people came back into focus just as an unassuming male approached me. “Excuse me? Is anyone using this chair?”
My blood ran cold, causing me to shiver. Before me, a bit older and somewhat jowlier than I had envisioned, was the man from the heath. Seeing him in person, I realised there was a similarity to the drawing we’d distributed, but not enough to be a good likeness. I’d missed so many details – like his potbelly.
The Killer on the Heath (The Cassidy Newbold, Clairvoyant Collection Book 1) Page 1
