Shorestone Murders: Book #1 of The Detective Isobel Hester Series

by Karina Evans

  Isobel hung up, shaking her head to clear it before jogging back towards the Shorestone Trader Inn.

  Dominic listened to the message he had missed while in briefing, shivering with horror when he realised Isobel left the voicemail over an hour ago. He raced to his desk to grab his car keys, Heather following closely behind.

  “Where are you going?” Heather called. “I’ve just made you a coffee.”

  “Stay here, Heather, I’ll have it when I get back.”

  Heather slowed her run, dropping back and watching as Dominic started his car and drove it uncharacteristically quickly from the car park.

  “Bet it’s that bloody Isobel,” Heather mumbled. “That woman doesn’t deserve him. I deserve him. Me.”

  Dominic called Isobel on his bluetooth car system as he drove towards the address she had given, but the call went to voicemail. “Robert Edwards-Walsh is the fucking pervert sergeant… pick up, Isobel. I knew he would get into trouble. Shit, it all makes sense. Ok, so he was on scene guard, an aggravated burglary — a female was badly attacked, sexually assaulted and tied to the bed while two men basically emptied her house. The Inspector caught Edwards-Walsh in her bedroom, pocketing the underwear the males had removed during the attack. He had got to the scene to secure it for forensics so had entered without consent, messing up the crime scene and causing issues in court. I said at the time that he had the potential to be a very dangerous man and I really, really wish I wasn’t right. Ok, I’m at his flat now. I need to get him into custody, so hoping I’ll find him here. Hold tight, I’m coming to the Inn straight after.”

  Dominic double-parked outside 129 Seaside and jumped out of the car to try the front door. It was closed but unlocked and so he went in, running lightly up the stairs to the top floor. The flat door was locked, so Dominic knocked on it and stood back, waiting for a reply. When none came, he shouted, ‘POLICE,’ and knocked again. Still no answer. The door next to Robert’s flat opened and an old lady peered suspiciously through the gap. “What you wanting with that young man?”

  “Oh, hello,” Dominic said, brightly. “I need access to Mr Edward-Walsh’s flat — his daughter has gone missing and so I need to get some… some DNA and prints.” Dominic held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t query why he wasn’t going to Scarlett’s home address, but she seemed satisfied, disappearing and returning with a spare key a minute later.

  “For emergencies,” the old lady explained, “I’m the landlady and you never know when you might need to get in. I know for sure that Robert is out right now — he was in a bit of a hurry by all accounts, but oddly he had his daughter with him. At least I think it was his daughter — she looked very upset, and he said she had broken up with her boyfriend, that he’d pushed her around — her face was all bruised, see, and her ear was bleeding. Young people, eh?” She pushed opened the flat door. “Don’t you go messing up his things, now.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  Dominic ran into the flat, calling Scarlett’s name. No answer. No sign of Robert either, although his coat was on the floor of the bedroom, showing he had left in a hurry — perhaps when he realised Isobel wasn’t coming back, Dominic considered. A glint caught his eye, and he bent down, picking up a hooped earring that was just visible from under the bed. He recalled Isobel saying something about Scarlett’s piercings — in particular, how large her earrings were. She had likened them to a phase Isobel herself had gone through at fourteen; adorning multiple piercings with creole earrings in diminishing sizes. He held the earring up to the light, noticing a smear of blood on the top, as though pulled out accidentally. Or in a struggle, Dominic thought, realising that he was now racing against the clock.

  Dominic jumped back into his car, ignoring the screeching and horn-honking of the cars behind him as he pulled out in front of them, he needed to get to the Shorestone Trader to find out what was happening, and he needed to get there fast.

  Heather picked up her bag and coat and left the office, waving goodbye to her colleagues. Only one responded, and their cheerful wave felt trite and obligatory. She walked to the car park, stopping briefly to check her phone — no emails, no texts — before unlocking and opening the door of her new Fiat 500. The car had given her such joy when she had first bought it, but its presence now made Heather feel empty — a car, however beautiful and shiny, would never replace what Heather truly craved — love. And Heather would love nothing more to be driving a ten-year-old car because the kids left her with barely two pennies to rub together. Because when they closed the door on their little semi-detached house on the outskirts of Shorestone, when they were all snuggled together on the sofa watching a Disney film, when they were fighting over who had the last piece of popcorn, Heather would know that the sacrifices were all worth it. Instead, she lived in an overpriced two-bedroom property in the middle of town, owned a brand new car, the latest laptop, phone, watch, and all for what. Who cared? Who gave a shit what Heather had and didn’t have? Nobody but Heather was who.

  “Has she been here?” Isobel demanded, poking her head around the Shorestone Trader Inn door and addressing the room, rather than a particular individual. “Scarlett Hester… Edwards-Walsh. Has she been here?”

  Mark looked up from behind the bar, where he was pulling a pint for a local. “Not here, not today,” he replied. “Saw that twat of an ex of yours, though; funnily enough, he was looking for you. Said he was heading off to find you at your place.”

  “Robert?”

  “Yes, that’s the one. Robert double-barrelled posh twat.”

  “A police officer will come looking for me soon — his name is Dominic. Tell him to meet me at mine.”

  “I might.”

  Isobel didn’t respond; by the time Mark had finished his sentence she was already turning off the seafront and running towards the B&B, certain of only one thing — Robert was with Scarlett and she was in danger.

  Panting, she arrived at the B&B, quickly using the keypad to let herself in. She ran up the stairs to her room, shouting Robert and Scarlett’s names, but the building was silent. Throwing open her door, she fully expected to find Robert sitting on her bed with Scarlett tied up beside him, but frustratingly her room was exactly as she had left it. She ran back down the stairs, still shouting for Robert and Scarlett, hearing nothing but the echo of her own voice off the bare walls.

  Dominic pulled up outside the Shorestone Trader Inn, yanked his handbrake on, and ran round to the single door entrance at the side of the pub. He noticed the landlord standing behind the bar, his head down, pulling a pint. “You seen Isobel?”

  The landlord didn’t lift his head, “You’ll find that bitch, along with the double-barrelled posh twat, at her place.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Heather looked in the mirror on her bathroom cabinet door, unhappy with the face that stared back at her. The past few months had been really hard for her — the return of Isobel and the constant battle to feel worthy had worn her down, both physically and emotionally. Everybody noticed Isobel, everybody loved Isobel, yet Heather faded into the background as though shrouded in camouflage.

  It had been a long time since Heather had really studied herself, and she didn’t like what she saw. The frown lines on her forehead had deepened over the past few years, forging great scars as though mirroring her memories. Her mouth had turned down at the edges and she had bitten her nails to the quick. If bitterness was an image, Heather thought, her likeness would be spot on. Her head was pounding, and she opened the cabinet to grab a painkiller. Nestled just behind the paracetamol were four blister packs of co-codamol, which her GP had prescribed when she had hurt her back during a burglary raid a few years back. She took them from the cabinet and turned them over in her hands a few times, eventually running a tumbler of water from the bathroom tap and swallowing fifteen tablets. An hour passed and Heather focused on her face in the mirror until it became meaningless, her past and present swimming through her mind, intertwining and mingling, forming idl
e patterns. She sat on the edge of the bath, unsure how long it would take to die, how many more painful minutes she would have to live before her life was finally over, and then she climbed, fully clothed, anonymous, into the empty bath, turning the taps on to run warm water over her body. If the tablets didn’t kill her, she would drown. No mistakes, no escape, no chance of survival.

  As she stared at the water pouring from the taps, a noise startled her. It was her phone. Breaking through the fog in her mind was the realisation that someone was bothering to call her — that maybe someone cared. She reached over the bath to pick up her mobile from the floor, trying to focus on the name of the caller displayed on the screen. It was Dom. Dear, kind Dom. Dom, who was always so furious with her; angry with her for being unkind, angry for being bitter, angry because he didn’t know or want to understand what his precious Isobel had put her through. Annoyed, she tried to stab the End Call button with her finger, instead hitting the green Accept Call icon.

  “Heather, it’s Dom. I need your help. Meet me at Isobel’s B&B. Straight away.”

  “I’m sorry; I’ve… been awful. I’ve allowed my past to colour the way I’ve worked on this investigation, the way I’ve treated Isobel, and I shouldn’t have done. I’m ashamed.”

  “What? Heather? I don’t have time for this; I’m going to be at the B&B in five. I’m driving now. Meet me there.”

  Heather stared at the taps; the water distorted, blurring in and out of focus as she struggled to keep her mind sharp. She leaned over to turn the taps off, trying to control her body as she fell backwards in the bathtub. Dom needed her — who cares if it was for stupid Isobel. Dom needed her, so she couldn’t die.

  “I can’t. Sorry. Taken tablets… it’s over. Sorry.”

  Heather dropped her phone, sliding into the water.

  “Shit. Fuck. Heather? Shit.” Dominic, with just one eye on the road, stabbed at 999 on his mobile.

  “Ambulance required quickly — 45 Simpton Close — Heather Fraser; overdose, sound of running water, she may be in danger of drowning. Get there quick.”

  He hung up, swerving to avoid an elderly lady crossing the road in front of him, images of Heather flashing before his eyes; Heather making him cups of tea; Heather trying to please him; Heather leaning in to kiss him; Heather, Heather, Heather…

  As Isobel headed towards the front door, about to leave the B&B, she heard a whimpering sound and spun. Monkey, Cara’s elderly dog, was standing at the office door, looking as dejected as a dog could look. Not one to usually speak unnecessarily, particularly not to an animal, Isobel felt self-conscious as she directly addressed the dog. “Monkey, hey, where’s Cara?” Unsurprisingly, the dog didn’t answer, instead sniffing at Isobel’s legs and looking at her with his sad eyes. “Come on, Monkey,” Isobel said, with a cheerfulness she did not feel, leading him back towards the office. Monkey refused to get back into his bed, standing between Isobel’s legs as though protecting himself from something. Or somebody. Isobel looked around her, her eyes falling on the hooks on the wall. There was still only one set of keys for Room One, peculiar seeing as all forensics in Olivia’s room had been completed and the room should now be free to let. The front door key was also missing. Isobel took the second set of keys for Room One and walked steadily over the hallway to let herself in.

  She paused at the door, putting her ear to it to find out if anything was going on in the room. A voice made her jump. “Come in, Isobel. I know you’re there; it’d be good to see your beautiful face.”

  Isobel’s hands shook as she put the key in the lock. It clicked, and she pushed it open, her eyes quickly becoming accustomed to the dark. The only furniture left in the room was a bed, on which sat Cara, her mouth taped closed and her eyes wide in fear, and a small chest of drawers near the door.

  “Let her go,” Isobel demanded, turning to Robert, who was standing by the shelf on which Olivia’s training manuals had been. “You’ve no business with Cara. Let her go. Where is Scarlett?”

  Robert was smiling, but he looked distant. “I wore my shoes for you,” he said, gesturing towards his feet. “I realised you’d figured that one out.” He rubbed at one temple with a thumb and forefinger. “I’m not feeling so good. I think I need help.”

  Isobel walked towards him, her hands outstretched. “I can help you. I promise I can. Just let Cara go.”

  Robert shivered, refocusing on Isobel as though seeing her in the room for the first time. He gestured at Cara with his right hand, in which he held a knife.

  “This lovely lady has agreed to help me kill you. I had her tell me that just before I popped the tape on her mouth. I hope it’s not too uncomfortable, Cara, it’s just to stop you giving away the finer details of our little plan.” Robert looked over at Cara, who shook her head to show that she wasn’t feeling any discomfort.

  “Robert, you’re not well. Let me help you. I can tell them you didn’t mean to do it —” Isobel paused. “It is you, isn’t it? The Shorestone Killer? Why do you want to kill me?”

  “I killed to make you return to me, of course. Scarlett wasn’t keen on you coming back at first — I tried to get her to ask you to come home, but she wouldn’t. And then I killed Violet —” Robert looked at Isobel’s face. “Don’t be horrified — it was an accident. But, I liked it. I don’t know, it seemed so simple. You hunt killers and I wanted to be hunted, I suppose. Plus, I got to connect with Scarlett and then I tied her up and took her and here you are. Just as I expected. All together at last.”

  “Where is Scarlett?” Isobel asked.

  Robert looked confused. “She’s close by, so I don’t think there’s any need to worry.” He rubbed his head again. “She’s not too keen on seeing you, but I figure that can easily change. We could be together.”

  “Scarlett and I… we’re ok. We don’t need you. It wasn’t my fault I couldn’t see her the other day; I thought she knew that? You said you would explain to her… is she safe? Just tell me she is safe.”

  “She is. Emotionally, at least. I protected her from you. You really upset her — you promised her money and then didn’t give her any, then you didn’t turn up to meet us that evening. And wasn’t there that time you didn’t turn up for her birthday? Oh, and the abandonment thing —” Robert staggered to one side. “How else am I to keep us together other than to kill us all?” Robert glanced over at Cara, whose eyes had filled with tears. He walked towards her, running the blunt edge of the knife against the side of her face. “Not you, Cara — you’re my little helper. Let me show you how to use a knife.” Robert pulled Cara to her feet, where she stood unsteadily as he placed the knife in her open palm.

  Isobel saw her opportunity, edging towards Cara, holding her hand slightly out from her body to give Cara the opportunity to pass the knife to her. She needed to keep Robert occupied and so carried on talking.

  “Robert, you don’t seem well. Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine. I’ve never been better.”

  “Show me that Scarlett is safe and then we will talk.”

  “She’s sleeping.”

  Isobel felt panic rising in her chest as she imagined Scarlett lying dead in Valley Woods. “Where? Where is my daughter?”

  Cara’s eyes flicked, almost imperceptibly, towards the cupboard built into the corner of the room. Isobel felt a chill running through her. She couldn’t let Robert know she had clocked Cara’s eye movement, but the thought of her daughter locked in a tiny cupboard in the corner of the room was unbearable.

  “Ok, ok, you’re right.” Isobel rushed. “We would make a great couple… I should have given us more of a chance… I mean, let’s give it a go, shall we, just let Cara go, and let me help Scarlett and then —”

  Robert’s face hardened. “How do you know Scarlett needs help? What makes you think she is not ok?”

  Isobel’s blood ran cold, and she lunged towards Cara, grabbing the knife from her hand just as the door to the room burst open and Dominic appeared in the doorway.

>   “I was right,” Dominic said calmly, staring directly at Robert. “You were only one pair of frillies away from becoming a sex offender.”

  Robert stared coldly at Dominic. “I expected you would turn up. Have you been sleeping with Isobel?”

  “Robert, the game is over. Let me take you in.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, mate.” Robert walked to the doorway where Dominic stood. Isobel glanced over at Cara, nodding to reassure her that all was ok.

  “I’m not your mate, and there’s nowhere for you to go.” Dominic stood his ground in front of the taller man, his years in the police training him to appear larger than he was. “The exits are blocked. You’re coming in.”

  Isobel saw a flash in Robert’s hand and called out to Dominic. But it was too late. She ran towards her colleague just as he was falling to the floor, clutching his stomach where Robert had stabbed him. Robert fell with him, landing on Dominic with all his weight, his hands around the other man’s throat. Dominic, struggling for breath, kicked out at Robert, shaking his head to loosen the grip. Isobel threw herself onto Robert’s back, reaching out to find something to hit him with. She looked to her left and saw a large book on the floor underneath the chest of drawers — Olivia’s textbook about caring for the elderly — and she walked her fingers along the floor to reach it, finally catching the hard cover between her index and middle finger, dragging it, raising it high in the air, smashing it down onto Robert’s head. Stunned, he let go of Dominic and twisted, throwing Isobel to the floor. She landed with a grunt, and suddenly he was on top of her, his hands around her neck, Isobel clawing at his face, his eyes, hooking her fingers in his mouth in desperation as the world greyed out around her. Through her blurry vision she saw a figure behind Robert, looming in the open doorway, and it could have been that she was dying and hallucinating, but she swore it was Bradley.