by Cari Hunter
Acre responded eagerly, her answer so fluid it almost seemed rehearsed. Leaning over the table, she spoke in a lover’s whisper, seductive and intimate. “Haven’t you ever wondered what it feels like? Before Andy, I spent ages wondering whether I could do it, whether I had it in me, and with him it was more to check things out, y’know? Something to get my feet wet.” She rocked back suddenly and laughed. “And it was so fucking easy and so good. It’s like being drunk and high and having the best fuck all at once. After that, I think I must have got a taste for it. My mum always did say that I had an addictive personality.”
Watching Acre chuckle at her own insight, Nelson ran a hand over his brow as if trying to ease away the ingrained frown lines. “I can’t tell whether she’s insane or flat-out evil,” he said in an undertone. “I spend my days thinking about what might be for tea, and she’s planning to kill someone because she’s curious to find out whether she can.”
“It’s easier if there’s a reason,” Sanne said, Acre’s performance compelling and repulsing her in equal measure. “For us, I mean. Revenge or rage, something specific and sort of understandable. This—this I’ll never understand. I’m not sure that I even want to. And if you and I can’t, can you imagine someone like Adele Horst trying to come to terms with it?”
He shook his head. “I know what you mean. And despite everything Acre is saying now, she’s deranged enough to enter a not-guilty plea just for the drama of a trial.”
“I’ve no doubt that she will. She’ll probably claim diminished responsibility. It’s one trial I’d be happy to stand in the witness box for, though.”
Nelson had just opened his mouth to respond when Acre’s enthusiastic wolf whistle interrupted him.
“Now, that’s a good one.” Acre flipped a photograph around to show her lawyer. Whatever its subject, it made him recoil and run a finger around his collar. “I caught the light just right.”
“How did you choose your victims, Natalie?” DS Rashid had spread a selection of images across the table, but if he had hoped to evoke some sign of remorse, his tactic had failed spectacularly. Acre was picking them up and admiring them one by one.
“Andy and I were old friends, but you already know that,” she said. “Jonesy came over to cadge booze and got more than he bargained for. Hadn’t really planned for him, but I reckon it worked out all right.”
“And Daniel Horst?” Eleanor asked.
Acre traced the edge of Daniel’s photograph. “Everybody wants their five minutes, don’t they? No one gave a fuck about Andy or Jonesy, so I told Steve that I needed to aim higher. I’d seen that God-bothering twat out on the estate, and honestly”—she looked upward, her hands clasped in front of her—“it was like someone had answered my prayers. Boom! National news.”
Eleanor took her time writing a note, refusing to give Acre the satisfaction of a reaction. “So, did Rudd just outlive his usefulness?” she asked at length. “Or were you annoyed that he was getting all the credit?”
Acre clicked her fingers in agreement with the second point. “It was funny at first, everyone thinking he did it, but then it started to piss me off. He drove and he fucked, and that’s all he did. Are you writing that down?” She slammed a hand onto the table, startling Rashid. “Write that down!”
“It’s noted.” Eleanor’s voice was as smooth as glass.
“My brother gave you that address, didn’t he? The snivelling little shit. Have you met him and my dad?”
“No, I haven’t.”
Rashid pounced on the theme. “Is that where your hatred of men stems from? Your father and your brother?”
Acre arched an eyebrow. “Who says I hate men?”
“Well, all your victims are men,” he said, immediately wrong-footed.
“So, what? You’re thinking my daddy touched me or beat me?”
“It’s a possible motivating factor, yes.”
“He didn’t,” she said. “He was nothing. He was like beige fucking wallpaper: there, but just in the background for my mum to scream at.”
“So your family life was troubled?”
Acre made a point of turning to Eleanor. “He’s boring the shit out of me.”
Eleanor nodded. “Were you planning to kill Marcy Wilkes and her children?”
Acre gave a nonchalant shrug, but the question seemed to have reignited her interest. “I’d been trying to work that out, the legistics.”
“Logistics,” her lawyer corrected, and then gulped almost comically when she glared at him.
“I reckoned I might be able to chop them and freeze them, especially the kids, once I was ready to move on.”
For a protracted, horrible minute, Sanne thought that she might be sick. She closed her eyes, swallowing down the slick rush of saliva and waiting for the pounding in her head to lessen. “How long had she been there?” she whispered to Nelson.
“Since Tuesday,” Nelson said. “She forced her way in and kept one of the children with her twenty-four seven. She couldn’t let Leo go to school, so Marcy had to make up the asthma story.”
“Almost four days. Jesus, they were on borrowed time, weren’t they?”
“Very much so. They were incredibly lucky that our visit didn’t spark the fuse.”
“Maybe us ringing ahead gave Acre the time to fix a plan,” Sanne said, trying not to imagine the terrible burden of three deaths on her conscience. By contrast, Acre was chatting about the rubbish sacks she had found in Marcy’s kitchen, apparently untroubled by any of the anguish she had caused.
Sanne pushed her chair away from the mirror. She’d heard enough. “I know I’m neurotic and spooked by my own shadow at times, and that I need a regular kick up the arse, but bloody hell, Nelson, I’d rather be all that than anything like her.”
He muted the sound from Interview One. “I don’t know about you, but I think I’d prefer to skip the rest of this one. What would you say to a cuppa and a piece of Fred’s cake?”
She turned from the mirror without sparing Acre another glance. “Are you brewing?”
“Go on, then, seeing as you’ve got a wounded paw.”
“Then I would say that’s a perfect idea.”
*
Crouching out of sight beside her Land Rover, Sanne checked her hair in the wing mirror for what she swore would be the final time. The muted street light cast a convenient shadow across the week-old spread of yellowed bruising on her cheek and hid the bit of hair that kept standing up no matter how hard she tried to stick it down. Everything was arranged, and nothing would go wrong, or so she had been telling herself throughout the drive over. The restaurant, recommended by Eleanor of all people, had been booked since Monday. With the official review of the Acre case still ongoing, Sanne’s shift pattern had reverted to weekdays only, guaranteeing her this Saturday off. She had almost forgotten what working regular eight-hour shifts felt like.
After giving her head a last, optimistic pat, she collected her bag from the passenger seat. Her stomach fluttered as she straightened, a little dance of apprehension that couldn’t be blamed on a light lunch and a long afternoon jog. She was bloody ravenous, though, now that she thought about it.
The gravel on the driveway, newly liberated from the ice, crunched beneath her boots, but it began to snow again as she reached Meg’s front door, the first delicate flakes carrying a promise of a far heavier fall. She knocked and took a step back, her hands out of sight behind her. Meg must have been waiting, because the hall light came on immediately and the door opened a second later.
“Bugger, I’m sorry,” Sanne said. “I’m looking for Meg Fielding. A scruff about my height with messy hair. I think I’ve got the wrong house.”
Meg stuck two fingers up at her and performed a dainty twirl. “Do I scrub up well or what?”
“You look gorgeous. Did you treat yourself to a new outfit?”
“What? This old thing?” Meg held out the sides of a tailored jacket to reveal its satin lining. She looked like the cat who’d
got the cream and accessorised it with a rather tasteful shirt. “It cost me an arm and a leg,” she admitted.
“Worth every penny.” With a flourish, Sanne presented the bouquet she’d been hiding. “These are for you.” She set the flowers in Meg’s arms and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Oh, and this.” She pulled a small chunk wrapped in gold foil from her coat pocket.
Meg set a hand on her heart. “Really? Your very last Rolo? Sanne, it’s too much. You shouldn’t have.”
“I’m attempting to woo you.” Sanne squinted up at her. “How am I doing?”
“Marvellously,” Meg said through a mouthful of chocolate and clotted caramel. “You ate the rest of the packet, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. Nelson and I got peckish on a stakeout yesterday.” Sanne rubbed her cold hands together. “Your chariot awaits, Dr. Fielding.”
Meg dashed inside to grab her coat, came back out still holding the flowers, and disappeared again to put them in water. She reappeared with her coat half-fastened. “Okay, I’m definitely ready now.” She took Sanne’s hand and squeezed it. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Is it Abdul’s?”
“No, Meg, I’m not taking you for a slap-up kebab.”
“What about Frydays?”
“It’s not a chippy either.”
“That’s me all out of ideas, then.”
Sanne opened the Land Rover’s door for her and went round to brush the snow from the windscreen. “You need to think bigger,” she shouted through the glass. When she got in and turned the ignition key, the Land Rover spluttered and failed to start.
“Alternatively, we could eat whatever mouldy sandwich is stashed in your glove box,” Meg said.
Sanne was too busy cursing to dignify that with a reply. She turned the key again, stomping on the accelerator when the engine showed signs of willing, and the car rattled into life with a cough and a puff of exhaust smoke.
Meg cheered and fastened her seatbelt. “Onward and upward!” She grabbed the dash as the wheels skidded in the fresh snow. “Onward and sideward!”
Sanne snorted and then started to laugh. “You’re not helping.”
“Don’t mind me. I’m just happy to be here.” Meg reached across and stroked a curl of Sanne’s hair. “Here with you, in your knackered car, in the middle of a blizzard, heading out into the unknown.”
Sanne caught Meg’s hand and kissed it. “We have the best adventures, don’t we?”
Meg smiled at her, entwining their fingers. “Always.”
The End
About the Author
Cari Hunter lives in the northwest of England with her wife, two cats, and a pond full of frogs. She works full-time as a paramedic and dreams up stories in her spare time.
Cari enjoys long, windswept, muddy walks in her beloved Peak District and forces herself to go jogging regularly. In the summer she can usually be found sitting in the garden with her feet up, scribbling in her writing pad. Although she doesn’t like to boast, she will admit that she makes a very fine Bakewell Tart.
Her first novel, Snowbound, received an Alice B. Lavender Certificate for outstanding debut. Her second novel, Desolation Point, was shortlisted for a Goldie award and a runner-up in the 2013 Rainbow Awards, and its sequel, Tumbledown, was a runner-up in the 2014 Rainbow Awards.
Cari can be contacted at: [email protected]
Books Available from Bold Strokes Books
Cold to the Touch by Cari Hunter. A drug addict’s murder is the start of a dangerous investigation for Detective Sanne Jensen and Dr. Meg Fielding, as they try to stop a killer with no conscience. (978-1-62639-526-8)
Forsaken by Laydin Michaels. The hunt for a killer teaches one woman that she must overcome her fear in order to love, and another that success is meaningless without happiness. (978-1-62639-481-0)
Infiltration by Jackie D. When a CIA breach is imminent, a Marine instructor must stop the attack while protecting her heart from being disarmed by a recruit. (978-1-62639-521-3)
Midnight at the Orpheus by Alyssa Linn Palmer. Two women desperate to make their way in the world, a man hell-bent on revenge, and a cop risking his career: all in a day’s work in Capone’s Chicago. (978-1-62639-607-4)
Spirit of the Dance by Mardi Alexander. Major Sorla Reardon’s return to her family farm to heal threatens Riley Johnson’s safe life when small-town secrets are revealed, and love may not conquer all. (978-1-62639-583-1)
Sweet Hearts by Melissa Brayden, Rachel Spangler, and Karis Walsh. Do you ever wonder Whatever happened to…? Find out when you reconnect with your favorite characters from Melissa Brayden’s Heart Block, Rachel Spangler’s LoveLife, and Karis Walsh’s Worth the Risk. (978-1-62639-475-9)
Totally Worth It by Maggie Cummings. Who knew there’s an all lesbian condo community in the NYC suburbs? Join twentysomething BFFs Meg and Lexi at Bay West as they navigate friendships, love, and everything in between. (978-1-62639-512-1)
Illicit Artifacts by Stevie Mikayne. Her foster mother’s death cracked open a secret world Jil never wanted to see…and now she has to pick up the stolen pieces. (978-1-62639-472-8)
Pathfinder by Gun Brooke. Heading for their new homeworld, Exodus’s chief engineer Adina Vantressa and nurse Briar Lindemay carry gamechanging secrets that may well cause them to lose everything when disaster strikes. (978-1-62639-444-5)
Prescription for Love by Radclyffe. Dr. Flannery Rivers finds herself attracted to the new ER chief, city girl Abigail Remy, and the incendiary mix of city and country, fire and ice, tradition and change is combustible. (978-1-62639-570-1)
Ready or Not by Melissa Brayden. Uptight Mallory Spencer finds relinquishing control to bartender Hope Sanders too tall an order in fast-paced New York City. (978-1-62639-443-8)
Summer Passion by MJ Williamz. Women loving women is forbidden in 1946 Hollywood, yet Jean and Maggie strive to keep their love alive and away from prying eyes. (978-1-62639-540-4)
The Princess and the Prix by Nell Stark. “Ugly duckling” Princess Alix of Monaco was resigned to loneliness until she met racecar driver Thalia d’Angelis. (978-1-62639-474-2)
Winter’s Harbor by Aurora Rey. Lia Brooks isn’t looking for love in Provincetown, but when she discovers chocolate croissants and pastry chef Alex McKinnon, her winter retreat quickly starts heating up. (978-1-62639-498-8)
The Time Before Now by Missouri Vaun. Vivian flees a disastrous affair, embarking on an epic, transformative journey to escape her past, until destiny introduces her to Ida, who helps her rediscover trust, love, and hope. (978-1-62639-446-9)
Twisted Whispers by Sheri Lewis Wohl. Betrayal, lies, and secrets—whispers of a friend lost to darkness. Can a reluctant psychic set things right or will an evil soul destroy those she loves? (978-1-62639-439-1)
The Courage to Try by C.A. Popovich. Finding love is worth getting past the fear of trying. (978-1-62639-528-2)
Break Point by Yolanda Wallace. In a world readying for war, can love find a way? (978-1-62639-568-8)
