by Nic Roberts
The Dead Fall
DI Olivia Austin - Book Two
Nic Roberts
Copyright © 2021 by Nic Roberts
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‘The Dead Fall’
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All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Some may be used for parody purposes.
Any resemblance to events, locales, business establishments, or actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Contents
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Prologue
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
Book Three
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The Dead Fall
What's done in the dark will always come to light... A hideous crime with many layers. This one will either make or break her.
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After the dramatic conclusion of last month’s missing girl case, Detective Inspector Olivia Austin feels as though she’s finally finding her feet.
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With a strong budding friendship in DI Dean Lawrence and a team that finally believes she’s fit for the job, life with Newquay CID could only get better, but the discovery of a deceased male on the ground beneath his balcony shakes a sleepy coastal community.
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With injuries not quite adding up, Olivia must work hard to unravel the mystery that surrounds his death. With dark secrets rising to the surface, she needs to find out, do the dead fall, or was he pushed?
Prologue
He was better off dead.
No, it was worse than that. In reality, he'd been dead for many years already, forcing his way through the bleak routines of his life. Wake up. Eat. Work. Sleep. Repeat. Until he’d met her.
Each day was the same variant of that repetitive misery and now, as he stood on the bleak ledge of the balcony at his rented one-bedroom apartment, he knew it had to stop.
It wasn't particularly high, but it was nonetheless high enough to make sure that when he fell, he'd never have to feel this way ever again.
His phone back in the lounge sounded. A guardian angel perhaps? Maybe it was her. He hoped it was her, but she wouldn't care enough; and he knew that. Especially after what he'd done, the hurt and pain he'd caused her.
As he reflected on his pitiful existence at the edge of his miserably small balcony, he knew he deserved it. Still, that didn't mean she had to sever everything they'd worked so hard for over the past twelve years.
God, he loved her. He closed his eyes and imagined her premature greying brown hair, knotted and messy when she woke up from a night of intense sex, or the single dimple that appeared whenever she was deep in thought. Her grey eyes always reminded him of the ocean on a bleak, cloudy day. There was so much power and life in them. Forever churning, forever moving. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him. What the hell had he been thinking?
He'd convinced himself that he never wanted to see those things again and that jumping would be the only answer, but now, as he stood on top of what felt like the edge of the world with the wind gently caressing his face, he started to have doubts.
Despite everything that he'd done, he knew this would destroy her. He knew it would eat away at her soul for the rest of her life, and he didn't know if that was what he wanted anymore.
It took only that one simple thought, a simple drop in the ocean of chaos he faced, to turn the tide for him. He climbed down. I can show her. I can be better for her.
He turned back toward the lounge just as his front door opened.
Oh? I thought I’d locked that.
“Lydia?” he heard himself call out, smoothing his hands down against his trousers, wiping away the last remnants of his fear, emboldened with each passing step. “I’m glad you...”
He stopped as he entered the hall and came face to face with his new company.
“Wait...” he growled, holding his hand out to keep the distance between them. “I said I was...” He turned back toward the lounge, ready to run, but caught his foot on the rug—the one he'd been adamant he didn't want to buy—and landed in a crumpled heap partially beneath the coffee table.
He tried to pull himself back up, but a boot clad foot came down hard on his back.
“Stay down, Arsehole!” the voice hissed, and he felt the pressure crunching a vertebra in his back. “After I’ve finished with you, you're going to wish you had jumped.”
1
“For fuck’s sake, we need back up!” Olivia screamed into her radio. “Code red! Officer down!”
The words almost stuck in her throat, and she barely managed to muster enough strength to say them. Her years of training had prepared her for a scenario like this, but now, as it was happening, it felt surreal. It was as though she wasn't standing there experiencing it for herself.
She knelt down beside her partner DCI Rhys Thomas as he pressed his fingers against the neck of their uniformed colleague, whose body was splayed out on the floor in front of them, trying to stem the spurting blood.
“Fuck we need that back up, like yesterday!” he growled. “They've left us here like sitting ducks!”
Olivia swallowed back the unmistakable churn of panic in her stomach.
“It has to be us,” she hissed. “We can't wait! The public need us, you’re right. They need someone on scene!”
She heard what sounded like bullets ricocheting off the walls. How the hell had guns managed to make their way over here? Without being armed herself, what chance did she have against them?
His eyes met hers, and immediately he knew what she was thinking.
“No!” Rhys said firmly. “You have to stay until they get here. They're on their way.”
She pulled herself to standing, unable to block out the high-pitched screams she could hear. The sounds of death and panic swarmed her, drowning her in the despair of it all. She moved as if weighed down by invisible weights; everything felt ridiculously more difficult than it should have.
“I'm going,” she answered defiantly. “I have to. I can't sit here and do nothing. Stay with Jacobson...”
Rhys grabbed hold of her arm tightly before she could run off.
“You stay here!” he ordered. “Keep pressure on his neck until the ambulance arrives and I’ll go. I’m not losing you today!”
What sounded like a small IED rocked the already broken air and Olivia jumped around. There was no time to discuss who got to do what. Rhys was the trained medic out of the two of them. Their colleague needed him. He knew that, too.
“When the ambul
ance gets here,” she started, hearing the panic and fear in her own voice, “find me. I’m going along Poland Street!”
The wail of sirens and blue lights erupted around them as the police backup landed on scene. Olivia ran alongside the officers to brief them; she was quick and to the point.
Just as she went to disappear around the corner, she cast one more look over her shoulder at her partner. Their eyes met. Calm against the chaos. The deep breath the air takes in the eye of a storm. His gentle soul radiating to her from where he knelt. She felt peace.
* * *
Detective Inspector Olivia Austin woke up drenched in sweat again despite the cool temperature of her surroundings. Everything slowly faded into focus from her nightmare-induced panic as she brought herself down from the terror with deep breaths. The room was unfamiliar to her—dark mahogany walls, framed abstract art and a photo of a smiling young man and his dog on the bedside table.
A body stirred beside her and she held her breath... no! Then, it all came back to her. Susan's birthday party. Just a couple of drinks they’d said. Her pounding head suggested she clearly hadn’t stopped after two.
The body stirred again, and a lean muscular leg stretched out from the side of the navy duvet. Then a head lifted up.
Olivia groaned inwardly, wincing as lucidity came back to her.
They belonged to a certain Police Constable Andrew Shaw, or Duracell, as she’d heard a couple of the other women call him. Supposedly he had an impeccable amount of energy.
He looked at her before a slow easy smile spread across his handsome features and he ran a hand through his messy dark hair. Chocolate eyes met her squinting green ones.
“Shit, Shaw!” she hissed, still feeling a tad groggy. “Did we?” She rubbed sleep from her eyes. At least he’s a good-looking one, she thought to herself.
His grin widened and he shook his head.
“No…unfortunately not,” he replied with the shake of his head. A classic Olivia quirked eyebrow prompted him to speak more. “You passed out and it was the gentlemanly thing to do, you know, putting you to bed here. I didn't have your address when we were in the taxi...”
Olivia climbed out from beneath the covers, her crumpled black dress ridden up to expose more of her thighs than she thought any co-worker at Newquay had seen. Still, her hips and waist had stayed covered, and she was quick to shimmy the body-tight dress further down her legs whilst blowing stray hairs out of her face. She let out a load groan. What are you, fresh out of uni? She scolded herself.
At least Shaw was doing his best to avert his gaze.
“I would have taken up on the couch for the evening,” he told her. “But you said you wanted me to stay with you. Besides, what kind of man would I be to leave you alone that drunk? You could have choked on your own vomit!”
Olivia rolled her eyes before turning back to face him.
“Thank you, but this didn’t happen,” she warned Shaw, pointing at him as if to emphasise how serious she was. The pounding in her head made it hard to feel serious about anything, however.
“My lips are sealed,” he promised, gesturing across his mouth. “Hey, not to pry or anything, but you didn’t seem to sleep too well. You seemed a bit...disturbed?”
Olivia blinked back the embarrassment.
“Try being on the force for twelve years then let me know how well you sleep afterwards,” she shot back, hiding behind a vague reference to the badge rather than face the real reason that she lived in a constant state of nightmares. The sweat from her dreams of Rhys still clung to the nape of her neck.
“Touché,” Shaw replied with a lazy smile. “Well listen, I feel bad that I wasn’t able to get you home last night. I can at least cook you breakfast to make up for it if you’d like?”
Olivia blanched, a bit shocked at the offer.
“Um—”
The sound of a phone ringing cut though her words; it took her a moment to realise that it wasn't hers.
Andrew leaned over, revealing more of his taut muscles as he reached for the phone on his bedside table.
“Nurofen’s on your side.” He gestured before accepting the call.
Olivia quickly palmed two and dry swallowed before walking away from the admittedly extremely comfortable bed of PC Shaw.
She took a moment to slide the curtain open a little and peek through at the calm morning, immediately regretting it after she felt a sharp pain in her head. Luckily, Nurofen was a quick remedy for any hangover she’d ever dealt with. The sooner she located her shoes and bag, the sooner she could get back home and hope to put this whole episode behind her. She didn’t want to make getting involved with colleagues a recurring thing. Especially being so new to this station, she’d prefer not to create waves with drama.
And the last time she'd seriously done that, she'd ended up standing next to his mother while she broke into pieces at his funeral.
The nightmare. Her own personal hell, repeating time and time again. It was always that moment—the time she last saw Rhys. She wished she could see different versions of the event, like what would have happened if she'd done as he told her, if she'd been the one to stay back with Jacobson. Where would she be now? She let herself remember that long-gone paradise: their modest flat on the edge of London with the nosey neighbours, the plant that had mysteriously turned up at their front door, the unrepentant smoke alarm, and the burn stain from that candle incident. It brought a fresh wave of tears to her eyes. She tried not to dwell on that place. It stood as one more reminder of all that she’d lost that day.
After that initial pang, though, her chest warmed, and a smile crossed her lips. As much as it hurt, it was still a good memory. That’s new.
“Sorry, Olivia?”
She pulled herself back to reality and glared at Andrew as he held the phone out to her.
She waved him away silently with her hand.
“Collins,” he elaborated with a pointed look. “He already knew you were here.”
Olivia rolled her eyes, took the deepest breath she could muster, and placed the phone by her ear.
“Sir, whatever you think happened, it really di—”
“DI Austin,” he chided, not waiting nor caring for her response. She turned away from Andrew’s smug grin. He was enjoying this far too much.
“Sorry, yes? Is everything okay?” she asked.
She heard his weary sigh from the other end of the phone. He was a hardworking man, and she could always put her money on the fact that he'd be the first one in the office every morning. Rumour had it that he’d once spent a week's annual leave in the staff room ‘just in case’ he was needed. She had a lot of time for him, but it was only since last night that she’d learned a few of the other detectives referred to him as ‘Grumps’ and she couldn’t un-hear it.
“Apologies for interrupting,” he continued, his tone grave. “I wouldn't normally spring on you like this, you know that. Especially after...”
“...Susan’s party,” Olivia finished quickly before he said anything else.
There was a pause.
“Yes, indeed. Well,” he cleared his throat. “There's been a murder, and I’d like your team on the case.”
Olivia turned on her professional mode and left the confines of Andrew's masculine bedroom and went out into the hall.
“Male or female?” she asked, making her way to where she assumed the lounge was. “And can I ask why you didn't try my mobile?”
Another pause.
“We have,” he answered. “Both myself and DI Lawrence did.”
A half-dressed male torso emerged from behind one of the other doors and Olivia paused, trying to keep her eyes trained on his and nowhere below. She shot him her dirtiest look.
He held his hands up, amused.
“Sorry!” he whispered.
She mouthed it back and pressed forward on the hunt for her bag. She barely even remembered the building, let alone talking to PC Shaw enough to end up in his bed. Her cheeks flushed as
she thought back to the hazy night.
“Are you there, Olivia?” Collins asked.
“Sorry, yes I am, I’m just a little...” She found a half-scrunched up shopping list on the side and a pen on the floor. She wedged the phone between her shoulder and ear and lowered herself to the sofa. “Right, did you say female?”
The bloody pen didn’t work. She licked the tip of the biro.
“Male,” he corrected. “Late 30s. Found on the ground beneath the balcony of his flat.”
Odd.
“Murder did you say?” she asked. “How are we sure it wasn’t suicide?”
Collins mused something to someone out of earshot before returning to her. He had a knack for multiple conversations at once.
“Forensics will be onsite shortly,” he said back to her. “And the first officers on scene reckon he might have been dead or dying before he fell. He’s got bruising around his neck consistent with strangulation, injuries inconsistent with only a fall... I need you there Olivia. Your team is one of our best. Lawrence is already on route to pick you up.”
She looked down at her scalloped lace top black dress.
“Oh, but I'm not—”
The line went dead.
“Hung up on you?”
Olivia jumped round to see PC Shaw rested against the door frame, her bag dangling from his finger.
