Table of Contents
Cover
Recent Titles by Jane A. Adams From Severn House
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Epilogue
Recent Titles by Jane A. Adams from Severn House
The Naomi Blake Mysteries
MOURNING THE LITTLE DEAD
TOUCHING THE DARK
HEATWAVE
KILLING A STRANGER
LEGACY OF LIES
SECRETS
GREGORY’S GAME
PAYING THE FERRYMAN
A MURDEROUS MIND
The Rina Martin Mysteries
A REASON TO KILL
FRAGILE LIVES
THE POWER OF ONE
RESOLUTIONS
THE DEAD OF WINTER
CAUSE OF DEATH
FORGOTTEN VOICES
A MURDEROUS MIND
A Naomi Blake Novel
Jane A. Adams
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
This first world edition published 2015
in Great Britain and 2016 in the USA by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of
19 Cedar Road, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM2 5DA.
Trade paperback edition first published
in Great Britain and the USA 2016 by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD
eBook edition first published in 2015 by Severn House Digital
an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited
Copyright © 2015 by Jane A Adams.
The right of Jane A Adams to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
Adams, Jane, 1960- author.
A murderous mind. – (A Naomi Blake mystery)
1. Blake, Naomi (Fictitious character)–Fiction.
2. Ex-police officers–Fiction. 3. Blind women–Fiction.
4. Murder–Investigation–Fiction. 5. Cold cases
(Criminal investigation)–Fiction. 6. Detective and
mystery stories.
I. Title II. Series
823.9’2-dc23
ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8563-0 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-672-5 (trade paper)
ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-728-8 (e-book)
Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
This ebook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Falkirk,
Stirlingshire, Scotland.
PROLOGUE
Outside of his professional life, he mostly slipped through the world unobserved. Unless he chose to be noticed, it was usual for people either to ignore him or, if he did impinge upon their consciousness, to forget him almost immediately. ‘Ordinary’ most would have said had anyone asked. ‘Just an ordinary man’. Not tall, not especially short. Dark hair, maybe? Perhaps greying? Eyes of an indeterminate colour – unless he decided to wear his contact lenses, of course, then they might be blue or brown or, on the odd occasion, even green. In his professional life, of course, there existed a very different state of affairs. He was regarded as an authority on his subject and engaging, even charismatic in his presentation.
This odd duality served his purpose admirably. To spend so much of his life in near invisibility and the rest valued and feted. From time to time, however, in that outside, ordinary world someone did take note of him. He registered on their consciousness in a way that somehow puzzled, frightened or intrigued them.
He was always fascinated by these few. By those who really noticed him, who recognized him – no, that wasn’t quite right; who seemingly recognized what he really was.
They always regretted it, of course. The old woman down in Colchester, who’d looked up from her tea and cakes and gossiping friends and had stared so hard at him. Looked him inside and out – just as he had later, turning her dead body out on to her bedroom carpet.
The man who had bumped into him in the supermarket car park. Any other time and a quick apology would have swept the incident aside. But this one hurried on only to turn and look and then look again and in his gaze there had been recognition and a degree of fear. The man had understood that he had just encountered a predator and that had been enough to bring vengeance down upon his head.
Then there had been the girl. She’d been one of the early ones. He held the memory of her in his mind, folded like a treasure in the soft sheets of a little, pink bed. Fresh washed, the sheets had been, the scent of powder and softener still clinging to them, filling his nose as he laid her down. He had turned her over, pressed her face hard into the pillow so her last breath would be sweet and fragrant, imbued with the scent of artificial flowers and soft soap. Her death earned by the chance act of her asking if he could change a fiver so she had money for the phone. In the days before everyone and their dog carried a mobile. She needed coins to feed the bright red box so she could call her mother and ask for a lift, the town being dark and the last bus gone and her friends off with the new boys they had just picked up in the bar.
She had noticed him. That was the thing. Of all the people she might conceivably have asked, she had chosen him and once she had chosen him she had been frightened by her own judgement. Had started to apologize, to back away and say that it didn’t
matter. That her friends were waiting for her inside the club – despite the fact that he’d seen her exit with them only minutes before and she had waved them a reluctant goodbye. She had noticed him, selected him and he in turn had selected her.
There had been others, of course, both before and since and of course there had been those that chance or circumstance had denied him. And it was a rule of his; if the fates intervened, then he left well alone. He never rode his luck the way some did.
Most recently there had been the boy. Now he wasn’t exactly one that got away so much as one that from the start would be denied. The boy had spotted him one day as he walked through town. Had noticed him again when he’d followed the object of his curiosity into a local café. The boy had looked at him again with those puzzled, analytical eyes and there had been no fear, this time, only knowledge. Recognition. And he had been so sorely tempted. Such a one as this would be a precious treasure indeed.
But he had resisted, not because of any sense of self-restraint but because he knew that this one had already been chosen. He was protected. He was already owned. And there were some people that you did not cross. Some that he, in his turn did not want to be noticed by.
But the experience had not been wasted. The boy had led him to his new interest. A new girl as fresh and blonde and neat as the first one he had taken from this little town all those years before. As appealing as the girl who had needed coins so she could use the phone. This new girl had come into the café with a group of others and they had seated themselves close beside the boy who interested him so much. It was clear that these were not close friends, that their meeting had more to do with necessity than real choosing. Books were produced and laid out on the little round tables, notes taken and exchanged and, as he moved to a closer table so he could listen in, he had realized that this little group was arranging some group project or other. An assignment that required cooperation and division of labour. He was amused by the good-natured arguments over who should go to the library and who should take pictures of the bridge over the main road. The boy said little, seemingly content for the others to assign tasks and taking what was left.
The blonde girl suddenly got up and to his surprise, she approached the table where he sat nursing his cup of coffee.
‘Mind if I take some sugar?’ she asked. ‘There’s none left on our table.’
He nodded and pushed the little brushed steel pot towards her. She took three packs.
‘Thanks,’ she said, then turned away with a bright smile.
He held his breath. Waited. Had that been an end to it he would have kept to his rules, left well alone, deselected her. But as she sat back down she glanced at him again. A swift but appraising look, another automatic smile, a gaze that lingered too long and with too much, almost flirtatious, interest but it sealed her fate. She had noticed him. She would remember. She was now his chosen one.
ONE
When the New Year dawned uneventfully, Naomi dared to hope that it would be a peaceful one – if only in comparison to the one just passed. Frankly, she was glad to see the back of the previous year.
Alec seemed more settled now and had even enrolled in a couple of evening classes. He was still no nearer deciding what he wanted to do with his life post police force, but he was at least doing something and for that, Naomi was deeply grateful even if she wasn’t convinced that his choice of evening activity – creative writing on a Tuesday and pottery on a Thursday would hold his attention for very long. Her old friend Harry just suggested she let him be and don’t fuss.
‘Find something you’d like to do too,’ he suggested. ‘Get yourself out. You’ve spent the last six months cooped up and worried. It’s time you had some fun.’
He was right, Naomi conceded. Both she and Alec had a lot to put behind them. The death of friends, the threat of violence, the car crash that had nearly taken Alec’s life. It was a lot to come to terms with. And Harry was probably right about allowing Alec some slack; she’d fussed enough for a lifetime, never mind a twelvemonth and it really was time to let go and focus her fussing elsewhere. But what did she actually want to do? Neither of Alec’s choices really appealed; she considered the writing option impossible, unless she took someone along with her to take notes, or she took her laptop with the voice input software. And pottery just seemed too messy. It had been Patrick, Harry’s eighteen-year-old son who finally came up with an alternative.
‘He’s always wanted to learn to dance,’ Patrick said. ‘Why don’t the pair of you find a class? Really, Naomi, he could do with the exercise and losing a bit of weight.’
Naomi laughed at the idea. ‘Great, Patrick. Just one small thing. I can’t see what the dance teacher shows us. Small matter of being blind, remember.’
She couldn’t actually see his shrug, but she could hear it in his voice. ‘If you get a good teacher, I’m sure you can get around that. Dad said you did some when you were younger anyway, so I’m sure you’ll pick it up again.’
Naomi smelled a set-up. ‘You and Harry have already talked about this?’
‘Yeah, well just a bit. I mean I can hardly go along with him, can I?’
Much against her better judgement Naomi had agreed to give it a try, on condition that they found the right teacher, only to discover that Patrick and Harry had already made some enquiries.
‘She says it’s not something she’s done before,’ Patrick said. ‘But she and her partner are willing to give it a go if you are. Soo …’
Naomi gave in. Secretly, she was always buoyed up by the way Patrick and Harry just seemed to assume she could do anything if she put her mind to it. And, she thought, it might be fun. She had taken up Latin dance in her teens and learnt it for about three years. She’d never been brilliant, but it had been good exercise and, as Patrick suggested, she could remember a bit of what she’d done.
Patrick and Harry’s rather cavalier attitude to what others saw only as her disability put her in mind of another she had come to call friend and who had a very similar – maybe even more extreme – disregard for things she couldn’t do. Gregory had been in touch over the Christmas period, sending a card and a small gift and phoning them on New Year’s Eve to wish them the blessings of the season. Occasional texts and a postcard from Aberdeen had followed. Naomi found she thought of him often and of the younger man that Gregory currently had charge over, having nursed Nathan back to health after he had taken two bullets and almost been lost to them. Naomi didn’t know Nathan so well but circumstances had conspired to bring strangers together and now those strangers were part of what Naomi considered extended family – though maybe the kind that no one talked about, or at best discussed in hushed whispers when the children or the more respectable members couldn’t overhear.
Harry and Naomi had their first dance lesson on the first Tuesday in the New Year, roughly at the same time Alec went to learn to wrangle words. Ninety minutes later and Naomi was hooked. She had held her own in a class of both beginners and those who had started to learn back in the autumn term and despite the difficulties – Harry having to interpret what the teacher was showing them – and sore toes, there had been moments when Naomi had remembered how to perform basic steps. Brief instances where she had even been able to direct Harry and one very precious minute where the teacher had called upon her class to ‘look at what Naomi’s doing. That’s what you’re aiming for.’
She had practically floated up the stairs to her flat when Harry dropped her home after that first class and dancing had now become a weekly pleasure. Tonight had been no exception. She’d struggled a bit with some new steps, but so had the rest of the class and the resultant almost childish giggling had lifted her spirits.
Alec, as usual, turned up about twenty minutes later.
‘You look happy,’ he said. ‘You had a good time?’
‘Wonderful,’ she said. ‘You?’
‘Yes, I think so. I read out that poem I’d been working on and got some good feedback. I think I might lo
ok for something different next term, but it’s been an interesting experience. There’s a conversational Italian starting in the same slot. Thought that I might give that a go.’
Naomi laughed. ‘Does that mean we ought to plan a holiday? You know, try it out?’
‘It’s not a bad idea,’ Alec said. He bent to fuss Napoleon, Naomi’s large black guide dog. ‘Did you get to watch, old man? How did she do, then?’
‘He wouldn’t know,’ Naomi said. ‘He went to sleep. I could hear him snoring.’
Alec laughed. ‘Very sensible,’ he said. ‘I don’t mind admitting, I’m tired. I’ve got out of the habit of using my brain. I’m hungry too.’
They ordered takeaway and settled in front of the television waiting for it to arrive. It’s going to be all right, Naomi dared to whisper to herself as Alec went to answer the door. She could hear him chatting to the delivery man and he sounded so much more like his old self. We’re going to get through this.
All they needed now, she thought, was a bit of peace and quiet, time to work out what they both wanted from what she was starting to think of as their new lives. Their old ones – the police, responsibilities, anxiety, shed like so much dead skin. Now it was time to start over.
Naomi closed her eyes, her sighted habits still surfacing when she was stressed or even just remembering past worry. Please let everything be OK now, Naomi whispered, not really praying but putting the thought out there for anyone that might conceivably be listening.
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