One Left Behind: A completely gripping and addictive crime thriller with nail-biting suspense (Detective Gina Harte Book 9)

by Carla Kovach

  ‘Do I need to worry about you?’

  She looked at her feet, then back up. ‘No.’

  ‘Oscar was at that party, wasn’t he?’

  Caro nodded.

  ‘You two don’t see each other much anymore, not like you used to.’

  Shrugging, Caro took the bowl of ice cream that her mother pushed towards her. ‘I guess we’ve grown apart a little.’ She couldn’t tell her mother the truth about what she did at the last party. Since then she hadn’t wanted any of her friends over. She wouldn’t normally snog all three boys there, in front of everyone, but that had been her dare, and who had come up with it? Naomi Carpenter. Caro had a drink, that was a fact but something hadn’t felt right. In her mind, she drifted back to that night.

  The fire’s smoke had seeped through her clothes, giving them an acrid stench. Marshmallows and cider; that was what they had to drink and eat. The feeling of wooziness and then unsteadiness. She’d had one measly can of cider. She’d kissed Anthony; soft and slowly. While kissing him, she’d glanced over her shoulder at Oscar. Then she kissed Jordan, which had almost made her heave. He’d tried to press his tongue too invasively into her mouth and his lips were so wet. Lastly, she’d kissed Oscar and their friendship somehow felt compromised but it was also daring. A step into the unknown. Then Leah. That’s it, she kissed Leah. She wasn’t meant to as a part of the dare but Leah just got in line and leaned in. It happened without thought. Then she laughed and accepted another drink. Think, think! Who gave her that drink? After that drink, it was as if her mind blanked a little, like the darkness of the woods was closing in. Her eyelids had drooped and her limbs had felt heavy, like she was wading through mud that turned to stone. Then the world went black. She was sure someone helped her into her tent. The smell of body odour. The party sounded like a skewered record and the laughing scared her. Were they all in her tent, staring at her incapable body? Was it another dare?

  Early the next morning, just as the birds had begun to tweet, Oscar had called her from outside her tent and she’d managed to mumble for him to come in. Was it Oscar? With one eye open, she saw the canvas roof of the tent and some of the evening was racing through her thoughts. With the world spinning, she’d remained closed eyed, hoping that another couple of hours of sleep might help. Oscar had fallen asleep a few minutes later with his head in her lap and he was still completely wasted. His snoring filled the tent. Then a flash of a memory from the early hours filled her head. Grunting noises along with that smell of body odour. She nudged Oscar away before allowing herself to fall asleep. Then came the nightmares. She’d kissed Jordan and he changed into a huge red-eyed beast, then Leah had sliced him open with a sword. She was startled awake when she heard voices outside and what came next was the worst hangover she’d ever had. It was like lightning pulsing through her head and her vision was fuzzy. It hurt to focus on anything.

  Something was ringing as true. One whole can of cider does not equal even a mild hangover. She’d had up to four on a normal session and not felt that bad the next day. Her friends had found her shaking and sweating while vomiting in the bushes. She’d never felt so ill. In fact, she thought she was dying. Stabs of pain to her head and stomach almost floored her. What made it worse was that she had to make the biggest effort to hurry home while feeling like death and try to look well enough to have dinner at Grandad’s. What had happened between entering her tent and Oscar coming into her tent and falling asleep on her? There was one thing she knew for certain but the rest was like cotton wool.

  ‘Caro?’

  She flinched as her mother’s voice brought her back to the present. ‘Sorry. I was just thinking about Leah.’ Her heart began to bang in her chest.

  The home phone began to ring. Her mother snatched it up and placed it to her ear. ‘Hello.’

  Her brow scrunched. ‘Yes, I’m her mother.’

  A tremble went through Caro, uncontrollable and fierce. She couldn’t hide it. Her mother’s gaze met hers.

  ‘Yes, we can come in tomorrow. I’ll put it in my diary. What’s this about?’ A pause. ‘I see.’ Her mother nodded and smiled at Caro. ‘Just routine.’

  Caro knew the police would want to speak to her. One of her friends had said that she was meant to be at the party. Anthony would get called too. Everything they got up to was going to come out, including that night; the night she couldn’t fully remember. She knew what her dare was but what was everyone else’s? Pull yourself together, Caro. The police weren’t asking about that party, they were asking about the one last night. If they do mention other parties, just don’t mention the dares and keep to the basics. That’s what everyone else would do. ‘Thanks for the ice cream, Mum.’ There’s no way she’d tell anyone about that message and that included the police.

  ‘Come on. Let’s go and play games. It’ll take your mind off things.’

  She doubted that very much. A Snapchat message flashed on her phone.

  Say anything and u r next! I will break you if you speak.

  The message disappeared. Forever gone.

  Gulping, she followed her mother through to the lounge, bowl of ice cream in hand and she saw her dad and little brother setting up Pictionary. Her heart banged like a thundering train and the thought of eating was making her sick. In fact, she was going to be sick. She dropped the bowl and ran to the downstairs loo and keeled over the bowl.

  ‘Caro, are you okay?’ Her mother pushed the half-open door.

  Shaking, Caro waited but nothing was happening. Nothing but her speeding heart and some sort of feverish flush that was subsiding a little. Her face burning red and knuckles white as she gripped the bowl. ‘I just felt… sorry.’

  Her mother kneeled down and hugged her and they stayed like that for a few seconds until the panic had subsided a little.

  ‘Do you want to talk?’

  Caro shook her head. ‘I need to lie down.’

  Her mother kissed her on the head. ‘Call me if you need me, promise?’

  ‘Promise, Mum.’ It was the shock of the message. Who wanted to kill her? She had to be alone while she got her story straight for the police.

  Sixteen

  Jacob hurried over to Jennifer as she began to set up and pull her forensics suit up. They had been a couple for quite a while and given the circumstances in which they always met up at work, he was always happy to see her.

  Gina stood outside the cab all gloved up, still shook up from the messages that wouldn’t leave her head. Had she slipped up in a subtle way like one of the murderers she’d investigated in the past? Maybe she’d made a slight movement as someone said a word. A word out of place or an omission so subtle that only a highly observant person could see. Murderer! She pulled a forensics suit over her clothes and put her hair in a cover, swallowing the lump in her throat down.

  Several lorries, some rigid and some articulated, were parked at the other end of the car park. The Waterside Café appeared to be filling up. She knew that John Tallis had come in earlier to give a statement and she’d even had a chance to quickly check the details that had been entered into the system. He’d pretty much stuck to his script, repeating the same things he’d told her earlier.

  ‘Right, let’s open up.’ Gina couldn’t wait to get in there but it was going to be tight.

  Jacob stood behind her and PC Kapoor was maintaining the cordon that had been placed around the lorry. A couple of drivers who were standing outside the café were smoking and staring across at them.

  Gina climbed up the steps to the cab and slotted the key in the lock. As she pulled the door open, a musky smell escaped. A combination of sweat and the heavy smell of sex that she could recognise instantly. A crumpled tissue and a pack of opened baby wipes sat on the dashboard along with the paperwork pertaining to Rodney Hackett’s delivery that was meant to reach Oxford earlier that day. The company had been understanding about the delay once they’d explained why their delivery had been held up. Once forensics had looked in the cab and seized what
they needed to seize, one of Hackett’s colleagues would come and attach the trailer to another cab and take the load to its destination. The pressure was on to get this search done quickly and thoroughly.

  ‘Can you shout down, telling me what you see?’ Jennifer called up, mask dangling under her chin.

  ‘Will do.’ Gina entered the cab and leaned over. Jacob got into the passenger side, door open, standing on the top step as he peered through. After Gina had taken a first look, Jennifer could get in there and go through everything thoroughly, taking samples and fingerprints. ‘Fingerprints in dust on both the passenger side and the driver’s side. Crumpled tissue on dashboard. Lots of half-eaten packets of sandwiches. Empty drinks cans.’ She glanced at the bed behind the seats. A crumpled quilt covered the bed and a flat pillow had been placed at one end. ‘Hair that looks to be the same colour as our victim’s. Definitely not Hackett’s hair. It’s long. A pair of what looks like yellow socks with red watermelons printed on them. I’m guessing they’re not Hackett’s socks. They also look small.’

  Gina stared at the space for a short while longer. Attached to the sun visor was a photo of two teenage girls and Hackett. It looked like they were on holiday somewhere in the Mediterranean. Gina had read Hackett’s notes. He was divorced and had two daughters that were in their early twenties now. She could see the resemblance, they all had the same shaped nose and broad forehead. ‘Open box of condoms. Same brand as the one we saw under the cab.’ She paused. ‘I’m getting out now so that you can take photos and bag everything up. There’s not much else here. A pile of clothes and a few packets of biscuits.’ She stepped back as Jacob did. The lorry rocked a little as they both climbed down.

  Gina headed to the end of the lorry with Jacob. ‘Everything is pointing to him having had sex in his cab last night, at some point. The socks with the watermelon print, they could be Leah’s. We need to ask her friends if she owned a pair like that. They are quite distinctive and as she was wearing shorts when we found her, the socks would have been visible for all to see if she had them on before she headed to the café. Leah was sixteen. I know she was at the age of consent, but seriously, do I think she could have willingly slept with Hackett? I can’t see it.’

  ‘Me neither, but stranger things have happened.’

  ‘Agreed. What the hell happened here and back at the camp? Roll on tomorrow. We need those results. Get a good night’s sleep as we have a pig of a day coming up tomorrow. I’m going to head home and continue working there. If you hear anything, call me straight away.’

  ‘Will do, guv.’ Jacob flashed her a smile before heading back over to Jennifer. The one good thing about them being in a relationship was that Jennifer would discuss the case with him in real time if he stuck around. They’d talk about it when they got home and work through what they knew, together, so she left him to it.

  Gina glanced over at the café where she saw John Tallis staring at the cab with his phone pressed to his ear. He had no CCTV but he did have a clear view of the whole car park. She knew he wasn’t sharing everything. In fact, she was sure he was purposely holding something back and it was something to do with Hackett and last night. His phone conversation looked like it was becoming fraught. He pressed hard on the screen and his shoulders slumped. His gaze met hers. He ran his fingers through his hair to neaten it, then he smiled and waved.

  Seventeen

  It was only seven that evening but Frank has insisted that I go to bed, so I lie here with light still coming through my bedroom curtains. I heard him making pained noises at one point and I wonder if those scratches are sore as he dabs them down. He’s not likely to tell me if I ask and I’d probably make him angry again. I don’t want that.

  The TV volume is so low that I can’t hear what is being said by the actors in some sitcom I’ve never heard of. All I want to do is tune out from Frank and lose myself in something to pass the time. The remote control is on my chest of drawers and they are positioned at the other side of the room – impossible for me to get to right now. I know he does this to control me and he’s getting worse by the day; I’m not stupid. We argue about this all the time but it gets me nowhere. I rub my head. His slap still stings a little.

  Children still play on the green outside our row of cottages, kicking a football back and forth; shouting goal every so often. ‘I want to get back up, Frank! Get me out of bed now.’ I’m not a child and this is driving me crazy. Only a few minutes ago, he abruptly wheeled me from the lounge, manhandled me into bed and removed my wheelchair from the bedroom. There was no way I could get out of this bed without a major struggle and injury, and Frank knows that. If my wheelchair is next to the bed with the brakes on, I can wiggle my way into it, but my upper body strength isn’t good enough for me to scuttle across the room, somehow reach up to open the door while I’m in front of it, then find my wheelchair – all before Frank sees me. That would enrage him and I know what his anger will do to me.

  ‘Shut up and go to sleep.’ I listen as he bursts around the downstairs of the cottage and lastly, he’s in the kitchen. Again, he’s rooting through the cupboards.

  ‘Frank, get me my wheelchair.’

  He ignores me. My life is hopeless. I wish I’d never gone on that holiday. I wish I’d never jumped into the sea from that rock, shattering my spine. I flinch as I remember the jolt of pain before the world went black. Waking up a week later in a Greek hospital had been the worst day of my life. I still think I have feeling in my legs sometimes; strange but true. I was warned of this by the hospital staff but nothing could prepare me for the weirdness of that feeling. I feel my legs twitch as if they want me to walk; to touch and stroke them, but the plain reality is always there to see. They are phantom sensations and I am still paralysed both physically and by Frank.

  ‘Frank! I want my phone.’ I haven’t seen any news all day. I’m sick of everything and being in solitary confinement most of the time is sending me out of my mind. I also want to know if anyone else had seen my tweet earlier. Maybe someone has said something or sent me an angry message. A pang of guilt washes through me and not for the first time today. I want to yell and cry. I, of all people, should know what it’s like to be silly and impulsive, just like those kids are with their parties and drinking. I stupidly jumped from a cliff into the sea when warned that it was a bad idea. The locals did it but they also knew where the rocks underneath were and how to avoid them. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Frank is still angry with me. Not only did that stupid act cost me my independence, it took Frank’s too. Maybe I deserve all the hatred I get from him.

  I hear him tipping a box of something that thuds onto the table and I wonder what it is he hides and why he spends time going through it every day. I can’t go into the kitchen anymore, the door is not one of the doors we had widened so the kitchen is all his. His mood is changing for the worse and I know it’s something to do with what he’s hiding in that cupboard and what he did to gain those scratches. I need to get in there somehow. If I know what’s bothering him, maybe I can help to make things better. If I don’t make things better, things will get worse here. Much worse.

  Shaking my bed frame, I scream out again. It bangs against the back of the wall over and over again, chipping away at the plaster just a little more each time. ‘Frank, get me up. I think I need help with my catheter.’ No answer. ‘I hate you!’ And I do. I hate him. Especially today.

  He bursts through the door, scowling and seething as he stomps towards my bed. Grabbing my hair, he wrenches my neck back to the point I feel it might snap if I breathe. ‘If you don’t shut up, I will kill you and that’s a promise.’ There’s rage in his wide-eyed stare.

  He’s never said that before. Things must be bad, but I can’t take it. I slap him across the face, again and again, missing most of the time and he slaps me back. I don’t care if it hurts and I don’t care if it provokes him. I got one in, that’s all that matters. I have to show him that I’m prepared to hit out too. He doesn’t get a monopoly on this
household’s violence but he wins all the battles. The odds are stacked in his favour. He lets go of my hair and pushes me down, the back of my head sinking into the pillow and he places a hand around my neck, not hard enough to leave a mark but hard enough to make me take heed of his warning. I feel my vision prickling as I fight for breath and I want to cry hard. He could take me out with ease and there’s nothing I could do about it. I just want him to love me like he used to before I became his burden. I’m so confused. Do I want him to love me or hate me? I don’t know. All I know is I don’t want to be stuck in this rut. They say love and hate are closely related. I never understood that until now. At this moment though, I want to get out of bed. I want to go and sit in the garden or watch the telly in the living room. I don’t show him my fear, my stare remaining on his until I begin to go red. This isn’t how I want to die…

  He releases me then sits on the edge of my bed in silence as he stares into thin air.

  There’s definitely something up with him and it’s not only my demands causing this outburst. Things have never got that bad. He’s never tried to choke me to death. He turns slightly and I see sadness washing over his face. The aggression is going as he snaps out of his rage. ‘What’s going on?’ My voice is more of a broken-up crackle.

  He shrugs. ‘It’s everything.’

  I know it’s the burden of me so I don’t push any further. I’ll stay in bed and shut up, just like he wants me to. He needs some alone time and I need to give him that. ‘I’m sorry too. Can I just have the remote so I can watch Netflix?’ Swallowing, I’m hoping he says yes. I’m not sorry though.

  Walking across the room, he passes it to me before kissing me on the head and smiling, this is why I’m always confused. He pulls my blanket up to my chin and I’m immediately too hot but I don’t say anything. I’m going to be good and do what he wants. I will be quiet. I’ll watch a film and I’ll go to sleep. All I do is force a smile. The last thing I want to risk is another outburst like the one I’ve just seen.