by SL Beaumont
Death Count
A Kat Munro thriller
By SL Beaumont
For my brother Graham. Although we live in different countries, you're never far from my thoughts.
First published by Paperback Writers Publishing 2020
Copyright © 2020 by SL Beaumont
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording,
scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the
publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website,
or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names,
characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the
author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Designations used by companies to distinguish their
products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names
and product names used in this book and on its cover are
trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered
trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and
the book are not associated with any product or vendor
mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced
within the book have endorsed the book.
This novel is written using UK English
First edition
ISBN: 978-0-473-55192-6 (Kindle)
ISBN: 978-0-473-55190-2 (Paperback)
Also by SL Beaumont
Shadow of Doubt
The Carlswick Mysteries series
The Carlswick Affair
The Carlswick Treasure
The Carlswick Conspiracy
The Carlswick Deception
The Carlswick Mythology
The Reluctant Witness (novella)
Chapter 1
Kat Munro twisted in her seat and looked behind. A dark shape took form as it approached from the gloom at speed, its headlights bearing down on them. She sensed Gabe ease their car towards the edge of the bitumen to allow the other vehicle to pass. A frown creased the skin between his eyes for a moment, and his long slender hands gripped the wheel. The breeze tossed his hair as he turned his head to look at Kat, and a warm smile lit up his handsome face. But instead of passing, the engine of the car behind them roared, and it closed the distance like a lion tracking its prey. Kat felt fear clutch at her throat. Had she been seen? The drive into town for extra supplies in Gabe’s convertible now seemed fraught with danger.
“What the…” Gabe began, glancing in the rear vision mirror.
Kat looked across at him as she felt the car accelerate and gather speed.
From the back seat, Felicity hiccupped and giggled, twin dimples forming in her cheeks. She toed off her shoes and kicked her long legs up onto the seat.
Kat peered behind once more; her heart was thudding fast in her chest. The other car was keeping pace with them and was so close that she could make out the outlines of those in the front seat.
The light breeze, scented with the aroma of the wild honeysuckle growing at the side of the road, whipped her hair around her face.
“Gabe, slow down,” Kat said, pushing the strands aside.
A bend in the road was fast approaching. Gabe changed gears, slowing the car as they entered the corner, but then sped up as they exited the turn. Their pursuers fell back for a moment before catching up to them again. Kat gripped the edge of her seat, terrified. A second tighter bend loomed in front of them when the other vehicle made a sudden move to pass and clipped the back of their car. The convertible shuddered from the impact and hit the loose gravel at the side of the road. It began to spin, with Gabe fighting to control it.
“Hey,” Felicity shouted as she was tossed around on the back seat, too drunk to comprehend the danger they were facing.
The next images came into Kat’s mind in a series of flashes.
The slide into the low stone wall, the car sailing through the air before hitting the ground in a field and rolling twice… Felicity's cries of pain… men approaching the vehicle and pulling a dazed Gabe away from the wreckage… thick and cloying smoke, blood, and flames.
Kat's screams rang out as she looked at her arm, draped over the side door of the car, and saw her bloodied hand hanging on to her wrist by a flap of skin and tissue.
Kat bolted upright. The room was dark, the bedsheets twisted. Her breathing was coming in uneven gulps, and her heart was racing. She glanced at the bedside clock, 4:30 a.m.; there would be no more sleep for her tonight.
Chapter 2
The rain which had been threatening as Kat hurried from her flat to the tube station had started falling while she was underground. As she rode the escalator up from the platform to the entrance hall, she could see that the road outside was slick with rainwater. Kat paused at the small hole-in-the-wall coffee shop at the station entrance. After a night of broken sleep, she’d need all the help she could get to make it through the day without dozing off at her desk. The barista began to prepare her usual coffee, a small skinny cappuccino when he saw her approach.
“Better make it a double,” she said.
“Sure thing. I thought we’d seen the last of the rain, Kat,” he said in his soft Irish accent, tossing his head to flick his long hair out of his eyes.
“Yeah, me too. Isn’t it still supposed to be summer?” Kat replied, tapping her bank card against the payment reader and marking one square on her frequent coffee card with the stamp sitting on the counter. She slipped the cards back into a side pocket on her cross-body bag and loosened the tie holding her umbrella, dangling it at her side as she reached for her coffee with her free hand.
“All set?” the barista asked.
Kat nodded. “Thanks.” She took a sip of the hot liquid and sighed. “That’s just what I needed.”
She joined the crowds heading out onto the street and braced for the rain. Fortunately, it had eased to a sprinkle, but at the entrance, she pressed the button on her umbrella’s handle, watching as it unfurled over her head. She hesitated for a moment, making sure she had everything balanced before joining the groups of office workers waiting for the walk light to turn green.
At the signal, Kat crossed the busy road before hurrying along the block to her office. To her left, the River Thames was flowing dark and fast. A commuter ferry crawled along the water towards Westminster, its windows steamed up from the passengers crowded inside out of the rain. Even with an increasing proportion of the population working remotely, thousands of people still commuted into the city each day by road, rail, and ferry.
Kat rounded the corner leading to her office building’s main entrance on a quieter side street. The lower levels had a red brick façade, retained from the days when the building had been a grain store. Sprouting from behind the walls, four stories up, was a modern steel and glass structure.
A dark grey Audi sedan pulled up on the pavement opposite the entrance to the building. Two men alighted from the back seat. One, dressed in a dark suit, bent his head and spoke with the driver, while the other, dressed in jeans and black leather jacket, leaned against the car, his eyes sweeping the surroundings. He had a half-smile on his face listening to the banter between the driver and the other passenger, but he didn’t participate. He glanced up and caught Kat’s eye at the same moment a bicycle courier veered onto the
footpath. The cyclist headed straight towards Kat but swerved at the last moment and only just avoided hitting her. He thrust an envelope at her as he passed.
Kat leapt sideways, knocking her left elbow hard against the brick wall of the building. The envelope floated to the ground, and her coffee cup went flying from her grasp, hitting the footpath with a liquidy thud as the lid popped off, splashing coffee on the cuffs of her trousers and shoes. She watched as the brown liquid ran across the gently sloping footpath and into the gutter.
“Watch where you’re going, you arse,” she called to the lycra-clad rear end.
“Sorry,” he called over his shoulder as he continued down the street.
Kat crouched down to pick up the now empty cup and continued to curse the reckless cyclist. A large pair of feet clad in shiny polished boots stepped in front of her. She looked up to see that the guy who’d been leaning against the car had crossed the road and had his hand out, offering to help her up. Kat ignored his hand and stood. Somehow she was still holding the umbrella above her head, and he had to take a step backwards to avoid being hit. Kat felt a sharp stinging sensation above her left elbow.
“Are you okay? Can I get you another coffee?” the man asked.
She glanced at him for a moment, registering the steely blue of his eyes. His hair, damp from the rain, looked as though it was overdue a cut, and he had several days of stubble across his jaw. She was aware that her left hand looked awkward, but his gaze didn’t leave her face, for which she was grateful.
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“You dropped this,” the man said, bending and retrieving the envelope from where it had landed on the footpath.
“Thanks.” Kat snatched the paper and shoved it into the side pocket of her bag. She stepped around him and retracted the umbrella before pushing through the revolving door into the building. The last thing she wanted was some stranger feeling sorry for her.
Kat dumped the empty cup into a rubbish bin in the foyer and fumbled in her pocket for her pass. The strap of her bag pulled on her neck, sending shooting pains down her arm. She winced, and retrieving her pass, held it against the electronic reader at one side of the entry barrier. The low gates opened with a quiet swish. She walked through and across the marble floor to the stairwell. She climbed the single flight of stairs to the first floor and entered an ample open plan office space. There were clusters of desks grouped in pods of four. The brick walls of the converted warehouse were reinforced with steel beams, and polished wooden floors gleamed. Glass-fronted meeting rooms ran the length of the back wall, and the senior partner occupied a magnificent corner office with a view across the river. Kat wove her way among the desks. Two of her team were already seated behind their computer screens and glanced up to greet her. Nathan, an Australian accountant, who looked more like a surfer with his messy blond hair than a number cruncher, saluted her with one finger to his temple.
“What happened to you?” asked Shamira, a petite dark-haired woman sitting next to him.
“Bloody cycle courier. I dropped my coffee and banged my arm,” Kat said.
She let the umbrella drop to the floor beside her desk and pulled the bag’s strap over her head with extreme care, before dumping it on her chair.
Shamira jumped to her feet. “Are you okay?” she said, concern showing in her deep brown eyes.
“Yeah, I just need to fix my hand.”
“Do you need me to help?” Shamira asked, glancing at Kat’s left hand and frowning.
Kat shook her head. “Nah, I’m all good.”
Kat grabbed her bag and headed back towards the stairwell, where the bathrooms were located. She closed the door and placed her purse on the counter, wincing as she removed her jacket, pulling her right arm out first and easing the fabric over her left. Kat hung it on a hook by the door. She felt a trickle down the back of her arm and twisted in front of the mirror to look. Sure enough, there was a tear in the thin fabric of her shirt sleeve, and a bloody graze ran down her arm to just above her elbow where she’d hit the wall. Cursing and letting out a shaky breath, she undid the buttons on the chiffon blouse before releasing the suction that held her left hand in place, eased it off and laid it on the counter. The door burst open, and Shamira entered the bathroom as Kat pulled her arm out of the torn sleeve.
“Oh, Kat, please let me help,” she said, reaching for the box of tissues on the counter.
Kat relented as Shamira pressed a wad of tissue to the graze with one hand and pulled open a drawer under the counter. She removed antiseptic cream and several large Band-Aids. She worked quickly, cleaning and covering the graze.
“Thank you,” Kat murmured, stepping forward and picking up the prosthesis and turning it over. Fortunately, the attachment didn’t appear damaged. The hand was very lifelike, with a soft texture resembling skin made from a sturdy silicone material.
“It looks so real,” Shamira said.
“It should look close to the real thing for the amount it cost,” Kat said, putting it down again and easing her arm back into the shirt sleeve, fastening the buttons using one hand, with practised ease. She ran her hand over the stump of her wrist, feeling for any pain or sensitivity. Finding none, Kat reattached the hand, sensing the silicone pads suction onto the end of her arm, and eased the flesh-coloured stretchy sock into place over her forearm. She flexed the fingers of the prosthesis as the synapses fired.
Shamira held out her jacket. “You have a tear in the sleeve of your top,” she said.
“I’ll just keep my jacket on, I have a meeting shortly anyway,” Kat replied. She met Shamira’s eyes in the mirror. “Thank you. I hate this.”
“I know, sweetie, but it’s okay to let someone help you from time to time,” Shamira replied, helping her on with the jacket and giving her a quick hug. “On the bright side, it looks like we have to go shopping at lunchtime.”
Kat smiled, and together they walked back to their desks.
“You’ve gotta see this,” Nathan called in his broad Australian accent as they rounded the corner. He was leaning his wiry frame against the windowsill and peering through the window.
“What is it?” Shamira asked, rushing to join him.
“Looks like Stephenson got lucky,” Nathan replied with a grimace.
Shamira hit him lightly on the arm. “Nate.”
“You have to agree it’s gross. He’s so old.”
“He’s not that old,” Kat said, joining them at the window. “Although it’s the first time since he moved back from the States that I’ve seen him with anyone.”
Together they looked down to the street below and watched as their manager, Charles Stephenson, gave the woman in his arms a long deep kiss.
“I think I might lose my breakfast,” Nathan added, holding a hand to his stomach and performing a fake heave.
Charles Stephenson was a solid middle-aged man with thick cropped sandy hair and a severe side parting. They watched as the woman reached up and rested her hand on his cheek for a moment before turning and walking away. She looked younger than him from a distance, dressed casually with her dark hair pulled into a high ponytail.
“There’s no way a man closing in on fifty could pull a woman like that,” Nathan said.
They continued looking until Kat saw Stephenson smile as he glanced up and spotted the three of them watching through the window. With a final glance at the woman’s retreating figure, he turned, and whistling made his way into the building.
“Well I think it’s sweet, just shows that there is someone for everyone,” Shamira said.
Kat and Nathan snorted with derision.
“Are you sure you’re an accountant? I could’ve sworn I heard a romance novelist speaking for a moment,” Nathan teased as Stephenson strode onto the floor thirty seconds later.
Shamira shook her head at Nathan and sat down at her desk.
“Morning all,” Stevenson called as he walked across the room to his office. “Kat, I see our clients have arrived.
Can you organise coffee and show them to the meeting room? I’ll join you in a moment.”
“Sure, boss,” Kat said before looking across at Shamira and Nate. “I’m so glad I spent all those years studying just to arrange coffee for our clients,” she said, rolling her eyes. She went to grab a notebook and spied the envelope that the courier had dropped lying on the floor by her desk. She scooped it up and turned it over. It was addressed to her. Kat frowned, opened it, and eased out a single sheet of paper that contained a typed message.
‘Stop whatever it is that you think you’re doing, or you’ll be sorry.’
Kat dropped the page onto her desk as though it were poisonous and took a quick step backwards.
“What’s up, mate?” Nathan asked, leaning over and reading the note.
Kat grimaced.
“Are you still looking into…” he began before Kat interrupted him.
“Of course not.”
“Really?” He didn’t sound convinced. “I thought you’d let all that go.”
Kat shrugged.
“Kat, don’t just shrug this off, this is serious,” he said. “Someone has just threatened you.”
“I know, which just makes me think that I’m onto something.”
“You need to be careful,” Nate said.
Kat nodded and headed out to the reception area.
The two men from the Audi were standing to one side of the reception desk. They hadn’t seen her yet. Kat realised that she didn’t know their names or even why they were there. She ran her hand through her long mane of dark auburn hair.
“Good morning. I’m Kat Munro,” she said, approaching them with her right hand outstretched, wishing she hadn’t been quite so short earlier.
“Detective Inspector Hugo Greenwood,” the man in the suit replied with a warm smile, accepting her handshake.
The second man nodded. “DS Adam Jackson.”
“Can we get coffee in meeting room one please?” she asked the receptionist, who smiled and nodded. “Cappuccinos?” she asked the two men.
