Scare Me To Death, CJ Carver [nice books to read .txt] 📗

out a hand to Jaya, stopping her from going to Ricky. She didn’t want him interrupted.

‘I was terrified. I thought the killer might still be there. I ran away… to my car. I drove off. I didn’t drive for long because I had to pull over… I was sick. It was then I realised I hadn’t called the police. I know I should have done it sooner, but I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to get away…’

Ricky’s reaction wasn’t uncommon. His fight or flight response had kicked in, producing a hormonal cascade, but where some people froze with fear, his body had made him flee the scene in order to survive.

Lucy released Jaya to swoop to his side, clucking like a demented chicken, but he pushed her away. ‘Not now, Mum.’

Biting her lip, Jaya looked between him and Lucy. She was fighting tears.

‘I wish I hadn’t left her.’ Ricky put his head in his hands. ‘I feel really bad about that. I wish I’d held her until the police arrived.’

He looked stricken. Lucy sighed. She could no more turn her back on Ricky than a drowning puppy. Besides which, she would seriously love to prove him innocent to stick two fingers up to Magellan. Imagine his face! And if Ricky was guilty, well. At least she’d done her familial duty.

‘Okay. I’d like to see your client list.’

He raised his head.

‘And I’d like to see your diary.’ She turned brisk. ‘I’ll contact Ajay Pozo myself. I’m not guaranteeing anything. I’ll just have a look, that’s all.’

‘Thank you.’ It was a whisper, but she couldn’t miss the glimmer of gratitude in his eyes.

‘Right, if you’ll excuse me.’ Lucy looked at Jaya. ‘Your mum and I have some unfinished business.’

6

‘Just through here,’ Sergeant Milton told Dan as they walked down the corridor. At first glance, he’d thought she was in her late thirties but on closer inspection realised she was much younger, a tired twenty-something obviously exhausted given the bags under her eyes and her washed-out complexion.

Someone had left a box of posters to one side, exhorting parents not to tell their children that the police would cart them off to jail if they were bad. We want them to run to us if they are scared… NOT be scared of us. He and Jenny had taught Aimee that the first port of call if she was lost, or in trouble, was to always go to a police officer, or dial 999. He hated the thought of a world where his daughter wouldn’t do that.

Milton led Dan into a meeting room. ‘Have a seat.’ The air was overly warm, muggy with heating, and Dan took off his jacket, hung it over the back of a chair.

‘So,’ said the police officer. She took the chair opposite him. Opened a folder. Slipped a photograph across. ‘Kaitlyn Rogers.’

A young woman with a grave expression looked back. Black jacket over a white shirt. Auburn hair pulled back into a bun. Freckles across the bridge of her nose. Generous mouth. Vivid green eyes.

For no reason he could think of, his heart hitched. He picked up the picture and rested his gaze on it as he’d been taught by his psychiatrist. Dr Simon Winter had told him to trust his instincts when he felt an old memory rising to the surface, and not to force anything. Just let your subconscious swim where it wants and be alert as to how you feel.

Dan touched the woman’s face gently. He could sense sunshine and heat. Happiness. He felt tired, for some reason. Not now, but in this memory. As he sank into her eyes, a wave of anxiety washed over him, increasing until he felt real fear. She made him happy but filled him with fear.

He passed the photograph back and Sergeant Milton pushed over another handful of pictures showing the same woman standing, sitting, laughing, frowning.

The fear remained with him.

‘I don’t know,’ Dan admitted. ‘Sorry.’

The police officer then brought out a pair of vinyl disposable gloves and withdrew a small plastic envelope from her folder, opened it. She extracted a scrap of paper, slightly bigger than a business card, and folded into four. It was well-worn and tatty at the edges, indicating it had been around a while.

‘We found this tucked in her wallet, between her driver’s licence and a membership card. She obviously wanted to keep it safe.’

Carefully, the sergeant unfolded the paper and showed him a dried four-leaf clover that was no longer green but a dusty grey. It looked as though it might disintegrate at any moment.

Suddenly Dan felt like weeping. He didn’t know why, but he felt devastated.

Sergeant Milton then opened the scrap of paper fully and showed him the writing there.

I found this on a walk with Dad at the weekend. It will help keep you safe. Dan x

He stared and stared.

It was his handwriting, no doubt about it.

‘Yours?’ the sergeant asked.

‘It looks like my handwriting. Yes.’

‘But you don’t know her.’

‘I think we’d better change that to: I don’t remember her.’

He finally confessed his memory problem to Milton, but not that he’d been in MI5. He didn’t want to open a can of worms that might come to endanger him or his family. If he thought the officer needed to know at any time, he’d tell her, but right now he was simply an ex-high-performance driving instructor who now worked as a global business analyst.

‘You can remember your school and university days, but nothing afterwards?’ She was frowning.

‘Before my son died, there are blanks, but afterwards, everything is crystal clear.’

She raised her eyebrows but he wasn’t going to say any more. Only five people currently knew the truth behind Luke’s death: three of whom were in MI5 and two friends, one a GP, the other a cop, DC Lucy Davies. Not even his wife, Jenny, Luke’s mother, knew. She thought Luke had been killed in a hit-and-run.

He’d been undercover, working for the Albanian mafia, when his cover had been blown. Wanting to send a