Dedication
For Mark, Rupert and Tim
HER LAST BREATH
ALISON BELSHAM
Contents
Dedication
Title Page
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter i
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter ii
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter iii
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter iv
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter v
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter vi
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright
Vulnerasti cor meum,
soror mea
You have wounded my heart,
my sister
Prologue
Wednesday, 19 July 2017
A dragonfly dipped low over the prow of the rowing boat, transparent wings shimmering in a shaft of sunlight, its body a sharp blue needle. The man watched it for a moment, before turning his attention back to navigating the narrow channel the river had become. Seven long, hot weeks without rain had exposed flat expanses of riverbed that were usually covered with water. The vegetation on the banks was brown, leaves curled like old parchment. The mud stank in the unending heat, flies buzzing and jostling above it.
The man wondered if he’d reach his destination before the water became too shallow for him to keep rowing.
His eye snagged on something protruding from the quagmire up ahead. A dried stick bleached white by the sun, revealed in the cracked, dried mud as the water receded. The dragonfly swooped, then settled on the tip of it, fanning its wings in the sunlight.
The man tugged harder on the oars, scraping the riverbed and churning up clouds of silt as he slipped through the water. He squinted as he came closer. It wasn’t a stick at all.
It was a bone.
And he knew enough about anatomy to recognise it for what it was.
A human thigh bone.
His father’s thigh bone.
The man lost his grip on one oar, his palms slick with sweat. It clattered in the rowlock, scaring a brace of pigeons into the air. But there was no one there to see how much his hands were shaking as he clumsily turned the boat around to return the way he had come.
The sun was low in the sky now, its brilliance turning to dull orange, but its heat hadn’t dissipated. Its reflection turned the water ahead of him blood red, just as it had been on the day she died.
He read the signs, he interpreted them.
The past wouldn’t be silenced. Or forgotten. The man could no longer refuse its call.
1
Saturday, 12 August 2017
Alex
Walking into The Haunt at just after midnight was like walking into a solid wall of sweat. Alex Mullins felt instantly clammy as he pushed his way across the dance floor to the bar. As the tempo of the music ramped up, dripping bodies bumped against him, deflecting him from his course as if he were inside a giant pinball machine. He grinned and looked over his shoulder to check that his girlfriend, Tash, was still with him.
She smiled back, then wrinkled her nose, the combination of cloying perfume and body odour making her grimace. But her hips were already moving to the beat, so Alex abandoned his attempt to get drinks and caught her hand to lead her deeper into the throng. They’d shared a spliff in an alleyway outside the club before coming in, and now Alex let the music seep through his body and take control. Nineties Hip Hop Sweatshop. They certainly got the name right tonight. He danced round Tash, grinding his hips and watching her moves from under heavy eyelids. He couldn’t help thinking about how they’d spent the afternoon in his bedroom, exploring each other’s bodies until his mother got home from work, at which point they’d headed to the beach and the pub.
God, he needed to get a place of his own.
‘Looking so hot, babe,’ he breathed into her ear as their heads bobbed closer together.
It was no exaggeration. Tash Brady was easily the fittest girl on his course. A heart-shaped face with a wide mouth, long chestnut hair and even longer legs. Great rack. Alex had wanted her the moment he saw her, and his desire for her showed no sign of waning several months on. He’d never dated anyone for this long before.
He watched her dancing. She had great moves, but she kept adjusting her position so she could see herself in the mirror behind the bar. She smoothed down her top, then a moment later fiddled with her hair. Alex moved to block her view of herself and Tash frowned.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he mouthed over the music. She shook her head.
Why was she so insecure? Were all girls like this? Yeah, his mother was a bundle of insecurities, but her relationship with his dad had been a mess for years. But what about Tash? There was no reason for her to constantly doubt herself. He didn’t get it, so it pissed him off.
A moment later, she’d danced round him so she could see herself again. This time she pouted, checking her lip gloss, and then stopped dancing. She leaned forward and grasped his arm.
‘Just going to the toilet,’ she said, her mouth close to his ear, warm breath on his neck.
Alex felt a surge of longing and pressed his hips forward against hers. Tash laughed and pulled away. He watched her go and saw her talking to Sally Ann at the edge of the dance floor. If she was here, perhaps the rest of the crew were too. Tash would be gone for some time, so Alex circled the floor looking for other mates.
He didn’t see an
yone he knew, so he carried on dancing, letting the music clear his mind until all he was aware of was the rhythmic pulse of the thudding bass.
Alex felt a tug on one of his dreadlocks and snapped out of his trance.
A skinny blonde girl in tight sequins was gyrating in front of him, reaching up to pull his hair again. He swung his head to one side to avoid her hand. It annoyed him. His dreads weren’t public property but it was amazing how many people thought it was okay to touch them. He kept dancing, watching to see what the girl would do next. She was pretty enough, but not his type. Her flinty eyes and pointed nose made her face sharp. She was probably the sort of girl who would actually look better when she wasn’t plastered in make-up.
She came closer, smiling and beckoning him in with a hand. She wanted to say something.
He leaned in.
‘Is it true about black men’s cocks?’
‘What?’ he mouthed, taking a step back so he could see her face. He’d heard perfectly clearly what she’d said. It was something he’d heard too many times before – from toxic girls just like her and from cocky lads wanting to pick a fight. He tried not to let it bother him. With the blokes, he could handle himself, and as often as not they backed away as soon as he made it clear he’d take them on. But the girls wound him up, giggling behind their hands, whispering to their friends.
‘Your cock,’ she said. ‘Big, is it?’
For fuck’s sake.
He forced himself to grin at her, then leaned forward again.
‘Why don’t you find out for yourself, babe?’ At the same time, he grabbed her hand and pressed it to his crotch.
She tried to struggle away as soon as she realised what was happening but Alex tightened his grip. Stupid bitch needed to learn a lesson. It took her a moment to gather herself, then she narrowed her eyes and he felt her grabbing at his privates. He pushed her hand away, making her stumble slightly.
Tash appeared behind the girl’s shoulder. ‘What the fuck?’ she mouthed.
She pushed past the blonde to get at Alex. Her brows were lowered in a scowl. She’d seen what had happened.
As the blonde girl melted back into the crowd of dancers, Tash glared at Alex. ‘Jesus, I’m gone for one minute and you let another girl feel you up?’
Alex raised both hands in supplication.
‘It wasn’t like that.’
The music was too loud for an explanation, and it seemed like Tash wasn’t interested in hearing one anyway.
‘I saw what you did,’ said Tash, her voice raised and harsh. ‘Bastard!’
She slapped him hard and fast, and as Alex raised one hand to his cheek in stunned silence, she shoved her way across the dance floor towards the exit.
‘Tash?’
She didn’t hear him. His cheek stung and he realised that people were staring at him. Sally Ann Granger was coming towards him.
‘What’s wrong?’ she said.
Alex shook his head. ‘Nothing. Just a misunderstanding.’
Sally Ann’s eyebrows shot up.
He needed to get out of here, so he pushed past her and followed Tash out.
It was gone one in the morning, but the welcome flood of cold air he expected on leaving the club didn’t materialise. It was still muggy and he felt clammy inside his clothes. There was no sign of Tash – she hadn’t waited for him – so he went around the corner into the alleyway and pulled his gear out of his pocket. Leaning up against a wall, it took him less than a minute to roll a joint and, after glancing around for cops, he lit it.
He held the smoke in his lungs for as long as he could, and waited to feel his body relax. Leaving the joint hanging from the corner of his mouth, he fanned his T-shirt up and down to get some air onto his sweaty chest. Fuck that stupid blonde girl. He’d finish his smoke, then go and find Tash.
Bloody women. Sometimes he wondered if they were worth the bother.
He inhaled again. It was good stuff, strong. He let go of his T-shirt and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. He’d sort Tash out in a moment . . .
2
Saturday, 12 August 2017
Tash
Tash Brady took a lungful of sea air to clear away the sweat and fug of the club, then lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. Damn Alex Mullins! She turned her back on The Haunt, wishing she’d never agreed to go there tonight, and headed down Old Steine towards the seafront. Even though it was well past one in the morning, heat still radiated off the stone walls, which was just as well as she didn’t have a jacket.
She’d had too much to drink in the pub garden earlier, and the potent mix of lukewarm Prosecco and hot sun had made her head ache. The joint she’d shared with Alex outside The Haunt hadn’t helped either. She’d been snappy with Alex in the pub and by the time they’d arrived at the club, at just gone midnight, she wasn’t in the best of moods. Half an hour of the thumping bass of the Nineties Hip Hop Sweatshop set had made her head pound. She felt sick and she wanted to go home. She’d retreated to the toilets with Sally Ann, where she sat gossiping from one of the cubicles, door open, while she waited for a couple of Nurofen to kick in. Sally Ann’s stories of the hunk she was shagging at work brightened her mood, but by the time she came back to the dance floor, Alex had been cracking on with another girl.
Screw that. They were done as far as she was concerned. Over. Finished.
Her six-inch heels clattered on the pavement, and she could hear the throbbing beat of house music coming from another of their favourite clubs on the corner. A drunken couple emerged, grappling with each other on the pavement, and Tash sniffed self-pityingly as she carried on walking on her own. Friday nights were always busy in the clubs, but once she got down to the front, there was far less action. It was completely different to earlier, when the beach had been jam-packed with bodies – tanned girls in tight bikinis, ripped guys showing off their abs, mums screaming at toddlers, and old guys turned lobster-red because they’d fallen asleep in the sun. The air still carried a whiff of suntan lotion and chips.
She crossed the main road to the promenade without having to stop for traffic. She looked around and listened, hoping to hear Alex’s heavier footfall behind her, or to see him coming to get her as if he really cared.
But that was the thing. The bastard didn’t.
She couldn’t turn back. She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him with that girl, so she marched purposefully along the front in the direction of The Grand Hotel. If he hadn’t texted her by the time she got there, she’d get a cab home. His loss. He’d realise that when he woke up in the morning and didn’t get her usual ‘good morning’ text.
The moon was a sharp, silver crescent and her tears blurred the light dappling the surface of the sea. Had she really been that clever to get into a relationship with Alex Mullins? Sure, he was buff, but he was a mare to deal with. Everyone knew he was a player. A fuckboy with double standards – he could chat up other girls in clubs as much as he liked, but if she so much as looked at another guy, he flipped.
But then she thought about the afternoon spent in bed with him, and lit another cigarette. She hadn’t been a virgin when she’s started seeing Alex but she might as well have been. He’d made her aware of her body in ways she’d never experienced with other boys. Like he really knew what he was doing. . . Because he was a player, right?
She craned her neck over her shoulder, looking back towards the pier. There was still no sign of him, but there were no taxis outside The Grand either, so she carried on walking. Fuck him. She wouldn’t go back to him, even if he begged. She deserved someone better.
She took another drag of her cigarette, then dropped it. She didn’t want to stink of smoke. She’d be home in fifteen minutes even if she walked the whole way. If her mum was still up, there’d be hell to pay. Smoking. Staying out late. She could never do anything right – her mum treated her like sh
e was still a kid. Then she remembered – her parents were away and she’d be going home to an empty house. She ground out the butt with her foot, then slipped off her heels and picked them up. The pavement was hot under her bare feet, and she had a sudden urge to feel the cooling balm of wet sand between her toes. She headed down a ramp that led from the promenade onto the beach, scurrying across the pebbles, gasping aloud at the sharp stones underfoot, until she reached the soft sand at the water’s edge. She looked up at the town, walking back along the beach a little way until she could see the floodlit domes of the Pavilion. Then the bright lights of the pier made her feel even lonelier.
The sand was deserted. Just a broken deckchair and a line of litter at the highwater mark. Tash started to cry again as she turned back to head for home. The noise of the waves raking the gravel drowned out the sound of her sobbing. She didn’t want to break up with Alex. They had fun together, they had amazing sex. Having a boyfriend like him made her feel good about herself. And what would happen when she went back to college in September? If they broke up, how would she bear having to see him every day, hanging out with those slags who were always pushing themselves at him?
With a sniff, she wiped her eyes and kept walking. Up on the road, the traffic had all but disappeared and there was no one else out walking at this time of night. That was a good thing, wasn’t it? She shivered and started to wish she hadn’t been so impulsive. Maybe if she’d acted cool and hadn’t shoved the bitch, she’d still be at the club with Alex . . .
A hundred yards ahead, she could see the intricate silhouette of the Victorian bandstand, jutting out above the beach from the promenade. It reminded her of a wedding cake. She’d walked further than she thought, and she was cold now, but she still had quite a way to go. The moon vanished behind a cloud and it seemed instantly darker. She quickened her pace, moving away from the water’s edge – her feet were freezing.
She thought she heard something but she couldn’t work out what it was over the sound of the waves. A lone gull swooped inquisitively and then flew off with a screech. Tash gasped. It was nothing, but it unnerved her so she walked faster still, thinking of how bright and cosy her bedroom would be in a few minutes. She thought about how Alex would sprawl on her bed when her parents were out and what they got up to, always in a hurry in case her mother came home. God knows what would happen if they were ever caught.
Her Last Breath: The new crime thriller from the international bestseller (Sullivan and Mullins) Page 1
