by D. S. Butler
The camera lifted slightly as though the driver had got out. Karen held her breath as ACC Fry walked around the front of the car, his face illuminated in the headlights.
Now, they had the evidence they needed. It was ACC Fry who’d knocked Sam Pickett from his bike.
A couple of minutes passed, and they all just stood around doing nothing. Even though it had happened in the past, and Karen couldn’t change the situation, she found herself willing them to pull out their phones and call for an ambulance, but none of them did.
Laurel was the first to leave. She ran back to her car and drove off. Lloyd ran a hand through his hair multiple times, he flung his arms around, shouting at Fry, but ultimately he did nothing to help Sam.
He went back to his car as well, performed a three-point turn and left the scene.
ACC Fry walked back to his own car, inspected the damage and then disappeared from view. The camera dipped again – Fry getting back into the driver’s seat.
Then he drove away, passing the smashed bicycle and leaving Sam Pickett to die alone.
Karen exhaled a shaky breath and pushed back from the desk. In death, Leo would have his full revenge on ACC Fry. Now they had something to tell the Pickett family. They couldn’t bring Sam back from the dead, but justice was the next best thing.
She clicked on the first audio file. It was a recorded conversation between Leo and Fry. Fry ordered him to despatch the witnesses and destroy his car. The second file was Fry sentencing Anthony to die. Leo objected and said it was an overreaction, but Fry overruled him. DCI Shaw knew too much.
Karen lifted her head. She’d been so involved that she hadn’t noticed the open-plan office had fallen silent. Officers had moved closer to hear the recordings. They gathered around her desk.
‘We’ve got the evidence now, Sarge,’ Sophie said gently.
Karen couldn’t speak. She only managed to nod.
The crematorium was packed full of people of all ages for Anthony’s funeral. Some Karen knew, most she didn’t. Mike stood beside her. He hadn’t known DCI Shaw, but he was there for her, and she appreciated his solid presence and support.
Her hand gripped his as the curtains shut on the coffin.
Afterwards, they walked outside and looked at the flowers. They’d donated money to the British Heart Foundation at the family’s request, but the area outside the crematorium was filled with flowers and wreaths.
The cold air was sharp with the scent of cut flowers. As they stopped by a bouquet of white roses and peonies, Karen saw DS Grace, smartly dressed, talking to Anthony’s niece. Though Karen hadn’t been permitted to work with the team who’d brought in the corrupt officers, DS Grace was doing a sterling job – sorting through the evidence, liasing with Internal Affairs and the CPS to make sure appropriate charges would be brought against every person involved.
She had considered pressing the matter with the superintendent, asking to be present to witness DI Freeman’s face as the charges were levelled against him, thinking it would help her move on from the betrayal. But it was enough to know that justice would be served. She didn’t need to be there to gloat.
Karen shivered as they walked back to the car. The sky was bright blue, but the air was bitterly cold. ‘You know,’ she said, turning to Mike, ‘I might give that group thing a try.’
Mike turned, lifting his eyebrows in surprise. ‘The group counselling? But you said you weren’t the type for cups of tea and sympathy.’
‘I won’t know until I try, will I?’ Karen said, throwing his own words back at him.
He smiled. ‘True enough.’
Two weeks after Christmas, Karen sat on a moulded plastic chair in a small room at the back of the cathedral. Eunice had beamed when she saw Karen arrive. There was a big tea urn on a long trestle table, along with two plates of biscuits.
Karen had helped herself to two chocolate hobnobs because she felt like she deserved them for sitting through the upcoming meeting. She’d spent months resisting, but now here she was, ready for a miracle, hoping for help to move on. Her palms were sweaty, and her mouth felt dry. She was starting to regret being there already, but how bad could it be? It was only an hour, and if it didn’t suit her, she didn’t have to come back.
She’d been in touch with Leo’s widow yesterday and passed on Leo’s message to his daughter. It had been a long conversation. She couldn’t answer all their questions, but tried to be honest.
Last weekend, she’d gone to the cemetery, to stand for a while at Josh and Tilly’s memorial stones. No one else had been around, so she’d talked aloud, telling them what had happened, telling them how much she missed them and how sorry she was.
Tilly would have been eleven this year. Karen tried to imagine what she’d have looked like if she’d lived. She pictured Tilly in a secondary school uniform.
‘Do you mind if I sit here?’
Karen turned and saw a woman with curly white hair, dressed in a long pink coat and a bright yellow scarf.
‘Not at all,’ Karen said, shifting aside slightly.
‘Hobnobs,’ the woman said, peering at Karen’s biscuit. ‘Good choice. You’ve not been here before, have you?’
‘No, first time.’
‘It’s not so bad when you get used to it. Nice bunch,’ she said, as the man at the front of the room called the meeting to order.
They were an eclectic group, and despite her instinct to hold back, Karen couldn’t help feeling interested in their stories, their backgrounds and what had brought them here.
‘Why don’t we make a start?’ the group leader said with a wide smile. ‘We’ve got some new faces here tonight. Would you like to kick us off?’ he said, looking directly at Karen.
No, she thought, I wouldn’t. But she forced a smile and said, ‘Sure.’
‘Why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself, and what help you hope to get from the group?’
Karen looked around the room at all the faces. There were a lot of them, but they all seemed friendly.
She took a deep breath, and began to talk.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My fantastic editor, Jack Butler, deserves a massive thank you for the hard work he has put into the Karen Hart series. It’s been a pleasure to work with such a talented group of people at Amazon Publishing.
Special thanks must also go to the insightful Russel McLean for his input and invaluable attention to detail over the series.
Much gratitude to Jane, Lesa and all the people at Branston Community Library for generously spreading the word about my books.
To my family, a special thank you – and as always, thanks to Chris for his belief in me.
And finally, most importantly, thank you to my readers who have read and recommended my books. The support keeps me going even on those days I have a negative word count! Your kind words and encouragement mean the world to me.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born in Kent, D. S. Butler grew up as an avid reader with a love for crime fiction and mysteries. She has worked as a scientific officer in a hospital pathology laboratory and as a research scientist. After obtaining a PhD in biochemistry, she worked at the University of Oxford for four years before moving to the Middle East. While living in Bahrain, she wrote her first novel and hasn’t stopped writing since. She now lives in Lincolnshire with her husband.
