All Fall Down

by M.J. Arlidge

Genres: Crime Fiction; Psychological Thrillers; Suspense

Synopsis

FROM THE MIND OF THE MILLION-COPY BESTSELLER M.J. ARLIDGE COMES THE BRAND NEW SERIAL KILLER THRILLER STARRING DETECTIVE INSPECTOR HELEN GRACE.

* * * * *

"You have one hour to live."

Those are the only words on the phone call. Then they hang up. Surely, a prank? A mistake? A wrong number? Anything but the chilling truth... That someone is watching, waiting, ready to take your life in one hour.

But why?

The job of finding out falls to DI Helen Grace: a woman with a track record in hunting killers. However, this is one case where the killer seems to always be one step ahead of the police and the victims.

With no motive, no leads, no clues - nothing but pure fear - an hour can last a lifetime...

* * * * *

PRAISE FOR THE MILLION-COPY BESTSELLER:

'Helen Grace is one of the greatest heroes to come along in years'
JEFFERY DEAVER

'Chilling' THE TIMES

'Addictive' EXPRESS

'Truly excellent' THE SUN

'Amazing' RICHARD MADELEY

'This is going to be as big as Jo Nesbo' JUDY FINNIGAN

'Chills to the bone' DAILY MAIL

'Mesmerizing' LISA GARDNER

'Gripping' SUNDAY MIRROR

Release date: June 11, 2020

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 395

Sample

Chapter 1

Justin Lanning stared out of the window, his eyes fixed upon the horizon. The sun, which had flooded his office all day, was now starting to descend, its golden glare stealing across the water. There was something majestic, even triumphant, about its progress, the long arms of light seeming to claim the lapping water, the bobbing boats, even the marina itself. It was a sight Justin had witnessed many times, but it still had the power to affect him. Awesome, beautiful, it was also soothing, a moment of release after what had been a very trying day.

Turning away from the floor-to-ceiling glass, Justin glanced at his watch – 17.58 – then marched back to his desk. He was the sole occupant of this vast, well-appointed office, a fact that gave him much pleasure. It was opulent, indulgent, powerful … but it was also a glorious secret. From the outside, Endeavour House looked no different to any of the other office blocks in Ocean Village. The foyer was unexceptional, offering no clue as to the bespoke offices on the top two floors; offices that were designed to dazzle. The expensive Italian furniture, the modern art installations and, yes, the view – everything had been carefully calibrated to pronounce affluence, professionalism and success. Few were allowed in, but those who were left reassured and inspired, after a tantalizing glimpse of Redstone Solutions.

Switching off his computer, Justin picked up his phone and crossed to the lift. However demanding or unpredictable his day was, he prided himself on leaving on time. The efficiency of it appealed to him – in by 6 a.m., out by 6 p.m. – and it was also useful in regulating his mood. Whatever the business of the day, if he could leave on time, then assuredly everything was under control.

The lift doors slid open and Justin stepped inside, punching the button for the basement. If he left now, he could be home by half past six, allowing him plenty of time for a workout before Adam returned. Adam – just the thought of him conjured up a bewildering array of emotions: anger, disappointment, lust and much more besides. Things had been so difficult recently, so complicated, that home was no longer the sanctuary it should have been. Their relationship needed to be carefully managed, in a calm frame of mind, hence the importance of a relaxing workout beforehand.

The doors kissed shut and the lift began to descend. The floors flicked by – ten, nine, eight, seven. Justin found himself humming a cheerful tune, celebrating the fact that the working day was finally done. Six, five, four. Justin was losing himself in a pleasant reverie, his cares slowly melting away …

Then suddenly, and without warning, the lift bucked, screeching to a shuddering halt, throwing him backwards. Justin crashed into the mirrored wall, cracking his head against the glass, exhaling an expletive as the wind was punched from him.

A strange silence now filled the metal box, the pleasing hum of progress replaced by lifeless inertia. Stunned, Justin stumbled forwards, stabbing the button for the basement – once, twice, three times. Nothing happened and, even as he continued to jab away, he became aware of something else. The lights in the lift had gone out too. It was as if the whole contraption had suddenly just … died.

Gathering himself, he tried the buttons for the other floors, before giving up, hitting the alarm bell in angry resignation. Somewhere in the distance, a dull ringing sounded, but this gave him little comfort. It would take the office manager an age to summon the lift engineers and longer still for them to free him, as he appeared to be stuck between floors. Would they be able to get the lift working again? Or would they have to haul him up the lift shaft, like a sack of potatoes? Cursing, he kicked the doors, his plans for the evening disintegrating. What the hell had happened for him to be left dangling here like a broken puppet? What was going on?

He felt it before he heard it – his new Samsung vibrating in his pocket, before letting out its familiar trill.

‘Thank God …’

Someone was aware of his plight – there was no question in his mind that this call was connected to his emergency. Tugging out the phone, he was surprised by the caller ID – it wasn’t Adam or the office, the number withheld – but answered anyway. What did it matter who it was, so long as they could liberate him from this tin can?

‘Hello?’

He was met by silence.

‘This is Justin Lanning. Can you hear me?’

His voice filled the lift, but there was no response. He was convinced the connection was fine – he could hear something humming at the other end – so why wasn’t the caller responding?

‘I’m stuck between floors four and three, so if you can …’

Now something made him stop. An intake of breath at the other end, as if the caller was about to speak. Justin wanted to carry on, to explain his predicament, but suddenly he felt powerless to continue, as if something – or someone – was commanding him to be quiet.

And now, finally, the caller did speak, a soft, male voice whispering:

‘You have one hour to live.’

Chapter 2

The needle tipped eighty miles per hour, but DI Helen Grace didn’t relent. She was on the Fawley Road, speeding south towards the coast, drawn onward by the open road and the glinting water in the distance. This lonely stretch of tarmac could, perhaps should have troubled her, flanked on one side by the disused power station and the New Forest on the other, both scenes of crime that had cost her dear in recent years. But today she was untroubled by past trauma.

The Honda Blackbird pulled alongside, manoeuvring to overtake. Helen shot a look at the driver, half expecting DS Joseph Hudson to offer her a triumphant smile, but his gaze remained resolutely fixed on the road ahead, as if he could see a chequered flag in the distance, as if this after-hours race actually meant something. It pleased Helen to see that he was intent on avoiding defeat, that he was willing to respond to her silent, teasing challenge.

Of course, in truth, this pursuit did mean something, though neither was prepared to admit it. Joseph Hudson was a relatively new addition to Southampton Central’s Major Incident Team and an even newer addition to Helen’s bed, but slowly he was becoming part of the fabric of her life. They spent much of their working day orbiting each other and most of their nights engaged in this enjoyable dance. Helen didn’t profess to know Hudson well, but he was an exciting, impulsive, passionate man, who shared her lust for speed. The relationship was not without its complications – it would certainly be frowned upon by her colleagues – but Helen couldn’t deny that she enjoyed his company and the frisson between them.

Twisting the throttle, Helen nosed ahead, gaining a yard or two on her competitor. The road was running out now – there was only a hundred yards or so before it took a sharp right turn – but still she was not surprised when Joseph drew level once more, refusing to be relegated to second place. On they roared, the sharp bend racing towards them, each rider calculating their next move. The setting sun bathed the coastal road in light and Helen could see that the way was clear, sharpening her sense of anticipation. If she’d spotted a vehicle approaching, she would have killed her speed immediately, the game over, but as it was she pushed the speedometer up to ninety, hurtling towards the turn, before suddenly decelerating and leaning in to the corner. The road on this stretch of the coast was old and tired, a sprinkling of loose gravel coating the surface and Helen’s bike slid across it now. She was comfortable, in control, but nevertheless the skid took her further out than she’d intended and her pursuer took advantage. With a satisfied roar, Joseph sped past on the inside, calling out to her as he did so.

‘See you back at yours …’

‘As if …’ Helen replied, her bike roaring forward, as her speed tipped one hundred miles per hour.

Joseph was an experienced rider, but had to rely on guile to stay ahead, because when it came to raw power, there was only one winner. With a determined thrust, Helen nosed past him, her Kawasaki Ninja growling happily as it responded to her promptings. Moments later, Joseph Hudson moved alongside her, pushing his ride to the absolute limits just to stay in touch.

This time Joseph did flick a look her way – affectionate, challenging – which pleased Helen. This was an activity she usually enjoyed alone, ripping along the country roads in glorious isolation. But now it was something she was happy to share, showing Joseph secret routes and cut-throughs she’d explored during her many years as a solo rider. This was not just because she’d found an able competitor, but because it felt natural to do so. Their relationship was still in its infancy, but Helen had relaxed into spending time with Joseph in a way she could never have predicted. Since Jake, she had let no one get close to her, deliberately keeping interested parties at bay, but now it seemed pointless pushing intimacy away, ignoring the obvious fit. Oftentimes, it had seemed to Helen as if it would never happen, but there was no denying it now.

Finally, she had found someone who could keep up with her.

Chapter 3

‘For God’s sake, slow down. You’re not making any sense …’

‘What part of it do you not understand?’

‘All of it. You’re talking like a crazy person—’

‘So would you, if you’d just been through what I’ve been through …’

‘Which is what exactly? Slow down and tell me what happened …’

Adam’s tone was so condescending, so laced with irritation, that Justin’s first instinct was to tell him where to go. But something – a residue of affection? Sheer, naked terror? – held him back, forcing him to rein in his anger.

‘I was coming down in the lift …’

‘Yes …’

Dear God, shut up and let me finish.

‘And my phone rang …’

Once more Justin’s voice started shaking, as he tried to articulate his predicament.

‘… and this … this voice at the other end started threatening me … telling me I had one hour to live.’

Silence.

‘Adam, are you still there?’

‘Yes, I’m here, I’m just …’

The condescension had evaporated now, replaced by confusion and concern.

‘Did you recognize the voice?’

‘No …’

‘Do you have any idea who might want to threaten you?’

‘No.’

‘Could it have been a joke? A prank of some kind?’

‘No … no way …’

It was possible, of course, but Justin knew it wasn’t. The caller had delivered his chilling ultimatum, then seconds later, the lights had come on and the lift had continued its smooth descent, as if his antagonist was in control of everything.

‘Do you want to call the police?’

‘I suppose so …’

‘Justin, if you genuinely think someone intends to harm you, then you must call the—’

‘And tell them what? I don’t know who this guy is or what he wants—’

‘OK, OK. Don’t bite my head off. Just … just get yourself home and we’ll decide what to do then. If I leave now, I won’t be far behind you …’

A sudden rush of affection and gratitude flooded Justin. Despite their recent difficulties, more than anything he now wanted to be with someone who really knew him, who could put an arm round him and tell him everything was going to be OK.

‘Thanks, Adam. I’ve called for the car. I’ll … I’ll see you back home shortly.’

Ending the conversation, Justin turned. Right on cue, the black Mercedes came into view, purring past the long line of cars in the office’s basement car park, coming to a halt in front of him. At the same time every day, one of these luxury vehicles ferried him home and their familiarity, their solidity, was comforting now. Yanking open the door, Justin climbed inside, pulling the heavy door firmly shut behind him. On cue, the small red light by the glass partition came on, signalling that the driver was listening.

‘Grange House, please. Quick as you can.’

The light clicked off, a silent affirmation of shared intent. Moments later, they were through the security barrier and out onto the street, taking their place amidst the rush-hour traffic. As Justin leaned back against the comfortable leather, taking in the cars around him, he finally felt his heart rate begin to slow. When the lift had ground to a halt, he’d been appalled, convinced he would spend hours in an airless box. But what followed had been even worse. Incomprehension, then unadulterated fear, Justin conjuring up all sorts of awful images – the lift doors springing open to reveal an attacker, the lift plummeting to the ground – before he was unexpectedly released from his ordeal, deposited in the basement car park as if nothing had happened. Confused, disoriented, he’d nevertheless been spared and now had the chance to put the whole awful nightmare behind him. His phone was switched off, he was nestled in the back of a plush Mercedes and he was heading home.

Exhaling slowly, he shook his head at the madness of it all, before angling a glance at his watch.

18.08.

Chapter 4

‘This is a dead weight. I’m going to have to ask you to move it.’

Charlie Brooks collapsed onto a packing case, breathing out heavily. She’d hoped to be of some assistance to Steve in their dusty loft, but her attempt to lift the pieces of Jessica’s old cot had ended in abject failure. It weighed a ton and in her current condition, eight months pregnant with a gigantic bump, there was no way she was going to risk it.

‘No worries,’ Steve chuckled. ‘I know I’m the beast of burden here.’

He began gathering the pieces together, as Charlie ran an eye over the cornucopia of baby products that flanked the wooden cot.

‘I’d no idea we had so much stuff up here.’

They were surrounded by sterilizers, baby bouncers, a rocker, their old Moses basket and endless bags of baby clothes. When Jessica had become a toddler, then eventually a pupil, they’d packed all this stuff away, out of sight, out of mind. But when Charlie had surprisingly, pleasingly, fallen pregnant again, they’d been forced to venture back into this neglected space. Taking in a slice of their past, which would become their present again, Charlie felt a shiver of anxiety. Would she remember what to do when the baby came? Could they cope with the lack of sleep? And how would Jessica react to the arrival of a sibling? So far, she had said little about it, despite the studied promptings of her parents and the obvious change in her mother’s shape.

‘If I head back down, do you want to pass things to me?’

Charlie suddenly wanted to be out of this claustrophobic space. There were too many props up here, too many symbols of her past. Her school books, her Interrailing rucksack, her first police uniform, a bridesmaid’s dress, all of which combined to make her feel old, unattractive and bone-tired.

‘OK, but be careful.’

Charlie didn’t need Steve’s warning, taking each step of the loft ladder carefully, ensuring her foot was firmly planted before descending. Her pregnancy had gone well, despite hideous morning sickness, and she was determined not to jeopardize herself or her baby through her own stupidity.

Descending, she headed into the nursery. This had been Jessica’s at first and later, when she moved into a bigger bedroom, it had become the spare bedroom. Or, in other words, the dumping ground. People seldom came to stay, meaning the small box room was a repository for stuff they’d been too lazy to throw away. The imminent arrival of their second child had spurred them into action, however, every spare minute spent sifting and discarding. As a result, the room was now clear of detritus, though whether it was fit to be a nursery was still open to question.

‘We’ve got so much to do,’ Charlie moaned, as Steve passed her, clutching the headboard of the cot.

‘Plenty of time,’ he responded breezily, before exiting again.

He was excited, which pleased Charlie, as she was finding it hard to slough off her worries. How would they find time for it all? Now that Jessica was at school, her life outside work had become an endless round of logistical challenges. Drop-offs, pick-ups, play dates, birthday parties – to these had now been added a long list of baby-related duties: check-ups, scans, decorating, cleaning and shopping. For, however careful Charlie thought she’d been in stowing Jessica’s baby equipment, there always seemed to be one key part of the sterilizer or baby bouncer missing.

Looking around her, at the unpainted walls, the naked light bulb and the discarded headboard, Charlie felt overwhelmed. She was genuinely excited by the prospect of the new arrival, but they suddenly seemed completely unprepared. She still had two weeks of work left, so meaningful preparation time was hard to find. She hated the idea of not having everything in place, convinced now that she’d forgotten all that she’d learned about how to rear a newborn. She knew she was being irrational but she couldn’t help herself. In all other areas, deadlines could be massaged, timings reset, but not with this. As Charlie rested her hand on her bump, feeling once more the sharp jab of her baby’s foot, one thing was painfully clear.

The clock was ticking.

Chapter 5

‘Come on, come on …’

Justin breathed the words to himself, urging the car to get past the temporary traffic lights that had detained them as they tried to leave Southampton. As if the driver could hear his quiet urging, the car sped up, sliding past the lights just as they changed from yellow to red.

Justin afforded himself a brief smile. Finally, they were free of the traffic, on the home stretch to the small village of Wickham, which he and Adam had called home for the past year. It had not always been a welcoming place, some older residents initially unnerved by the presence of an openly gay couple, others put out by the opulence of their purpose-built house, fearing it would prompt a sudden invasion of ‘new money’. But over time, Justin and Adam had won over the doubters and they were now as much a part of village life as if they had always lived there.

Another quick glance at his watch: 18.48. In under ten minutes, he would be home, with Adam and Caspar, their recently acquired Yorkshire terrier. Safe, happy, at ease. With each passing minute, his ordeal at the office seemed more and more unreal, to the point that he now began to question whether it had happened at all. He felt silly to have been so terrorized by it – perhaps it was just some idiot calling numbers at random after all.

Closing his eyes, Justin sank deeper into his plush, upholstered seat. He knew using the car service was an extravagance, that he could just as easily have called a cab or, God help him, learned to drive. But he liked the idea of having an account with them, liked the idea of being able to summon a luxury vehicle, liked the feeling of power and prestige it gave him. More than that, he revelled in the comfort of it, as if he was travelling first class to and from work. As they wound their way along the twisting country lanes, he allowed himself to be swayed by the gentle movement of the car, body and mind finally relaxing.

What would he do first? Would he talk to Adam? Or would they take Caspar for a walk? It was mid-October and already the forests were turning russet and gold. Perhaps it would be better to head out and pick through the bizarre events of the afternoon later? Yes, that was the right idea. That way they might even have a relaxed evening together – heaven knows, there had been few of those recently.

Suddenly Justin’s eyes flicked open, a tremor of unease rippling through him. He had driven these lanes so many times that he knew every twist and turn, every ascent and descent, his body moving in time with the familiar movements of the car. Usually he loved this ballet, finding it calming, but instinctively he now knew something was off. Rising in his seat, he looked around – to find that they were on an unfamiliar lane, deviating from their well-established route.

‘Hello?’

Realizing he’d forgotten to press the communication button, he jabbed it now.

‘Sorry? I think we might have taken a wrong turn.’

As if in answer to this, they shot past a signpost, signalling that they were heading west, away from the village.

‘This road takes us to Shedfield. The turning to Wickham is about a mile or so back …’

The driver nodded, as if in understanding, but didn’t alter his speed or direction. Justin peered at the back of his head, taking in the broad shoulders and neat, clipped hair, realizing for the first time that he didn’t recognize him. Was this someone new? Someone who didn’t know the area?

‘There’s a junction up ahead. We can turn there …’

The car sped up, forcing Justin back into his seat.

‘There’s no hurry. Better to get there in one piece …’ he joked, his voice sounding flat and tense.

How fast were they going? Sixty miles per hour? Seventy? Now a creeping anxiety began to steal over him. Why were they going so fast? And why wouldn’t the driver respond?

‘Look, I’m going to have to ask you to slow down …’

No response, the car continuing to roar along the narrow country lane.

‘Look, mate, what’s the fucking hurry?’

As if in response, the car swerved violently off the road, sending Justin tumbling to his left. Desperately, he grabbed hold of the seat belt and hauled himself upright – to find that they were now speeding along a rough track, the Mercedes bouncing up and down over the uneven surface. Angry, alarmed, Justin unclicked his seatbelt and moved forwards, rapping angrily on the glass partition that separated them.

‘I’m telling you to stop …’

The car roared on and to his surprise Justin saw chain-link gates ahead, gates which hung open, as if expecting their arrival. Moments later, they swept into what was clearly some kind of building site.

Panic gripped him now and delving into his pocket, he tugged out his mobile phone. He pushed down hard on the ‘on’ button, but as he did so, the car came to an abrupt halt. Unprepared, Justin was catapulted forwards, his face slamming into the glass partition. The phone tumbled from his grasp and he slumped backwards. His hand instinctively went up to his head, but hovered there hopelessly, body and brain too stunned to function. He was seeing stars, he could taste blood in his mouth, could feel his limbs shaking and there was nothing he could do now, as the door opened and rough hands grabbed him, dragging him from the car.

Chapter 7

Charlie moved quickly across the kitchen, flicking a look at the clock. It was early morning and as usual she was running late. She’d slept badly, finding it impossible to get comfortable, and was groggy when her alarm went off. Steve had gone to work early, leaving Charlie to feed and dress Jessica, whilst somehow finding the time to make herself look respectable for work.

‘Do you want anything more to eat?’

Jessica looked at the remnants of her Weetabix, deep in thought.

‘Quickly, please, love, we’re on borrowed time …’

After a moment’s consideration, Jessica assented, thrusting her hand into the box to pull out another wheat biscuit. Charlie swallowed a sigh – her daughter was a good eater, but slow – and they were already behind schedule. Jessica was dressed, which was a blessing, but they’d somehow have to tame her hair before they left – an exercise which Jessica bitterly resented, often threatening to cut the whole lot off with some craft scissors. Some mornings, Charlie was tempted to let her.

In addition to her normal morning duties, Charlie also had to find time to make a packed lunch. This was a new part of the daily routine, Jessica’s best friend Mia having recently opted for this over school dinners. Shoving a bag of Hula Hoops and a carton of apple juice into Jessica’s lunchbox, she reached for the bread, intending to add a Marmite sandwich as the crowning glory. As she did so, she felt a sharp, stabbing sensation in the centre of her being. The pain seared through her, unbalancing her, and she gasped as she held onto the kitchen surface for support. A moment’s fear, a moment’s shock, then a flood of relief – it wasn’t anything serious, though it was painful, the baby stamping on her pelvic bone. Righting herself, Charlie realized that Jessica was staring at her, concern creasing her face.

‘It’s all right, sweetheart,’ Charlie said quickly. ‘Just your little brother or sister getting in some practice for the trampoline …’

It was said lightly, though her innards throbbed. Satisfied, uninterested, Jessica returned to her Weetabix, toying with it, as if considering whether to eat it. For a moment, Charlie didn’t move, staring at her daughter, trying to divine her thoughts.

‘Jessie?’

The little girl nodded as she finally manoeuvred the cereal into her mouth.

‘Jessie, love, are you excited about the baby?’

Another spoonful disappeared, but Jessica didn’t respond.

‘It’ll be fun to have someone to play with, won’t it?’ Charlie said cheerfully. ‘You can show them your dolls, your dressing up, your toys. It’ll be like having a friend in the house all the time …’

Jessica had now tired of her Weetabix, pushing the bowl away. Still she didn’t react, making Charlie wonder if she’d even heard.

‘Jessica? Are you excited?’

And now finally Jessica looked up, nodding briefly, before saying: ‘Can I have sausage rolls at my party?’

Charlie was momentarily taken aback. It was Jessica’s birthday party tomorrow and she was sure all bases had been covered during their many conversations.

‘And party rings too?’

Jessica rose, heading away from the table, seeking her favourite dolls, which were arranged in a neat line on the living-room sofa. Charlie stood stock-still, saddened. She knew it was foolish to be upset by Jessica’s response, but she had hoped for a little more excitement. She’d seen other children who were virtually hysterical at the prospect of having a sibling to mother, dress up and cosset. But so far there had been nothing like that from Jessica. She had asked little, spoken little, about the birth; in fact she seemed supremely unbothered by the imminent arrival.

Lost in her dolls, Jessica was interested only in her party, her friends, her toys … and herself. Such was the perfect self-absorption of youth.

Chapter 8

Helen lay perfectly still, her eyes tightly closed against the morning sunlight. Despite this, she could tell that Joseph was looking at her. She had often woken from her slumbers to find him propped up on one elbow, taking in her firm, battle-scarred body, and she could tell by the rhythm of his movements that he was doing so now. Previously, she’d have tugged the sheet up to her chin, embarrassed by the scarring, but now she was happy to lie there, naked and exposed. She didn’t mind him looking, she knew it wasn’t lust that made him examine the angry strips of skin that decorated her body. He was intrigued by her, as she was by him.

‘Haven’t you got somewhere you need to be …?’ Helen breathed, without opening her eyes.

‘Probably. You see, I’ve got this nightmare boss. I can’t be late for work.’

‘Best get a move on then. But you can make me breakfast first.’

‘Isn’t that the eternal dilemma?’ Joseph sighed. ‘Ambition versus …’

‘Versus what?’ Helen responded, rolling over to face him.

‘Versus …’

Joseph paused to consider, staring at her, then: ‘… pleasure.’

‘Is that what this is?’

‘You tell me.’

Helen smiled briefly, but said nothing, settling down on her back once more. She was enjoying this game, but knew that her light-hearted question would have to be answered at some point. Did she have feelings for Joseph? And he for her? And if so, what on earth would they do about it? Romances within the team were frowned upon and if Helen genuinely wanted to pursue a relationship with him, it would mean one of them leaving Southampton Central, a thought that sent a shiver down her spine. But perhaps she was getting ahead of herself. For now, they were just two lovers sharing a bed.

Despite his tacit agreement to make breakfast, Joseph made no move to leave, instead running a finger gently over her most recent war wound, an area of thick scarring on her thigh.

‘Don’t.’

Helen didn’t want to be reminded of her recent brush with death, deep in the heart of the New Forest. Obligingly, Joseph moved his finger up to her stomach, but here too he found remnants of past battles. Moving over her midriff, over her breasts, he brushed the side of her neck, narrowly avoiding another injury.

‘How do you do it?’ His tone had changed subtly, concern seeping into his affection now. ‘How do you keep getting back up?’

‘Just lucky, I guess,’ Helen replied, with a decent impression of a shrug.

‘I mean it,’ Joseph continued. ‘You’ve put your body, yourself, through so much. Aren’t you afraid that one day your luck will run out?’

Helen turned to him, surprised. She had had a very similar conversation with her superior, Detective Superintendent Grace Simmons, a few months back, in which she too had expressed fears for Helen. Was that all this was? Genuine, well-meaning concern? Or had they both spotted something she hadn’t?

‘I don’t really think about it, to be honest.