The Unbroken, page 1
The Unbroken
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Epilogue
A LETTER FROM ALEX
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Copyright
The Unbroken
Alex Caan
To the Red Hot Chilli Writers – Amit, Vaseem, Imran, Abir and especially Ayisha – my hero
Prologue
The sun cracked the sky like lava as it began to set into the black waters of the Bosphorus. Despite the heat Millie Beaumont felt herself shiver. She was wearing a summer dress, a light shawl in her lap, which she had not wrapped over her shoulders. She closed the car window, turning her gaze away from the cliff-edge roads the SUV was hurtling along. The driver didn’t even flinch as he took sharp turns and rounded corners with no idea what was coming in the opposite direction. Millie tried to close off the images in her head, some vehicle bearing down on them, knocking them through the flimsy barrier on the side, the SUV hurtling down the sheer mountainside. They would be dead before they got to the water.
She closed her eyes and rested her head against the car seat, not even bothering to look at her husband, Oscar Hayat. She knew he would be engrossed on his phone, lost to her and oblivious to anything around him. How instantly things had changed. For months he had made her the centre of his existence, his every breath for her, he had claimed. There was nothing that would make him feel differently, he had told her. She had let him lead her to the altar, exchange their love in front of everyone. Only to find herself alone and adrift on the night of the wedding itself.
There were some things, then, that would make him feel differently.
Millie felt the familiar pounding in her head, the migraines regular since the wedding day, warnings that everything was wrong. How could she have been so blind? How did she let a man do this to her? Of all the clichés, the naivety and the downright stupidity. How could she have let him play her like this? She felt a mixture of rage and despair itching under her bronzed skin, trying to break out and scream.
She wouldn’t though. Girls like Millie weren’t expected to scream. They were meant to get on with it. Paint their faces, dress their bodies in the finest labels and live the lives that had been bestowed on them like some sort of charity. Millie Beaumont, the poor girl who had strayed into the marquee of the wealthy. She should have been the cocktail waitress or the one serving the starters; instead, she dared to want to be the one giving the toast. Her audacity. She had to be grateful for life.
As her spirit broke inside, she had spent the last week in Bali, the Indian Ocean paradise of white sand and sapphire waters, smiling for the thousand guests and cameras. Her wedding was a buzz online, social media commenting on what she wore, how she looked, trying to gauge her mood. The world watched, hating her and loving her, vicariously wanting what she had.
It was the same lie the world got told over and over. That wealth was the key to happiness. Money would solve your problems, pay your bills, let you live a life of luxury and escape.
Millie wanted to laugh. She had seen through the façade, seen the dead eyes, people living lives of quiet desperation, masking their cracks with designer handbags and Kensington flats. Money might buy them everything, but not happiness. Oscar had hidden this side of his world so well.
As she played her part in the marriage of the century, Millie had felt her life ebbing. The secrets in her head squeezing her from the inside, crushing the breath from her brittle bones and tight skin. The fake laughter around her hammering at her, mocking her Vera Wang dress and her Louboutin shoes. Sixty different dishes were served; as the wedding banquet lasted from breakfast to afterparty, the guests fed on tables laid out on the beach, served by exotic-looking men and women with model bodies. It was grotesque in its opulence, the groom arriving on a flotilla from his father’s yacht which was parked a mile off the island. They were married under a canopy erected on the beach, and when she had looked out across the waters, Millie pretended it was just the two of them and the officiator. Only they were not alone: the applause from the thousand people behind them after they kissed was oppressive.
Millie opened her eyes and looked at her husband. He was tapping and swiping on his phone, far enough for her not to see what he was so interested in. Whatever it was, it wasn’t Millie.
She studied his profile, thinking again how beautiful he was. Not pretty, but a man displaying the confidence that came with his lot in life. He had his father’s dark eyes, his mother’s facial structure and jaw; he looked Italian. She often joked with him about that. Back when they were pretending to be young people in love. Both pretending.
Millie, at first, had thought she could carry on the pretence through their marriage. She knew what she was fighting for, what she wanted from him. But he didn’t want the same; she had served her purpose posing for the pictures that were being sent around the world. His wife. The greatest sham. Done. He didn’t need her beyond the altar and the kiss, was now willing to spend their lives apart in the same sphere. They had enough houses and interests to go months without having to be in each other’s company. Millie’s happily ever after, dead, as soon as she had agreed to it. She felt hurt and cheated: despite herself she had loved him. She knew no-one would ever be able to silence the demons inside, or give her the sort of peace she wanted. Still, she wanted him to try, thought he would. Except, he didn’t, the promises and declarations of months trampled as he walked down the aisle, his arm linked in hers, but his eyes looking ahead, to the future. His future.
Millie felt tears stinging her eyes. He hadn’t even made love to her since the marriage ceremony, the honeymoon villa wasted on them. She had tried, reminding him of the passion they had shared in the months before, but he hadn’t even made an excuse. Just grabbed her hands, hard, and pushed them off him, as though her touch disgusted him. As though what she had done was infectious, and he didn’t want to be poisoned by her. Millie had cried herself to sleep that night, and every night since. And then told him she wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t play this role. Whatever it cost her.
Now they were in Istanbul, the city she had dreamed of visiting one day, the place her own mother and father had met years ago, falling in love while exploring the domes of the Blue Mosque and the cavernous awe of Hagia Sophia. Millie had wanted to do the same, take her husband around this city that spoke of the love of her parents, and feel something similar.
But Oscar had destroyed any chance of that happening. She studied him again, a frown on his face as he typed something furiously into his phone. His mood shifted, and he looked up and straight at her.
‘Forgive me if you can,’ he said.
She didn’t understand, forgiveness for what? His coldness, the way he had used her and discarded her? She didn’t have time to think on, as the car suddenly slid to a halt. She was knocked out of her seat, as was Oscar. They righted themselves, and she looked at the driver for understanding. A shot fired through the windscreen, shattering it. Her heart hit her ribcage. The driver’s head lolled to the side. Blood poured back over his ear.
She looked at Oscar, who looked back at her hard. He didn’t seem concerned or scared, just cold. As though…
Millie didn’t get time to think. The car door was pulled open and she was dragged out, her screams loud and raw, as she kicked and fought. She called out for Oscar, again and again, screaming for help. But he never came.
Chapter One
Detective Inspector Sarah Heaton checked her phon
This case was bigger than any she had headed up before though. She felt a chill go through her, not just from the sunless morning, but from the shitstorm she knew this case would throw up. Was she strong enough to handle it?
Sarah knew better than to get in the way of forensics as they carried out their meticulous work. There was nothing she would bring to the search.. The CSIs had enough equipment and experience in their arsenal to make sure anything that needed to be found was.
They had already marked out the search perimeter in this section of Hampstead Heath and begun collecting evidence. Faceless bodies in sky-blue plastic outfits, as though they had invaded the earth from some strange scientific base.
Sarah tried to work out which faceless CSI might be hiding the form of Doctor Marcello Ramone, the forensic pathologist normally assigned to their cases. Although there was nothing normal about murder. For Sarah, it was the worst: the proximity of death and a life gone. Her job was now to logically dismantle what had happened, make sense of the why and find out the who. She owed that to the deceased. To be their final voice. An echo of their existence to try and make sense of the end.
A young man on his daily morning run had discovered the body and dialled 999; PC Riz Hussain had been the first responder, confirmed it was a murder scene and started the process that eventually got herself drawn in. She would question him later, or get one of her team to.
A flash of black hair and Sarah spotted Doctor Ramone. He waved at her as he made his way towards her. He always looked so out of place in a crime scene, his Mediterranean looks more suited to a soap opera. The accent just added to his exoticism.
‘My favourite officer,’ he said, ungloving to shake her hand, his nails manicured, as usual.
‘I know for a fact you say that to them all.’
‘Who has been talking?’
‘All of them.’
The smile vanished from his face, dramatic and sudden, as though he was an actor and it was time for his shot. Serious medical professional she kept reminding herself. She also felt twice as bad. She was judging him for his appearance and accent, the way people had judged her over the years for her gender and her own unpolished accent – in fact those people were still judging her for her new choices in life.
‘The serious part. I did a reading of her body temperature. I think she died around midnight. The weather has been consistent and we are using the new kit which correlates against algorithms for external influences to get us a pretty accurate reading. Cause of death seems to be a bullet wound to the front of the head. Close range pistol of some sort from experience, clean entry and no exit wound. Lack of blood in the surrounding area suggests she wasn’t killed here. I’ll do a more thorough investigation back at the lab and we can facetime for the results later.’
Sarah nodded, her mind reeling with the information that he had just given her.
‘ID?’
‘The police officer first at the scene knew from all the media coverage, and confirmation is being done by the father based on images from the scene I believe.’
Not how she would have done it, but with technology being the way it was, it was better to get these things done quickly. Especially a case like this. Last thing you wanted was a journalist finding out and breaking the news for you. She wondered at the lack of media presence though.
‘Word will get out. Luckily, we are in a secluded spot. There’s no reason for anyone to be here; it’s not particularly near the Lido or the Pagoda or Golders Hill. It’s just a rather depressing raw part of the heath.’
‘Probably chosen for being just that,’ she said.
Sarah looked around and Marcello was right. There was grass that had lost its colour, trees without leaves and nothing but the wild heath in every direction. You could almost forget you were in London. The ground rose into hills in all directions. She had only been able to find it because of the vehicles that had been parked nearby from the teams responding. You would have to know this spot. It wasn’t random: it was chosen because no one would see you access it or leave. You would have to walk for miles before you got to where the main roads around the heath were, where the body might have been transported. Yet someone had to have carried it to where it ended up.
Sarah caught herself. It. Wrong word. She. They knew who this was. It was Millie Beaumont. A young woman cut from the very essence of her life. But Sarah couldn’t help thinking, just how did she get from Istanbul to London alive and then end up dying here?
‘Do you want to have a look at the body?’ he asked.
‘Want? No. Need? Yes.’
Sarah put on the shoe covers and gloves that he gave her, then followed him through the thick muddy grounds. The forensics team ignored her. She never understood that level of attention to detail, how they were wired. It always made her appreciate that everyone had their purpose and their strengths. She didn’t have the patience for the job yet some people could think of nothing better.
Marcello looked over at her, nodding, preparing her for the moment she would see Millie. Until you were up close you wouldn’t really see the body; it wasn’t visible from a distance. Sarah felt the silence deepen as she looked at Millie. That first actual interaction. The image that would carry her through the case, keep her focused on why she was doing this.
She recognised the face from the pictures she had seen. They weren’t front page news, they weren’t celebrities, but the wedding had made headlines for the money spent on it. If you were interested, pictures were available, although surprisingly, not many of the wedding itself. They had signed an exclusive deal with Hello! according to reports. They didn’t think it was appropriate to publish after Millie and Oscar had gone missing. The pictures online seemed to be taken from social media and older pictures that might have come off phones and cameras. Still, she felt as though she knew what alive Millie looked like. The healthy perfect skin, neat hair, minimal make-up but the invisible kind that enhanced her features, rather than the all too familiar caked on look the next generation seemed to be going for. Even on the wedding day everything about her was understated, as though she was flicking a finger at the Instagram generation. Sarah admired that in her. This woman who could have gone Drag Race crazy because she had the platform to do so, chose instead to keep it simple. There was determination in that, a young woman who had purpose, who knew what she wanted from life. A young woman aware of what the world had to offer. It might have been her mixed heritage, but there was just something about Millie that made her stand out surrounded by the vacuous Tamaras and Binkies that probably inhabited the world she had married into. And in death, the young woman was already losing that aura. Her skin had tinges of blue in it, her eyes hidden behind closed lids. Resting face. Only the gaping black wound on her forehead giving away something was wrong. She had been laid down with care, not thrown at an angle. Sarah imagined the father seeing Millie. How his daughter had gone from being his world to this.
There was no point prolonging Millie’s journey, her carcass would be dissected by the vicious tabloids for weeks no doubt. The girl with brown skin that had dared to marry into the establishment, then paid a price for it. The pressure built inside Sarah, as she became more and more aware of just how much focus would be directed towards her team. She told Marcello he was free to take the body. But Sarah wouldn’t allow her just to be another case number. She was determined to find out what had happened to her. It was time to call in the back-up.
