by Sibel Hodge
Dark Shadows
Sibel Hodge
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
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 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
A Note From The Author
Also by Sibel Hodge
Dark Shadows
Sibel Hodge
Copyright © Sibel Hodge 2020
The moral right of the author has been asserted. All rights reserved in all media. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical (including but not limited to: the Internet, photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system), without prior permission in writing from the author and/or publisher.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
“In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act.”
~ George Orwell
BEFORE
“The greater the power, the more dangerous the abuse.”
~ Edmund Burke
Chapter 1
Vicky
Vicky stepped into the entrance hall of lecture theatre block two, the pressure building in her head. Except it wasn’t really pressure. It was a tinny sound, like white noise—buzzing and throbbing. The voices in her head were back, telling her to do it. Walk up the stairs.
A student jostled her, his backpack connecting with her shoulder, sending her staggering backwards for a second. He muttered a hurried apology, but Vicky didn’t notice. Later, he’d wish he’d paid more attention. Later, he’d spend months wondering if he could’ve done something to prevent it.
Do it, Vicky. There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.
Vicky nodded to herself as she walked up the stairs between a swarm of more students bustling around her. The noise inside her own head drowned out the noise of their chatter.
She was climbing the mountain, something she’d always thought would be the scariest thing in the world. But she could do it. Everything seemed so easy now. One step up. Another step. She felt as if she were floating above the ground—there, but not there—her footsteps light, determined. She had one goal. Get to the top. And then… and then… relief. That was what they’d told her.
‘Hey, watch it!’ a girl cried out as Vicky nudged her shoulder. But Vicky didn’t hear her. Didn’t see her. She was oblivious.
Oblivion. It’ll be yours soon.
All Vicky could see was the mountain above her, looming in its brilliance. Its glory. And the funny thing was, even though she was on top of Everest, she wasn’t even cold. The snow-capped peak glittered in the sunshine. Excitement swelled in her chest. It was exhilarating. Euphoria blossomed inside her. She’d finally kicked her fear of heights.
Nearly there, Vicky. You’re doing the right thing.
She reached the top of the stairs. The summit!
She’d thought the air would be thin this high up, but it wasn’t. She’d thought she’d need oxygen to breathe, but she didn’t. She was invincible. An angel. She smiled to herself. An angel on top of a spectacular white cap of mountain.
Someone shouted in the distance. Maybe a Sherpa or her guide. Except she didn’t remember a guide. Or a Sherpa. She didn’t remember how she’d reached the top.
She looked over the metal stair rail. All she could see was white snow below her. White everywhere. So brilliant, it blinded her. She leaned against the cold metal. Cold mountain. Cold snow.
Jump, Vicky. Prove you can do it.
Carefully, she held on to the top of the rail and lifted one leg over. Then the other. She stood on the edge of a six-inch-wide ledge of concrete. But it wasn’t concrete. It was a ridge. A ridge of ice at the pinnacle of Everest.
She lifted her arms high above her head. She knew she could fly, because she was an angel. She’d reach the bottom, and she’d be free.
She took an exhilarating breath. And dived into the abyss.
THREE MONTHS LATER…
DAY ONE
“Lightning makes no sound until it strikes.” ~
Martin Luther King Jr
Chapter 2
Detective Becky Harris
The alarm on my phone burst to life, invading a very nice dream I was having that involved me, Tom Hardy, and strawberry-scented massage oil. The sound was supposed to be one of those soothing-waterfall-type chimes that woke you up gradually, but it sounded more like a fog horn as it jerked me back to the land of the living.
Eyes still closed, I groaned and slid my hand from beneath the covers, reaching by touch for my phone to turn the thing off. That’s when Tom Hardy recessed to the deepest parts of my mind and I woke up properly, realising it wasn’t the alarm making a noise. I was just starting two weeks’ annual leave, and I hadn’t even set it. The doorbell was going at… I squinted at the phone’s screen… at 07.11 a.m.
I thought about ignoring it, but I rarely had visitors, and definitely not so early in the morning. Whoever was ringing the bell—for the third time now—definitely wanted me to open up.
The room was stuffy and hot as I threw back the covers with a huff. No matter what time of year it was, I couldn’t sleep unless I was rolled up into my bed clothes like an enchilada. My husband, Ian, had always complained about my duvet-hogging habits, because he’d always ended up with a thin slice of cover. Still, I didn’t have to worry about that anymore. Since we’d split up, I could roll away to my heart’s content.
Dressed in my faithful summer sleeping attire, a faded vest top and a pair of Ian’s old boxers that he’d forgotten to take with him, I padded downstairs to see who my early-morning wake-up call was.
A tall shadow loomed behind the privacy glass at the front door. That shadow rang the bell, yet again.
I yanked open the door, expecting to find the postman with a package that needed signing for, but it was Chief Constable Derek Sutherby. I’d only actually met him a few times, including once when he presented me with a commendation for my work on a previous case. I was a detective sergeant in CID, still way t
oo low on the food chain for him to be on my doorstep, dressed in his beautifully pressed uniform, at this time in the morning.
‘Sir?’ I frowned, rubbing one eyelid. For a horrified moment, I thought I must actually still be asleep and that somehow my Tom Hardy fantasy dream had morphed into a really bizarre dream—or nightmare—about Sutherby.
He gave a practiced smile that he used in front of the media, but I could tell something was not right about it.
My first thought: Uh-oh. What have I done wrong now?
‘Good morning, Detective Harris. I’m sure I was the last person you were expecting to turn up out of the blue like this, but would you mind if I come inside?’
‘Um… of course, sir.’ I stepped back to let him in and did a quick mental rundown of all the cases I’d worked on lately, wondering which one was going to get me a bollocking so huge that it was delivered by the big, big boss and couldn’t wait until I was back at work. ‘Do you want a tea or coffee?’
‘Are you having one?’ He entered the hallway, wafting aftershave all over the place.
‘Yes.’ I shut the door. ‘Follow me.’ I went into the kitchen-diner at the back of the house and found my newly acquired cat, Pickle, sitting in the middle of the floor like a sentry, glaring at me as if I never fed her. After Ian had left, I’d thought a cat would keep me company. I’d visited the local animal shelter and found Pickle doing an impression of Puss in Boots from Shrek—all hard-done-by, innocent eyes. When I’d got her home, the cute doe-eyes lasted about a week before she decided she ruled the house.
‘Morning, Ickle Pickle Wickle,’ I said to Pickle, who was giving me her best ‘you’re a bad mother’ stare before meowing nonstop until I opened the cupboard door to the cat food. ‘Have a seat.’
Sutherby stood in the doorway, briefcase in hand, watching the cat as if he didn’t want to enter for fear he’d get white hairs on his immaculate black clothes. ‘Are you talking to me or the cat?’
I grinned, filled Pickle’s empty bowl, then switched on the kettle. Sutherby sat while I rooted around for mugs, milk, and sugar.
‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Whatever you’re having is fine.’
I opened the box of tea bags and discovered I only had one left, which was slightly better than the coffee selection, as that jar had only a crusty brown lump of dregs at the bottom. I stabbed it with a spoon, but it was too hard to break up, so I resorted to using the end of a knife. At least the milk wasn’t off yet, but I definitely needed to go food shopping later. I’d just finished working on a lengthy case and had been neglecting my housekeeping for weeks.
He glanced around my kitchen as I leaned against the worktop, and we made small talk while I waited for the kettle to boil excruciatingly slowly. I wanted to ask him what he was doing at my house, but I also didn’t want to know. Maybe it was better to delay the whole bollocking thing until I’d at least had my first cuppa of the day. And, depending on how bad it was, I could always slip a brandy in there when he’d gone.
Finally, drinks made, I deposited a mug of tea in front of him and sat down with my coffee, which had little brown blobs floating on top, stubbornly refusing to dissolve.
He took a sip. I took a sip.
Well, this is awkward.
‘I’ll get straight to the point, Becky. I know you’re on annual leave, but this is something that can’t wait, I’m afraid.’
Another inner groan. It was serious then. ‘Have I done something wrong, sir?’
‘On the contrary, I’m here because I’ve been following your career quite closely.’
‘Riiight…’ I dragged the word out, not knowing whether to be scared or flattered. I often broke the rules and went against my superior’s orders, but on the plus side, I’d handled some unusual and high-profile investigations and got great results.
‘Since you were commended on the Palmer case, I’ve been taking an interest in you. Even more so after the Brampton Hospital nightmare that you and DI Carter dealt with so professionally. And I need someone bold, with tenacity and discretion, who’ll be able to blend in.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t understand. Blend in with what?’
His lips flattened into a thin line. ‘This is a little unorthodox, but I’m concerned about a potential situation at St Albans University. Recently, they’ve had three tragic incidents involving their students.’ He paused for a beat. ‘At the moment, there seems to be nothing to connect them, but I’m worried there could be something more sinister going on.’
My interest was already piqued. ‘What kind of incidents?’
‘Three months ago, a student called Vicky Aylott publicly committed suicide by jumping from the stairway of a building at the university in front of many other witnesses. Not long after that, a student called Ajay Banerjee set himself on fire in his bedroom and died in the blaze. He was sharing a house with four other students, all of whom were thankfully out at the time.’ He took a sip of his tea and carried on. ‘Then ten days ago, student Natalie Wheeler was driving in her car and ran over an elderly man walking across a zebra crossing. He died at the scene. It happened in broad daylight in front of witnesses, and afterwards, she drove back to her accommodation block at the university as if nothing had happened. She was arrested a little while later and said she had no memory of the event.’ He put down his mug. ‘These students had no history of mental health problems, none of them appeared to be depressed or suffering from stress, and none of them had a history of substance abuse. What each of them did was apparently completely out of character.’ He sat back and watched me.
‘Okay.’ I took a minute to let that sink in. ‘I vaguely remember hearing something about one suicide at the university, but I haven’t heard about anything else. What’s your specific interest in this, sir?’ It wasn’t like he got involved in day-to-day crimes. The brass were more interested in manipulating crime figures to wrap them up in a neat shiny bow to make him look good, not investigating potential crimes where there didn’t seem to be any. I was betting two suicides and a hit-and-run wouldn’t even make it onto his radar, so there had to be some kind of ulterior motive for his visit.
‘It was my ex-wife, Anthea, who brought these incidents to my attention. She’s an administrator at the university, and she’s concerned that there could be some kind of hazing group at work or…’ He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Someone coercing these students into doing horrific things. And that it’s going too far and people are ending up dead.’
‘Presumably, these incidents have already been investigated?’
‘Yes. Vicky’s and Ajay’s suicides fell under the coroner’s officer’s investigation. He spoke to their friends and family and can’t find a specific reason pointing to why they’d take their own lives.’
‘But that’s not uncommon, is it? Sometimes you never know exactly what triggers it.’ As a patrol officer, I’d attended plenty of suicides where the deceased’s friends or family were never aware the person had been depressed or suicidal.
‘Of course. But two suicides in a few weeks of each other seems fairly high. An inquest was opened and adjourned into both deaths, but the coroner’s officer is recommending to the coroner that both are recorded as suicides. And there doesn’t seem to be anything suspicious about them that the police can actively investigate. The post-mortems showed no drugs or medications in their system when they died. And they were both very healthy individuals.’
‘Pretty horrible ways to kill yourself, though. Especially setting yourself on fire. You’d have to be in a very disturbed place to choose that method.’
‘Yes. Both Ajay’s and Vicky’s friends were all spoken to by the coroner’s officer, and none of them thought either student was having any significant problems. They did, however, mention that both of them had been having trouble sleeping. Both had nightmares, and Vicky had started sleepwalking.’
‘Which could be down to stress or depression that they’d been hiding from their friends,’ I sai
d. ‘Often the people closest to them are the last to know.’
‘It’s possible. But there’s something else, too. Taken separately, they don’t seem connected, but together… they all have one thing in common. According to their friends, both students seemed to become distant recently before their deaths. Their work started suffering. Both were acting strangely, and there were incidents of them disappearing for periods of time. When questioned about it by their friends, both Vicky and Ajay said they couldn’t remember where they’d been or what they’d been doing. It’s almost as if they were being secretive about what they’d been up to.’
‘And Natalie? What’s happening with her?’
‘She’s in a secure mental health facility. She had a breakdown after the accident. When she was first arrested, she said she couldn’t remember anything about hitting the victim and driving away. Then she went to pieces and was declared unfit for interview. She’s still being assessed by a forensic psychologist, but it looks like she’s not going to be fit to stand trial. They suspect she’s suffering from schizophrenia.’ He took a sip of tea, wincing as he swallowed. ‘Now she believes that she has a moth in her brain that told her to drive into the man.’
