Fallen Heroes

by Amy Cross

  Copyright 2015 Amy Cross

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Dark Season Books

  Kindle edition

  First published: May 2015

  “Everyone falls eventually. All you can do is try to manage your landing.”

  As Ophelia struggles to keep track of a killer, she starts to realize that her own dark past is about to be dragged kicking and screaming into the light. Her real name has been uncovered, and soon the whole world will know where Ophelia comes from, and why she has been running for so long.

  For Laura Foster, Ophelia's nightmare couldn't have come at a worse time. Daniel Gregory, the man acquitted of murder following Laura's botched investigation, is back in town, and people are dying again. Racing against time to prove that Gregory is responsible, Laura realizes too late that both she and Ophelia are heading into a trap.

  Fallen Heroes is the third book in the Ophelia series.

  Fallen Heroes

  (Ophelia 3)

  Prologue

  Several years ago

  “To Laura!”

  “To Laura!”

  As everyone raised their glasses in a toast, Laura couldn't help but blush. There were twelve of them at the table in total, and having taken over an entire corner of the local Wetherspoon's, they were making quite a noise. Not bad, considering that the whole thing was just an impromptu gathering to celebrate the fact that she was finally getting her promotion.

  “To Britain's newest detective,” said Uncle Leon, nudging her arm. “Congratulations, love.”

  “Thanks,” she replied, although she felt uncomfortable with all the attention. If she'd had her way, she'd be celebrating the news at home alone, preferably in her room. The last thing she wanted was to be dragged out and fussed over, although she figured she couldn't begrudge her parents their little party.

  “Hang on,” her father chimed in, “I think you'll find the correct title is Detective Chief Inspector. So really, we should all toast again, to Detective Chief Inspector Laura Foster!”

  As more cheers went up, Laura glanced over her shoulder and saw that, sure enough, the celebrations were attracting plenty of looks from other people in the pub. Most people looked a little annoyed.

  “Youngest ever, aren't you?” asked one of her mother's friends.

  “Um...” She turned to see Phyllis smiling at her. “Almost. Something like that.”

  “Her boss said she's shooting straight to the top,” her father added. “I've got to admit, Laura, I was dead wrong when I said you should be a lawyer. Looks like you've got a real knack for this police work. We'll probably be back here in a year for your next promotion!”

  “I'm not sure about that -”

  “Don't be so modest,” he continued, putting an arm around her. “Stop hiding your light under a bushel, girl. You've done something very few people do in this life. You've found your calling, the thing you were born to do. Think of all the criminals you're gonna catch with that fantastic brain of yours. I bet all the robbers, murderers and kidnappers of London are quaking in their boots now. There'll have to be new prisons built soon, just to deal with all the extra arrests.”

  “You're embarrassing me,” she pointed out, partly joking but partly serious. “Dad -”

  “You've just got to believe in yourself,” he added. “Believe that you're as good as everyone else here knows you are. Trust me, kiddo, I've seen it in you. You're something special.”

  “That's -”

  “Say it.”

  She sighed.

  “Say it,” he said again. “The more you say it, the more you'll believe it.”

  She paused for a moment, before realizing that this was one of those things he wouldn't drop. “I'm... something special,” she told him, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

  “Say that to yourself in the mirror every morning,” he continued, “and I promise you, it'll come true.”

  Glancing around the table, Laura was struck for a moment by the fact that all the faces were so old. The gathering for dinner hadn't been planned more than a couple of hours in advance, but still, that was no excuse: everyone at the table was a relative, or a friend of her mother or father. The entire event was more proof – if more were needed – that despite everything she'd achieved in her life, Detective Chief Inspector Laura Foster had no real friends of her own. A few acquaintances, sure, but no real friends. If she'd had to invite someone, she'd have struggled. She felt a shiver of regret as she realized it was probably too late to change, but before she could get too maudlin she heard someone clapping nearby.

  “If I could just have your attention,” her mother said, having got to her feet on the other side of the table, “I just wanted to take a moment to say, in front of all these people, that your father and I are very proud of you, Laura.”

  “Oh God,” she whispered, blushing worse than ever as she put her hands over her face.

  “Awww,” said far too many people nearby.

  “We are,” Maureen continued. “We also know that this is just the beginning, that your career is going to be absolutely wonderful. It's just going to be up and up and up. Now that you're a -”

  With her hands still hidden, Laura waited for the embarrassment to continue, before spreading her fingers so she could see why her mother had stopped. To her surprise, she saw that there was an expression of confusion on Maureen's face, as if something had suddenly pulled her up. She was like someone whose autocue had suddenly frozen.

  “You alright, love?” Laura's father asked.

  “I...” Maureen paused. “Yes, I... I'm sorry, I don't quite remember...”

  “Are you okay?” Laura asked, feeling a twinge of concern. Her mother had been getting increasingly forgetful over the previous few months, but this was the first time she'd had one of her 'moments' in public.

  “Yes, dear,” Maureen replied, forcing a smile as she sat back down. With a frown, she looked down at her food. “I'm quite alright.”

  “Another toast,” her father said, raising his pint glass again. “To Detective Chief Inspector Laura Foster, and all the good work she's going to do for this city!”

  As the table roared, Laura couldn't help but smile. She was embarrassed, of course, but at the same time she was starting to think that maybe she really could make a difference. Everything had been so easy, ever since she'd joined the police force. At that particular moment, she felt as if there was nothing in the world that could hold her back.

  Chapter One

  Today

  “Stop it!” Sarah giggled, pushing his hands away as he drunkenly reached for her breasts. “I told you, not on the first date!”

  “It's just after midnight,” he replied, watching as she fumbled for the keys to her apartment. Reaching down, he groped her ass, before slipping his hand down to her thighs. “Doesn't that mean that, technically, it's our second date now?”

  “It does not,” she said with a smile. “Anyway, even if it did, the third date is my rule.”

  “Why would you have such a ridiculous rule?” he asked, swaying a little as late-night London traffic roared past just a few meters away. “Hell, that is by far the most annoying rule I've ever heard in my life. I hate rules.” Reaching down again, he put a hand on her leg and began to move his fingers up toward her crotch, but she nudged him away. “You look so good,” he muttered. “Sarah, are you sure you don't wanna invite me in?”

  “And why would I want to do that?”

  “Do I have to spell it out?”r />
  She bit her bottom lip.

  “If I'm gonna put you in touch with my contacts,” he continued, “I'm risking my professional reputation. I really oughta see the goods before I start bigging you up.”

  “I already emailed you some of my earlier shots, remember?”

  “Yeah, but those were all clothed shoots. You're into glamor modeling, aren't you?”

  “I'd rather -”

  “Be realistic,” he continued, kissing the back of her neck. “If you wanna make a living out of this, you've got to at least go topless.”

  “Maybe.”

  “That's what my contacts will be expecting,” he told her, “and I'll look bloody silly if I recommend you and then you turn up with, no offense, sub-standard boobs.”

  “I don't think that'll happen.”

  “Still, for professional reasons, I think you should invite me in and let me conduct a thorough examination. Size, shape, feel...”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Yes tonight.”

  “I like to weed out the guys who are only after one thing,” she said, finally finding the right key and, after a few false starts, managing to get it into the lock. “Trust me, there are some real sleazes out there. You have no idea how many losers were sending me messages on dating sites asking me really personal stuff right off the bat, especially when I still mentioned on my profile that I'm a model. They're only after one thing.” She smiled. “I thought you were a gentleman. I thought this was a professional engagement.”

  “I'm not just after one thing,” he told her. “I'm after lots of things, but I admit, one of them involves being naked.” He put a hand on her waist. “If it helps, I can tie a cherry-stalk with my tongue.”

  “And why would I need to know that information?”

  “I just thought your imagination could use a kick-start.”

  “Third date rule,” she reminded him, pushing the door open and almost falling through before steadying herself, carefully making her way inside, and then turning to him. “I'll make a deal with you,” she continued, barely able to focus properly. “Since you've been a gentleman and walked me home, I'm willing to go with your idea of the after midnight thing, which means our next date can count as the third if it goes well. In return, you need to accept that we're not doing anything tonight. I'm sorry, but I really do take the rule seriously.”

  “Then why did you wear such a low-cut top?” he asked, staring at her cleavage. “Most girls look worse in real life than they do on their sample photos, but I swear, you actually look better.”

  “I've got to be up early,” she replied. “I'm doing a modeling shoot down in Peckham for some magazine.”

  “With or without clothes?”

  “With!”

  “Pity.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere,” she told him with a smile. “Eventually. Come on, patience is hot. The world's full of guys who think pervy comments are enough to get a girl. I'm looking for someone a little more...” She paused, clearly struggling to find the right word. “Dignified,” she said finally. “Polite. Decent. I think you're that kind of guy, aren't you? I hope so, anyway.”

  “Well, I guess I wouldn't want to disappoint you.”

  “Thanks for understanding.”

  “Just two things,” he said, putting his foot out as she tried to shut the door. “I know I'm being pushy, but if you'll give me two little things, I'll be on my way. Neither of the things, by the way, involve getting naked.”

  She sighed. He was being just a little pushy for her taste. “What do you want?”

  “First, a goodnight kiss.”

  Leaning toward him, she turned her left cheek to him, although she quickly let him kiss her on the mouth when he tried. For a moment, their tongues met and they enjoyed a long, slow kiss, but after a moment she pulled back and smiled.

  “Told you,” he continued. “Cherry stem.”

  “Not bad,” she replied, “although it was a little more than I was planning to give you. Still, if that's how you kiss when you're drunk, I can't wait to find out how you kiss when you're sober.”

  “The other thing,” he continued, still swaying slightly, “is...” He paused, as if he was too drunk to remember. “What was it? Oh, right... Can I please... This is slightly embarrassing, but could you show me where your bathroom is?”

  Pulling the door back, she stepped aside so he could get inside.

  “Thank you kindly,” he continued, stumbling into the hallway and almost falling over before steadying himself against the dresser. He turned and watched with a smile as she pushed her door shut, and then he stood up straight, as if suddenly all the drunkenness had left his body. His expression changed, too, as he watched her calmly, as if he was studying her every move now they were off the street.

  “In here,” she said, barely able to walk straight as she led the way over to the door on the far side of the hallway. “It's -” She let out a hiccup. “Oh crap. Anyway, it's right in here.”

  “That's good to know,” he replied, taking a calm step toward her.

  “But just so you don't get any funny ideas,” she continued, turning to him, “that's the only room in the flat where you're allowed to get your ding-dong out tonight.”

  “Is that right?”

  She smiled. “You seem different, suddenly. Why so serious?”

  “Turn around.”

  “Why?”

  “Humor me.”

  She smiled, before rolling her eyes and turning her back to him. “You can be funny sometimes,” she told him, as she leaned against the door-frame that led into her bedroom. “Don't take that the wrong way, but a few times tonight, I felt like you were looking at me funny. Like, almost with creepy vibes.”

  “I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean to upset you.”

  “You didn't upset me, exactly, it's just...” She waited, suddenly a little nervous as she felt his hand on her waist. “I thought you wanted to use the bathroom?”

  “I just needed to know where it is,” he whispered. “For when I need to clean up.”

  “Clean -”

  Before she could finish, she felt a sudden, sharp pain in her back, and she realized she could barely breathe. Looking down, she saw something sharp poking out the front of her chest, but it took a moment before she realized it was the tip of a knife, glistening with blood. She gasped, before finding that she couldn't breathe in at all. Panicking, she tried again, and this time she felt some kind of hot liquid flowing through her body, as blood spread from her punctured lung.

  “I don't think we'll be getting to that third date,” he whispered into her ear, before pulling the knife out and then plunging it into her back again, this time puncturing her other lung before stabbing her a few more times and then twisting the knife as he pulled it out. Pushing her forward, he watched as she slumped down to the floor. She was still desperately trying to breathe, but all she could manage was a series of choking gasps as blood filled her lungs.

  Setting the knife down, he grabbed the dying girl's shoulders and hauled her up onto the bed. He ignored her final gasps as he took a digital SLR camera from his bag and switched it on, and finally he climbed onto the bed and stood over her, adjusting the focus for a moment before taking a photo as she desperately tried to crawl away. When she reached the edge of the bed, he used his foot to nudge her back to the center, and although she reached a trembling hand up to him, she was powerless to fight back.

  After taking another photo, he adjusted the camera again, this time activating the flash.

  As her face started to turn blue, she gasped again, but blood was running from her mouth now and she let out a few more gasps before falling still. He took another photo, then another, and each time the flash briefly lit the room. She twitched again, just one final jerk of life, and then she didn't move again. Her dead eyes stared up at the ceiling as the camera flashes a couple more times, before he brought the lens closer and took a couple more shots of her face.

  “Pr
etty,” he muttered. “Proper photogenic you are, love. Shame your modeling career never took off.”

  Turning, he reached down and pulled her skirt up to expose her legs. He took a step back and, as he tried to frame his next shot, he put the sole of his right foot straight on her face, pushing it down into bed. Taking a moment to turn the camera, he took a couple more photos, as the flash briefly lit the room. Finally, he took the burner phone from his pocket and typed in the number he'd recognized.

  “It's done,” he said, as soon as he heard someone answering on the other end. “Now what?”

  ***

  Sitting in the back of the police car, with tears in her eyes and a set of handcuffs around her wrists, Detective Chief Inspector Laura Foster was waiting for the world to end.

  Over on the other side of the road, two uniformed officers were talking to the manager of the late-night convenience store. One of the officers was holding Laura's bag, complete with the bottle of whiskey that had made its way into the bag without being paid for. A couple of customers had stopped just outside the door, gawking at the spectacle as if they'd never seen anyone arrested for shoplifting before, while both the officers and the manager glanced over at the car occasionally, forcing Laura to look away and hang her head in shame.

  “It's over,” she told herself. “Everything you've worked for, you've thrown it all away.”

  Suddenly she heard her father's voice in her ears, echoing from all those years ago: “To Detective Chief Inspector Laura Foster, and all the good work she's going to do for this city!”

  She closed her eyes, despite the tears. Deep down, if she was honest, she'd known this day was coming ever since the time, a few years ago, when she'd started her little shoplifting spree. It wasn't as if she needed the money, and she sure as hell wasn't an alcoholic. She didn't even like whiskey. It was the thrill she enjoyed, the tension of finding a moment to pocket something and then the sheer terror of heading out the door, waiting to see whether she'd get caught. By her count, she'd done this kind of thing close to fifty times over the past couple of years, and she'd always ended up back in her own car, filled with relief. The rush had been exhilarating.