Murder in the Dark, page 1
Murder In The Dark
Betsy Reavley
Contents
Also by Betsy Reavley
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note
A Note From Bloodhound Books
Copyright © 2018 Betsy Reavley
The right of Betsy Reavley to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 2018 by Bloodhound Books
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
www.bloodhoundbooks.com
Also by Betsy Reavley
Carrion
The Quiet Ones
The Optician’s Wife
Frailty
Pressure
Murder At The Book Club
Praise for Betsy Reavley
"A deliciously Agatha Christie-style mystery that sucks you in from the first page." Sibel Hodge bestselling author of Look Behind You
* * *
“A good old Whodunnit from Ms Reavley that will keep readers guessing till the very end!” J.A. Baker Bestselling author of The Other Mother
* * *
"A deliciously devilish whodunit!" Robert Bryndza bestselling author of the Detective Erika Foster Series
* * *
“Holy freaking hell Betsy is back with a new psychological thriller and she is on fire!” Shell Baker - Chelle’s Book Reviews
* * *
“The plotting is excellent and the pacing spot-on. A deep sense of foreboding and growing peril permeates the entire novel.” Mark Wilson - Author
* * *
“PRESSURE by Betsy Reavley is a unique and utterly compelling thriller that will suck you in from the very beginning and drag you down into its murky depths along with its characters.” Linda Green - Books Of All Kinds
* * *
“A captivating, chilling, at times gruesome thriller by our own lady of suspense: Betsy Reavley!” Caroline Vincent - Bits About Books
* * *
“A super-fast paced thriller that I felt I had to read just as fast, as if my own reading-oxygen was in short supply.” Michelle Ryles - The Book Magnet
* * *
“This book is such a creepy thrill ride, I was just blown away from the very beginning.” Ashley Gillan - (e)Book Nerd Reviews
* * *
“Intense, toe curling, action packed, spine tingling, and absolutely brilliant.” Kaisha Holloway - The Writing Garnet
* * *
“The pacing of the story is really good especially if you prefer a character driven story with twists strategically placed to really catch you out.” Rachel Broughton - Rae Reads.”
* * *
“Bursting with suspense and intrigue, Pressure is an atmospheric thriller that’ll keep you glued to the pages and guessing right to the end.” Aileen Mckenzie - Feminisia Libros Reviews
* * *
“Pressure is the ultimate locked room mystery and I advise you put a few hours aside and read this in one seating just don’t forget to breathe!!” Ellen Devenport - Bibliophile Book Club
* * *
“Pressure is a fast paced thriller which is genuinely terrifying.”
Joanne Robertson - My Chestnut Reading Tree
* * *
“Betsy Reavley has gone and smashed it with her newest book Pressure, pure unadulterated tension which will intensify the fire within your imagination.” Diane Hogg - Sweet Little Book Blog
* * *
“This is a great, fast paced and claustrophobic story that will keep you on the edge of your seat.” Jessica Bronder - JBronder Book Reviews
* * *
“An addictive, compelling read that pushed me well out of my comfort zone - if you like disturbingly twisty plot lines and dark characters then this is definitely the read for you.” Lisa Hall, Author of the best selling psychological thriller Between You and Me
* * *
“The Optician’s Wife is a stylish, brilliantly crafted thriller which really delivers. A very real sense of creeping dread, combined with intelligent, finely drawn characters, had me turning the pages late into the night. This one will linger with you, long after the book is finished. Reavley has delivered a masterclass and deserves to be up there with the best in the business.” L J Ross - Bestselling author of The DCI Ryan books.
* * *
“I love discovering new authors especially one who can shock and surprise me like this as it doesn’t happen very often!” Joanne Robertson - My Chestnut Reading Tree
* * *
“Don’t you just love it when you pick up a book and it blows you away, well Betsy Reavley has managed to do just that with a book that’s absolutely filled with suspense and intrigue.” Lorraine Rugman - The Book Review Cafe
* * *
“This was a fantastic book and one I knew from the first chapter it was going to keep me enthralled reading it.” Leona - Goodreads Reviewer
* * *
“Wow! What a stunning book. Draws you in, spins you a line and boom! you’ve got it completely wrong. Loved it. So clever.” MetLineReader - Goodreads Reviewer
* * *
“This is a book that once you start reading it you won’t be able to stop. It is a story that grabs you right from the very beginning.” Joseph Calleja, Relax and Read book Reviews
* * *
“This is true stand-out in the domestic noir genre.” Caroline Matson, Confessions of a Reading Addict
* * *
“Betsy Reavley has reached new heights with this breathtaking book. Child abduction is always a difficult subject and she has totally embraced it in this outstanding book. It will leave you feeling emotionally drained and in awe of this author. Her best book yet, a literary masterpiece” Anita Waller, best-selling author of 34 Days, Angel and Beautiful
* * *
“Absolutely incredible book, cannot praise it enough. I think it’s my best read of 2016.” Emma De Oliveira, an ARC reviewer
“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget
what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
Maya Angelou
“Bad people are to be found everywhere, but even among the worst
there may be something good.”
Dostoyevsky’s The House of the Dead
Minstrel Man: By Langston Hughes
Because my mouth
Is wide with laughter
And my throat
Is deep with song,
You did not think
I suffer after
I’ve held my pain
So long.
Because my mouth
Is wide with laughter
You do not hear
My inner cry:
Because my feet
Are gay with dancing
You do not know
I die.
For my children.
Reach for the stars.
Prologue
1.34am Friday 13th December
The cold winter sunlight streamed in through the glass window, highlighting the polish on the brown leather shoes that were dangling in the air. Outside, the world was just going to sleep and the doors of Ashton’s Bookshop would remain closed until Matilda Edgely arrived to open them.
But while Matilda was at home, sleeping peacefully in her bed, she was blissfully unaware of the discovery she would make later that morning. Because inside Ashton’s, hanging from a rope that was attached to the rafters at the back of the shop, was the body of the shop owner, Dennis Wade.
And from a leather, high-back armchair the killer looked up at the victim, smiling.
Chapter 1
8.32am Friday 13th December
Matilda Edgely was doing her best to iron the creases out of her blue shirt, while keeping half an eye on the toaster, hoping that her breakfast wouldn’t burn. The cheap plastic clock on the wall of her basement flat ticked loudly, reminding her not to be late for work.
Matilda, or Tilly as her friends knew her, had worked at Ashton’s Bookshop for six months. As a university student at Jesus College in Cambridge, she was working part-time to fund her education.
Since she was very young, Tilly had known she wanted to become a vet and had worked extremely hard at school to achieve the results she needed to make it all the way from Devon to Camb
Frustrated that despite her best efforts the creases were not coming out of her cotton shirt, Tilly unplugged the iron and sat down to eat her Marmite on toast, while watching the breakfast news show. That December morning felt no different to any other. The only noticeable thing was the light covering of snow on the ground outside. Tilly groaned when she realised it would be better to walk to work than cycle, like she normally did, on her trusty old red Raleigh.
Still in her dressing gown, Tilly picked up the still wrinkled shirt and took it into her small bedroom to get dressed. She shared the flat with one other student; a Chinese woman who was studying economics. They were friends but, in truth, Tilly found Yuki slightly irritating. Especially when she cooked Cantonese food that made the whole flat smell of shrimp paste. Yuki was also not so good at keeping the kitchen clean, and Tilly often found herself trying to scrub soy sauce marks off the kitchen surface.
After dressing, Tilly tidied away her breakfast things before reaching for her coat, bobble hat and gloves. It looked cold outside and the walk from her flat on Maids Causeway to the bookshop on Trinity Street would take her fifteen minutes.
She presumed Yuki was still asleep, since her door was shut, so Tilly closed the front door softly behind her. Then she set off to work, her breath leaving cloud trails as she walked briskly along the icy pavement, being careful not to slip.
On that Friday morning, Cambridge was quiet. A number of schools had closed because of the snow. The weatherman had warned of more to come. It would be all most people could talk about. The British loved discussing the weather.
Putting her headphones in, Tilly made her way along King Street towards the Market Square and listened to Florence and the Machine. She’d seen them play at Glastonbury once and had been an avid fan ever since.
Sinking her gloved hands into the pockets of her duffle coat, she felt the keys with her fingers knowing that at the same time next week, she would be at home in Devon with her parents, preparing to celebrate Christmas.
Although she liked Cambridge very much, it was a world away from Ilfracombe, the seaside town her family now lived in. She missed being by the sea and loved returning home. Tilly told herself that once she had become a vet, she would return to that part of the world and start a small practice of her own. It was the dream she’d had since she was eight years old and it had not lost its appeal over the last seventeen years.
As she turned onto Trinity Street, she stopped for a moment to look at the wintery scene. Large flakes were falling from the sky and the university buildings on her left looked glorious in the snow. It was as if time had stood still. Tilly could imagine students throughout the ages walking those same cobbled stones, on their way to classes. The thought filled her with warmth. She liked the idea of a simpler era, before smart phones and the Internet. It was one of the reasons she loved Ilfracombe so much: it was untouched by time.
Snapping out of her daydream Tilly hurried along the street to the shop, not wanting to be ticked off by her boss for being late. Although it was her job to open up the shop, she never arrived before Dennis, who was always sitting behind the counter when she got there, even if she was early.
But as she approached the door, she realised something felt different. Inside, the lights were off and as she went to open the door, she discovered it was already unlocked. The room was dark, and Tilly called out, ‘Dennis? Are you there? Sorry if I’m a few minutes late.’
She turned on the light switch and saw the body of her employer hanging from a rope. But Tilly didn’t scream. She turned the lights off and turned and walked out of the shop. With a shaking hand, she pulled off one of her gloves, removed her phone from her bag, called 999, and asked to be put through to the police.
‘Police, what’s your emergency?’
Tilly froze suddenly, unable to talk. What should she say?
‘Hello?’ The responder asked down the phone.
‘I…’ But the words wouldn’t come.
‘Miss?’
‘Trinity Street.’ She managed finally. ‘Ashton’s Bookshop. Come quick.’ It was all she could say before she felt her legs go from under her and she found herself sitting on the pavement in the snow.
Staring down at the phone she held in her hands, Tilly suddenly wondered if she was having some sort of episode and had imagined the whole thing. Had she? Was Dennis really inside? But she knew it wasn’t her imagination, and that what she had seen was very real, and the moment she let herself accept it tears began to stream down her cheeks.
It had never occurred to her to ask for an ambulance. It was as clear as day that Dennis Wade was dead. No living human had that skin colour.
She’d never seen the body of a dead person before. Her experience was limited to the corpses of animals as part of her course.
Still unable to stand, Tilly sat crying in the snow while the cold wetness soaked through her black trousers. Her whole body began to shake as the shock set in. Her mind was whirling, trying to process what she’d just seen. Her boss was dead. Her boss had killed himself. Her boss had left her to find his body.
In the distance, she could hear the sound of sirens approaching and although she hoped it would help her to feel better, the noise only represented dread.
Trinity Street, which was normally a pedestrian zone, soon emptied as the police car came screeching down the narrow street. Early morning shoppers dashed out of its path, stopping to watch the drama unfold.
The Mercedes hatchback stopped right in front of Ashton’s and two uniformed officers got out, both wearing high-vis jackets. The female officer, who was noticeably short, approached Tilly and bent down on her heels.
‘Are you the woman who called it in?’ she asked, her Peterborough accent recognisable to Tilly.
‘Yes,’ Tilly answered in a daze.
‘In there?’ The officer pointed. Tilly nodded. ‘Help her up…’ The female officer turned to her male colleague. ‘She’ll catch her death.’
The male officer, who was younger than his female counterpart, did as he was told and guided Tilly to the car, where he helped her into the back seat and got out a foil blanket.
Tilly watched as the woman removed a small torch from her belt and slowly opened the shop door.
Minutes later she reappeared looking pale and shook her head solemnly before reaching for her radio. ‘Deceased male at Ashton’s Bookshop. We need forensics and this building needs to be cordoned off,’ she spoke into the radio.
