Copyright © 2016 Jackie Kabler

  The right of Jackie Kabler to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in 2016 by Accent Press

  This edition published in 2020 by Headline Accent

  An imprint of HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  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 publishers 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.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  Cover images © I Wei Huang, Askolds Berovskis, Gubin Yury and Tommy Lee Walker, all Shutterstock

  Cover design by Emily Courdelle

  ISBN: 978 1 7837 5804 3

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  An Hachette UK Company

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

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  www.headline.co.uk

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Author

  Praise

  About the Book

  Acknowledgements

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  About the Author

  Jackie Kabler is the USA Today and Kindle bestselling author of The Perfect Couple, Am I Guilty? and the Cora Baxter mysteries. She was born in Coventry but spent many of her early years living in Ireland where she gained a degree in Zoology from Trinity College Dublin. After graduating, Jackie worked with the Commonwealth Agricultural Bureau before embarking on a career in journalism. During her time as a newspaper reporter and television news correspondent at GMTV, ITN and BBC News, Jackie covered major stories from around the world including the Kosovo crisis, the impeachment of President Clinton, the Asian tsunami and the disappearance of Madeleine McCann. Twenty years later, Jackie now lives in Gloucestershire with her husband and divides her time between presenting and crime writing.

  www.jackiekabler.com

  Twitter: @jackiekabler

  Instagram: @officialjackiekabler

  Praise for Jackie Kabler

  ‘An intriguing and gripping psychological thriller that keeps you guessing as you frantically turn the pages’

  C. L. Taylor, Sunday Times bestselling author

  ‘This is a psychological thriller that has everything: intrigue, mystery and constant twists and turns. I couldn’t put it down!’

  Alex Lake, bestselling author of Seven Days

  ‘There is no let-up in this twisty-turny thriller . . . just when you think you’ve cracked its secrets, your expectations are upended again’

  Kate Riordan, author of The Heatwave

  ‘A proper page-turning thriller. I couldn’t put it down!’

  Lorraine Kelly

  About the Book

  Cora Baxter is facing the most important deadline of her career . . .

  When investigative journalist Cora Baxter is awoken in the middle of the night and called to the scene of a murder, she’s devastated to discover the victim is someone she knows.

  And very quickly, things go from bad to worse when the investigation team – reluctantly led by Cora’s boyfriend DCI Adam Bradberry – charge Cora’s best friend and colleague, Samantha Tindall, with the murder.

  Convinced of her friend’s innocence, Cora and her camera crew find themselves following a trail of clues that leads them all the way to New York. But with only weeks to go until the trial, time is of the essence. Can Cora track down the truth in time to secure Samantha’s freedom? Or is it already too late?

  Acknowledgements

  When I wrote the acknowledgements for the first novel in the Cora Baxter series, The Dead Dog Day, I thanked everyone who’d inspired characters in the book. Consider yourselves all thanked again. Virtually every silly, embarrassing thing that happens to Cora and her friends in my books is drawn from real life and has happened to me or, in some cases, to friends of mine. Thank you for the inspiration, and the giggles. You know who you are.

  Since I first – very, very nervously – entered the world of novel writing, I have had the most incredible support from so many wonderful, passionate, talented book bloggers and reviewers. I started to write a full list, but it became ridiculously long and I was also scared of leaving one of you out! But I do want to name just a few: Ana Tomova, who gives me so much time, advice and encouragement; Kim Nash, who has always been so supportive and who organised my first, fabulous blog tour; and Laura Holdsworth, Kirsty Sibley and Joseph Calleja, all of whom to my great astonishment and utter delight mentioned The Dead Dog Day in their lists of top reads of 2015. And to all of you who have hosted me on your blogs, been part of my blog tour or reviewed my book, thank you so much. Your kindness and support means more than you will ever know.

  Thank you also to all of my followers on Twitter and Facebook – your support is so important to me. A huge thank you too to my scientist friend and former colleague Karen Dillamore who checked my DNA facts in this book. And it’s been a while since I covered a murder as a TV reporter, so many thanks also to former police DCI Stuart Gibbon for his advice on current police and court procedures.

  And, as always, a massive thank you to my agent Robin Wade and to everyone at Accent Press, in particular my fabulous editor Greg, brilliant Bethan in marketing and Queen Hazel who steers the ship. You rock.

  1

  Monday 6th May

  ‘You stuck your what to your WHAT?’

  Incredulity in her voice, senior producer Samantha Tindall stared at Cora Baxter, who had her jacket on, ready to leave the newsroom after her early morning shift in the studio.

  ‘Errr ... my finger. To my handbag.’ Cora looked sheepish.

  Sam plonked herself down in her chair and ran her fingers through her wavy, caramel-coloured bob, a frown creasing her pretty face.

  ‘OK, you’re going to have to explain further. You left the studio between the seven thirty and eight o’clock bulletins and, instead of grabbing a cup of tea and a make-up touch-up like you normally do, you ... you glued your finger to your own handbag?’

  Cora sat down too. ‘Yes, Sam, I did. Accidentally, obviously. That’s why I had to keep my right hand out of shot during the eight o’clock news. Because it had a handbag dangling from it. It was quite uncomfortable, as you can imagine ...’

  ‘Yes, I bloody well can imagine!’ Sam exploded, her exasperation making her sound even more Scottish than usual. ‘But why? How? What on earth were you doing?’

  She sounded infuriated, but a grin was creeping across her face. There were sniggers coming from nearby desks now too, as researchers and producers within earshot took a break from working on tomorrow’s Morning Live show to enjoy the bizarre conversation between their senior producer and newsreader.

  Cora grinned too, relieved that Sam was seeing the funny side – that wasn’t always the case when it came to Cora’s occasional on-air blunders. At work, the breakfast show producer was technically above her in the pecking order, but outside work they were the closest of friends, and it seemed that Sam was in a lenient mood today.

  ‘I was trying to repair my earring. A stone fell out of it when I was putting it on this morning, and I had some of that super-strong glue in my drawer. It fixed the earring brilliantly, but I must have got a bit on my hand without noticing because when I picked up my bag, well ...’

  She rubbed ruefully at a red mark on her finger.

  ‘Got it off then, I see.’ Sam rolled her eyes.

  ‘Yeah. Sherry in make-up had some solvent stuff. All is well. Sorry.’

  ‘You’re such a numpty. Don’t worry, I don’t think anyone at home would have noticed. Don’t think Betsy did either, so I reckon you’re safe.’

  Cora’s pale green eyes followed Sam’s towards the glass-walled corner office at the end of the long newsroom, but the door was closed and the blinds down.

  ‘Phew.’ Cora smiled. She got on well with Betsy, their relatively new boss, but she was even more passionate than Sam was about the show being perfect – a newsreader going on air with a bag glued to her hand might not go down terribly well.

  ‘Anyway, why haven’t you gone home yet? Isn’t your shift over?’

  ‘Wanted to see your latest delivery.’ Cora leaned across the desk. ‘You’ve got a secret admirer, you’ve got a secret admirer!’ she chanted, then ducked as Sam threw a bread roll at her.

  ‘How old are you, five?’

  But Sam was smiling broadly too. She buried her nose in the exquisite bouquet of pink peonies and white roses that had been delivered earlier to the Morning Live news desk, then looked again at the typewritten card nestling amongst the fragrant blooms.

  ‘Because you’re wonderful.’

  ‘Well, whoever it is, they need a psych test,’ she said wryly, then sneezed violently. She pushed the posy aside, fumbled in her pocket for a tissue and blew her nose loudly.

  ‘Hay fever or the newsroom cold?’ asked Cora.

  Sam shrugged. ‘Bit of both probably. Whoever bought these obviously doesn’t know that flowers and me don’t really go together. Although they are very pretty.’

  ‘Well, if your lovely boyfriend is still insisting it’s not him, I think it’s rather fabulous to have a mystery man sending you things. Chocolates last week and now flowers. I wouldn’t be complaining! And it’ll keep Marcus on his toes.’

  ‘True. Although as I told you, I honestly think he’s about to propose anyway, keeps hinting ...’

  Sam was interrupted by her phone trilling. She grabbed it.

  ‘Sam Tindall. Oh, Greg, finally!’

  She gave the thumbs up sign to Cora, who nodded in acknowledgement and stood up. Sam had been trying to get hold of Europe correspondent Greg Winters for the past hour to assign him to a complicated German political story and, knowing how many questions he usually asked, Cora knew it was unlikely to be a brief chat.

  She yawned and started gathering her things together, then picked up the bread roll Sam had tossed at her and lobbed it back across the desk, hitting her friend squarely in the chest. The producer didn’t even pause her conversation, simply grimacing and shaking her spare fist at Cora, who laughed and turned away. Then she jumped as Betsy Allan’s voice carried across the newsroom.

  ‘If only the public could see the antics of our esteemed newsreader, Miss Baxter. A food fight? With our top producer? What would our viewers think?’

  Cora blushed, but Betsy was beaming. Relieved, Cora smiled back, and crossed the room to where the programme editor had just emerged from her office, hoping fervently that there’d be no questions about glue or handbags when she got there. Tall and elegant, with an impossibly bouncy, curly, blonde bob, Betsy had been the TV breakfast show’s editor for just over nine months, but had been an instant hit with the staff, partly on her own merits and partly because of the stark contrast between her and the show’s previous editor, Jeanette Kendrick. The deeply unpopular Jeanette had been murdered about a year and a half ago, and it had taken Morning Live’s executive team a while to replace her. In the interim, Sam had stood in as temporary editor, and was now very much Betsy’s right-hand woman. The new editor had even introduced serial dater Sam to Marcus, a move which had proved so successful that Sam had finally taken herself off the numerous dating websites she’d frequented for years. Now, just eight months after they’d first met, the couple were in loved-up bliss with Sam convinced a proposal was imminent.

  ‘Sorry, Betsy – just teasing her about another delivery from her mysterious suitor. Flowers today!’

  Betsy looked across at the news desk, where Sam was still engrossed in her phone call, and raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Popular girl, isn’t she! Wonder who’s sending them? Poor Marcus is absolutely besotted, you know. I’ve known him for years, but I’ve never seen him like this before. It’s very sweet.’

  Cora nodded. ‘She’s crazy about him too. I’m delighted for them, I really am.’

  ‘Everything all right with you? Still dating that hunky policeman?’

  Cora nodded again, unable to suppress a big grin. ‘Yep. And now that I’m in London three days a week on a regular basis, I’m staying at his place instead of in hotels like I used to. It’s nice.’

  ‘I bet it is. See you tomorrow Cora, have a nice afternoon – enjoy what’s left of the Bank Holiday.’

  ‘You too, Betsy.’

  Cora shifted her heavy leather bag onto her shoulder and headed for the door, then stopped as she spotted the fiery red Irish curls of Wendy Heggerty at a desk in the far corner of the room. Along with Sam, the graphics designer was one of her closest friends at work, and the three of them were long overdue a proper night out.

  ‘Oi, Wend!’

  Wendy looked up and waved. ‘Come over!’

  Cora weaved her way between the tightly crammed desks where producers, runners and forward planners were industriously putting together the rest of the week’s shows, smirked as she overheard a snippet of conversation about “the new trend for vagina facials” and reached the corner where Wendy was talking through some graphics ideas with the programme’s new on-air medical expert, Dr Miranda Evans.

  ‘Women do get nervous about how the menopause will affect them, and I don’t want to frighten them, just educate them,’ Miranda was saying thoughtfully. ‘So I think that’s perfect. Thanks, Wendy.’

  ‘That’s what I’m here for,’ said Wendy, then turned to Cora. ‘Hey, you!’

  ‘Hi. Hi, Miranda!’

  ‘Nice to see you, Cora. Got to love working a Bank Holiday, eh! Look – I have another meeting now, but let’s have a coffee sometime. Soon?’

  ‘No such thing as a Bank Holiday in breakfast telly land, sadly! But as for that coffee – definitely.’

  Cora smiled as the TV doctor marched off. ‘She’s nice, isn’t she?’ Cora said, perching on the edge of the doctor’s vacated chair.

  Wendy nodded. ‘She is. I’m still getting to know her, but I like her, and Sam’s really pally with her. You OK?’

  ‘Very. But we need a girlie night out, it’s been ages. Will you and Sam put some dates together, see if we can organise something in the next couple of weeks? Maybe we should invite Miranda too, if Sam likes her so much?’

  ‘Sounds like a plan. You finished for the day, part-timer?’

  Cora punched her friend gently on the arm and stood up again.

  ‘Cheek. It’s nearly two o’clock and I’ve been in since before 4 a.m. And Alice is coming round at four, so I need to run. See you tomorrow, dwarfy.’

  ‘See you, lanky. And give Alice my love. Get her to come out with us too, give her a break from the baby?’

  ‘Good idea. I’ll ask her. See ya!’

  She headed for the door again and entered the lift lobby, ready to play her usual game of lift lottery, which involved pressing the central call button and then quickly moving to stand in front of one of the three big elevators, crossing her fingers that she’d chosen the right one. It was a silly game she played with herself, but it kept her amused, and now she whooped quietly as the green light came on above the double doors of the left-hand lift, the one she’d chosen to position herself next to today. Her glee was short-lived however, as the doors slid open and she recoiled in fright.

  ‘What the ...?’

  Instead of a person, emerging from the shiny, mirrored interior of the lift was an enormous polar bear, black eyes gleaming, front paws with long claws held aloft as if about to pounce.

  ‘Only me, don’t panic.’

  The weathered face of Bob, one of the front-of-house security guards, suddenly appeared under the bear’s arm-pit.

  ‘Bob! You nearly gave me a heart attack! What on earth is that?’

  Bob shoved the giant cuddly toy out of the lift and leaned on it, breathing heavily.

  ‘It’s bloody heavy, that’s what it is. Is it your friend Sam’s birthday or something? Second delivery of the day for her, this is.’

  Cora stared at the bear, now noticing that a card decorated with small red glittery hearts hung from a pink ribbon around its neck.

  ‘No, it’s not her birthday,’ she said slowly, reaching out to steady the swinging card and read the single line of text typed on it.

  ‘For somebody bear-y special.’

  ‘Well, someone’s very fond of the lass then. Killing my back, this is,’ Bob said grumpily, and he grabbed the bear under the armpits again and staggered off towards the newsroom, muttering under his breath about lazy delivery boys who dumped things in reception for him to deal with, even though he was nearly sixty-three and suffering from lumbago.

 

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