Death Note

by Caroline Mitchell

Genres: Police Procedurals; Crime Fiction; Suspense

Synopsis

‘ Oh my friggin God! This book….thisssss booooook! Eeeeeek! I mean…come on! … Su-bloody-perb!...a quadruple #HellYeah recommendation from me! Tantalisingly terrifying, twisted, and dark ’ Crime Book Junkie Twenty years ago you were forced to give your daughter up. Now she’s back. Or is she? Women who’ve had to give up children for adoption are being killed. A knock at their front door begins a nightmare from which they will never wake up. East London Detective Ruby Preston and her team must hunt down a disturbed individual before someone else is taken. But when bodies start turning up, staged in perfect, domestic scenes, it carries the echo of a memory in Ruby's mind. The tinkling of a music box. A mother and child reunion... Then just as Ruby thinks they've made a breakthrough, she receives a sinister email, and the case takes a terrifying personal twist. Can Ruby catch the killer before they strike again? Or will her troubled past catch up with her first? Death Note is a serial killer thriller packed with twists. If you like Karin Slaughter, Angela Marsons and Val McDermid, discover Caroline Mitchell’s new series today. Previously published as Love You To Death What everyone’s saying about Death Note : ‘ I was completely HOOKED! … Amazing five stars from me.’ Feminisia Libros Reviews ‘ Oh my God....... this book blew me away!! Absolutely loved this, and here's to many more Ruby Preston books!!! … kept me hooked right till the last page :))) ’ The Book Guzzler ‘ I couldn’t put it down… kept me awake half the night … The hairs stood up on the back of my neck.’ Mrs Bloggs Books ‘ Just superb!! I can tell you, you will NOT know the ending until you get there!! It’s a shocker!… I was through this book in 3 days! I just gobbled it up.’ Next Book Review ‘This crime thriller is beyond perfection, disturbingly amazing and impossible to put down! Looking forward to more of the author's works. I already love her. Just...perfect.’ Goodreads Reviewer ‘ I loved this book, it twisted and turned me until I was as tightly wound as a corkscrew! A chilling tale that will have you terrified to answer a knock at your door. I mean seriously don't read this book in the dark on your own! … I literally could not put this book down.’ Chapter In My Life ‘OMG what a corker of a book … I absolutely love Ruby. What a fantastic character … I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough … Loved it, loved it, loved it.’ By The Letter Book Reviews ‘The ending was...whoa … a twist I DID NOT SEE COMING! ’ Goodreads Reviewer

Release date: November 11, 2016

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 336

Sample

The lights of the Christmas tree twinkled in the dark space. On. Off. On. Off. Then the second set kicked in, sending an array of colours dancing on the walls of the dank grey basement. Despite the absence of windows, Emily Edmonds knew it was sunny outside. The weather forecast had warned it would be the hottest September in five years. She shifted in the cold metal chair. The puddle of urine had soaked into her skirt, casting up the stench of ammonia with every movement. Her wrists sent a sharp slice of pain through her nerve endings as the bindings cut further into her flesh. Something clicked into place and a low whirr ensued. On. Off. On. Off… the light sequence began again. Emily closed her eyes, the flashes still found their way into her vision. Her throat tightened as she sobbed, but no tears came. She was dry. Wept out, pissed out, sweated out. Dry as a bone with nothing left to give.

Drip… drip… drip… the noise of a leaky tap teased her. Apart from the flashing lights of the artificial tree, she had been left in darkness. But over the course of the day she worked out her surroundings. She was in a basement of some kind, a windowless cave underneath the ground. Her captor seemed at ease when she entered, not looking over her shoulder for fear of being caught. The room housed a sink. Overhead, she could hear the sounds of a functioning home: footsteps, and sometimes a muffled television. Furniture screeching, taps running, toilets flushing. Life went on as normal above her head. Even if she wasn’t gagged, it was doubtful anyone would hear her screams. Her jaw still hurt from the punch she had received last time she tried it. The blood from her loose tooth had been warm, wet and left a bitter aftertaste. It was a relief to have some liquid flow down her throat. Tears finally found their way to her eyes, blurring the gaudy baubles into a kaleidoscope of colours.

Her eyes flicked up to the ceiling, squinting at the single light bulb hanging from a cobwebbed wire cable. The switch was powered at the top of narrow wooden stairs which creaked when weight was applied. It was a small comfort to know that the noise was enough to wake her when her body fell into slumber. Struggling against her bindings only made the ropes ride higher up her ankles and wrists, and her circulation was almost cut off as it was.

She stiffened as a door opened, flooding light down the stairs and into her field of vision. Emily blinked away the tears as the woman slowly took each step. Keep calm. Whatever she wants, please God, help me get it right. Visions of Harry, her husband, swam in her memory. How was he coping without her? He would be going out of his mind. Don’t cry. Everything will be alright, just focus…

‘It’s almost Christmas,’ the woman said, the childish words curling on her tongue. She looked as if she’d stepped from another era. The Victorian-style outfit consisted of a dark knee-length dress, covered by a lace-trimmed white cotton apron. Lace-up boots tapped on each step as she giggled with delight.

The woman seemed not to notice the smell, the overwhelming stench of decay. But Emily could not think about the source. It emanated from the dirt-stained floorboards which were rotting and splintered underfoot. The makeshift flooring revealed slices of blackened soil beneath, and Emily shuddered as she inhaled the offensive smell.

‘I’ve got a surprise for you,’ the woman said in a sing-song voice, jumping down the last step, both feet together.

Emily murmured a whine, her eyes wide and pleading.

‘Remember our little chat when you talked about Harry?’

Emily remembered, and regretted every word. Why had she confided in this stranger? Thinking she could trust her with the secrets she held most dear? Yes, Harry could be controlling, but it was only because he loved her and wanted to keep her safe. And now look at her. This is what happened when she tried to leave him. A prickle of fear rose up from within. She would never have said those things if she had known. Lucy was deranged. And she had been wrong. Whoever this person was, she was not her daughter.

Emily’s heart accelerated with each step Lucy took, until she was behind her, ripping off her gag.

‘Tomorrow is Christmas Day, Mummy. And it’s going to be just you and me. No nasty Harry anymore. We’re going to have the perfect day.’

Emily spat out the bile in her mouth, coughing, until something resembling air entered her lungs. ‘Harry… ’ she gasped, the words scratching against her throat. ‘What have you done with my Harry?’

Lucy’s voice thinned. ‘I killed him, of course, so we can be together. Tomorrow…’

But her words were cut short as Emily produced a woeful, garbled scream. ‘No… not my Harry! Get me out of here! Do you hear me? Untie me right now – get me out.’ She rocked in her chair, throwing her head from side to side.

‘But Mummy… ’ Lucy said, her face turning dark.

‘I’m not your mother,’ Emily screamed. ‘You’re a monster. I don’t want you! I want my Harry.’

Lucy turned to the tree, her words cold. ‘After everything I’ve done. You’re not my mother. You’re just a selfish cow.’

Emily’s chest heaved as she drew in lungfuls of air. She had vowed to stay calm. What had she done? ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I didn’t mean to… Lucy? Please, don’t be cross.’

But Lucy was ripping the baubles from the branches of the tree, too consumed by anger to hear Emily’s pleas for forgiveness.

‘I’m sorry, Lucy, please,’ Emily said, her words laced with panic.

Her heart beat wildly as fear wrapped itself around her, and she strained against her bindings, desperate to escape. And then she saw it. The flash of anger in Lucy’s eyes. Spittle had formed in the corner of her mouth, white and frothy. She was beyond reasoning. The urine Emily was holding trickled once more down her thigh.

Darkness enveloped them as Lucy ripped the lights from their socket, her tortured wail filling the lightless room. Emily finally deciphered the source of the smell. Inhaling one last shuddering breath, she closed her eyes and prayed.

With one swig Ruby knocked back the fizzy concoction that promised to ease your pounding head and provide a burst of energy. Her team were still jubilant from yesterday’s result and the post-celebratory drinking session that had followed. They had taken some major players off the streets, but, just like always, there would be more lining up to take their place. She pulled up a chair, preparing to pick over the bones of the case with the familiar faces gathered around her.

‘Morning all.’ DI Jack Downes’s voice boomed a greeting in his Northern Irish accent, his broad, lumbering frame making itself known. Coffee in one hand and croissant in the other, he spoke mid-bite, sending flecks of pastry flying onto the foot-worn carpet. Shoreditch Serious Crime Unit took up residence in the third floor of the drab grey concrete building. A man with a big voice, DI Downes had no problem being heard. His eyes lit on Ruby, and he shoved down the last of his pastry before marching over and giving her shoulder a little shake. ‘Alright mucker? How are yous this fine morning?’

Ruby winced, feeling every bone in her body rattle. ‘Tender, so handle with care.’

Downes sucked in air between his teeth as she turned to greet him face on. ‘Ouch. That’s come up in the night.’

Ruby winced as she touched the pad of swollen flesh. High cheekbones may have been a blessing in her teenage years, but not so when she found herself on the receiving end of a left hook. ‘It’s only a couple of stitches,’ she said, the side of her mouth jerking up in an involuntary smile. ‘He came off a lot worse.’

‘Well, don’t let me interrupt you,’ he said, taking a seat. The faint smell of mint and whiskey vented from her DI’s breath. Since his wife’s death, his fondness for ‘a wee dram’ had become more frequent, and Ruby had warned him more than once that he was putting too much at risk so near retirement.

Yesterday’s post-incident briefing had been a time for backslapping. But today they would discuss ‘learning points’ in more detail, or what she preferred to call the ‘fuck-up round-up’ of the day before.

Luddy, also known as DC Owen Ludgrove, handed her a mug of sweet tea to wash down the bitter taste of Alka-Seltzer on her tongue. A likeable guy with tousled black hair, Luddy had the character of a young man who would go places one day. ‘Keen but green,’ Downes called him, but Ruby could not fault Luddy’s enthusiasm for the job.

Ruby slid the intelligence pack from the desk she was leaning on and thumbed through the pages. ‘Great job last night, guys, but there’s a couple of things we need to cover before we can move on.’ Her dark eyes roamed over the group of satisfied faces. All except one.

DC Eve Tanner was shrinking into her chair, her head bowed.

‘This isn’t a matter of naming and shaming,’ Ruby added. ‘It’s learning how we can do it better next time. So who’d like to get started? Silence fell, and for a few seconds all she could hear was the sound of the traffic outside. A siren blared in the distance, reminding Ruby that their time was limited. Crime didn’t stop just because they had a good result. ‘OK, I’ll make a start. What we expected was a group of young dealers believed to have been involved in a kidnapping. What we got was a small army, including five out of ten of our most wanted. You’ll have seen their faces on our wall. Violent bastards with a string of offences to their names. It was a great collar, but the fact there were firearms in the flat makes us lucky we came away with just cuts and bruises.’ Ruby glanced around the room, grateful her team were all present to recount the event. Battle-scarred and still wearing yesterday’s crumpled shirts, they were a scruffy band of officers. All except Eve, who was immaculately dressed in her black trouser suit; her blonde hair pinned neatly in a bun.

‘I’m sorry,’ Eve said, her voice low. ‘I should have delved deeper into the source of the intelligence.’

‘And had better eyeballs on the premises,’ Ruby added.

Eve would have worked closely with the intelligence support unit, but the covert human intelligence sources had been hers. However, CHIS weren’t always wholly reliable, and Ruby wasn’t about to publicly flog her only female DC. The fact Eve stood and watched her colleagues getting pummelled worried Ruby more than her lack of preparation for the raid. Why hadn’t she supported them by getting stuck in? All the same, it had been good to blow the cobwebs off. She hadn’t been in a hands-on brawl for months and had come away feeling exhilarated, barely conscious of the blood running down her cheek. But there was no point in going over old ground when they had so much to do. ‘Besides not taking intel at face value, what else can we take from this?’

‘To have each other’s backs, and the ability to use a pair of handcuffs,’ DC Ash Baker said, linking his bruised knuckles and resting them on his rotund stomach.

Ruby had a vague recollection of seeing him holding a thick-necked skinhead in a headlock, swearing at Luddy to cuff him from behind.

‘Did you see the width of his wrists?’ Luddy protested. ‘Besides, modern handcuffs aren’t as flexible as the ones back in your day.’

Ash took a breath to retort, and Ruby raised her hand to cut him off.

‘Excuse me,’ DI Downes said, skirting past her to answer his phone.

‘Who was it that moaned about having TSU along?’ The presence of a team from the tactical support unit, equipped with shields and Tasers, had undoubtedly saved the day.

‘I was going by the intel provided,’ Ash said, glaring at Eve.

‘Well, it’s a good thing I erred on the side of caution. If the suspects had made use of their firearms, some of us might not be here today.’

Ruby could see her words were having an effect on Eve, whose neck seemed to have disappeared completely as she shrank like a tortoise in its shell. Ruby had a couple more points to go over, but decided to leave it for another time.

‘This morning we’re homicide-free, so we can get on with our backlog of work. We’ve got a suspect in the bin for armed robbery; Ash I’d like you to deal with that. You can pair up with Luddy in interview.’

‘Why can’t Eve?’ Ash said, making no effort to hide his reluctance to work with the newest member of the team.

‘Because I asked you.’

Ash mumbled some retort about babysitting, while Ruby delegated the workload to the rest of the group. It consisted of drug-related violent crimes and a gang-related grievous bodily harm. Being based in central East London, it was nothing out of the ordinary for the team.

Heads swivelled as Downes strode from his office holding a scrap of paper with illegible writing. His eyes were bright, as if he had just picked the winning lottery numbers. Ruby recognised the look, which could only mean one thing.

So much for being homicide-free.

Ruby took the wheel of the grey Ford Focus to enable Downes to speak to officers over his police radio. She had left her team setting the wheels of investigation turning.

‘What have we got?’ Ruby said as she negotiated a shortcut to the scene of the crime.

‘It’s a domestic murder by the sound of it. Neighbours called it in, saying they heard a couple arguing. Uniform have just got there and confirmed a body at the scene.’

‘Husband and wife?’ Ruby said.

‘Seems that way, although there’s no sign of the missus now.’

‘She’s probably panicked and ran off. Sounds pretty straightforward. Why are we dealing with it?’

‘The other teams are up to their necks in it. We haven’t had any homicides on our patch in a couple of days so… ’

‘Any intelligence on the couple?’

‘Her name is Emily Edmonds, married to Harry Edmonds. His identity has been confirmed, and neither is known to us. He owns a café on Well Street.’

‘That must be Harry’s Café, the one across from Lidl. There’s a few of them dotted about the place.’

Downes tapped his palms against his lap in a restless drumbeat. ‘This is all I fecking need,’ he muttered. ‘If this involves a local businessman, Worrow will be crawling over it like a fly on shite.’

Ruby nodded emphatically. She used to get on with the Chief, but lately she had borne the brunt of her temper on more than one occasion. Sloppy workforce, disgusting conditions, and what was the last one? Oh yes, insubordination. There had been times when she wondered if her superior was in possession of a pair of balls. You had to be to reach promotion at Worrow’s tender age. Ruby’s knuckles whitened over the steering wheel. Their office might not smell of pot-pourri, but they were real coppers and they got things done. She took a deep calming breath through her nostrils and exhaled slowly as she parked up behind a police car.

The red-brick townhouse on Tresham Walk looked nothing out of the ordinary, but given its location in London, the three-bedroom abode on the quiet residential street could fetch three quarters of a million pounds on the property market. Her own recent property search had proved fruitless, and the thought of spending another year in her hovel of a flat was too depressing to face. She noticed the blinds twitch next door and smiled. Nosey neighbours were welcome, particularly in domestic murders. She listened as DI Downes received updates via his police radio. Intelligence stated there had been previous calls by concerned neighbours. Mr Edmonds had told attending officers that he was a member of the local dramatics group and had been practising his lines. Ruby rolled her eyes. Amateur dramatics indeed.

The scene guard officer dished out white oversuits and gloves at the gate, quickly jotting down their names before allowing them inside. Ruby slid a hairband from her wrist and scooped up her long dark tresses into a ponytail. Crime scene investigators were en route, and she zipped up the front of her bunny suit, keeping her eyes sharply tuned for evidence.

Slowly, she walked through the front door, admiring the small crystal chandelier as it reflected spots of light on the magnolia walls. Apart from the recent threads of police boots on the thick oatmeal carpet, the hall was spotlessly clean. The scent of lilies intermingled with a blast of warm air wafting in from outside, and she brushed past the table in the hall, avoiding the pollen-ripe stamens. The body was fresh, which was just as well given the recent spate of hot weather. At least she was spared the acrid, cheesy smell of decay. She had visited many murder scenes where the victims had been in various stages of decomposition. The dead did not bother her. It was the living that played on her mind. Ruby pushed down on the bronze door handle with the tips of her gloved fingers as she entered the living room. The crime scene investigators would not be best pleased she had beaten them to it, but the ‘golden hour’ was so called for a reason. Downes strode purposefully past her to the body, his tweed jacket swishing inside the paper-thin suit. He surveyed the blood splatters on the wall, while Ruby held her ground, taking in the scene. She briefly closed her eyes, allowing her senses to do the work. She could smell antiseptic, hear more than one ticking clock. A trickle of sweat ran down the curve of her back. She glanced around the room, storing the images to her memory bank. An upturned coffee table, a broken ornament; the disturbance was small but spoke volumes.

Lastly, she turned her attention to the body. The stocky man was face down on the floor, producing enough blood to soak through the surrounding carpet and dribble onto the linoleum through the open kitchen door. His short auburn hair was combed back at the sides, and a wedding ring graced the finger of his left hand. A splatter of crimson laced a copper bracelet, and his once blue shirt was now drenched in blood. Ruby cast her eyes over the puncture wound between his shoulder blades.

‘See his hands?’ DI Downes said as he stepped over the blood that was now congealing into jellied bubbles.

Ruby nodded. She had already noticed his clenched right fist. His left hand was gripped tightly around a black cordless phone.

‘He didn’t put his hands out in front of him as he fell. It’s an automatic reaction. The fact his fists are clenched and by his sides suggest he could have had some seizure or heart attack on the way down. That’s why his face took the brunt of the fall.’

Ruby frowned. ‘Why would she stab him if he was going to cop it anyway? Surely it would have been better to leave him to die?’

DI Downes snorted. ‘Ach, you know what domestic murders are like; they’re rarely from a logical standpoint.’

Ruby felt a sneeze coming on and turned away as she pinched the bridge of her nose. It reminded her of the crime scene she’d brought Luddy to, the year before, when he forgot to wear a mask, and he had sneezed all over the body. His desk was covered in Kleenex for weeks afterwards by his colleagues. She held in the expulsion, sniffling, as she regained her composure.

She took in the inoffensive room. It was spotlessly clean; no alcohol that she could see; nothing to relay drugs were a factor either. Ruby surveyed the photos hanging on the wall. A much younger Harry Edmonds smiled for the camera with a small mousey woman on his arm. She looked more like his daughter than his wife, but the wedding photos erased any doubt from Ruby’s mind. There were no recent pictures to speak of, and no evidence of children or pets. She tiptoed past the body to the kitchen. It could have passed for a show home. The knife block resting on the counter was full. She opened the cupboards to see every tin was facing the same way, perfectly tidy and not a crumb out of place. A slight hint of lemon cleaner lingered in the air. It made a change from the usual crime scene, where you wiped your feet on the way out.

‘I’m not happy about this scene,’ Ruby said, crossing her ankles as she leaned against the doorframe, ‘it’s all too perfect.’ She caught a glimpse of silver as DI Downes slid his hip flask back into his suit pocket. She waved away his offer of a mint before he sheepishly popped one into his mouth.

‘Only you could complain about being given a suspect on a plate,’ he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

Outside, a chorus of voices followed by the sound of van doors slamming indicated that CSI were here.

‘I should have known you’d be trampling all over my scene,’ the husky voice of Bones greeted DI Downes. The stocky dreadlocked black man was nicknamed such because of the model of a human skeleton taking up residence in his office. Ruby had once overheard him talking to it and had never allowed him to live it down.

‘And your partner in crime here as well! Ruby, made a start in the kitchen too?’

Ruby had the decency to look embarrassed. She knew how territorial Bones could get about his precious crime scenes. ‘Sorry. We haven’t been upstairs.’

Bones shrugged, watching, as his colleagues lay down the stepping plates. ‘No matter. One of the neighbours saw his missus get a taxi last night, and she was carrying an overnight bag. Prima facie by the sounds of it.’

Prima facie. Open and shut case. The concept held no weight with Ruby. She narrowed her eyes in defiance. ‘Don’t use those swear words with me, Bones.’

Bones grinned, making a fishing rod gesture with his hands. He had reeled her in once again. Ruby snorted before leaving the building, glad to step out of the paper suit that was making her sweat. A crowd was gathering behind the police tape, and she pushed through them to the car. It was time to get back to the nick. She had that uneasy feeling in her gut. Her innate voice that whispered whenever all was not as it seemed.

Just where was the murder weapon that killed Harry Edmonds?

And more to the point: where was his wife?

The stairs creaked as Lucy took each step upwards, her shoulders slumped, the tips of her gloves wet with blood. Tears ran unbidden down her face: not for Emily Edmonds, but for the dream of a mother she had left behind. Emily wasn’t her mother. She was just like all the others. Nothing but a huge disappointment. She would have to clean up the mess before she could even think about starting again.

Steam rose in puffs of clouds as the bath filled, and she wiped the sides of the old music box clean. Despite the mouldy tiles and the paint chipping on the bathroom ceiling, she couldn’t bring herself to activate the extractor fan. She liked the steam, and the condensation dripping lazily down the walls. She could pretend she was in a different place rather than here, at home, abandoned and alone. The music box gave an involuntary tinkle as she gently placed it on the tiled window ledge.

She tutted at the splatters of blood as she slipped off her lace-up boots. She had cleaned them up before; she could do it again. ‘Hush little baby, don’t say a word… ’ she sang. Pulling off the bloodstained apron and then her dress, she rolled down her black tights and removed her underwear. ‘Mama’s gonna buy you a mocking bird.’ She wasn’t wearing a bra. Little girls didn’t need things like that. The wig was the last thing to come off, and she walked across the landing and placed it lovingly on the styrofoam head in her bedroom. The blonde ringlets bounced as it settled, and she hummed the rest of the tune, fixing the dummy’s head until it was in line with all the others. Satisfied, she returned to the bathroom.

Steaming hot water sloshed over the sides of the roll-top bath as she eased herself in. She would need to wash again after she disposed of the body, but she didn’t want to think about that. She needed to go to a happy place now that the rage had subsided. She wound her music box, allowing the tinkling tune of ‘Hush, Little Baby’ to carry her away.

Holding her breath, she submerged herself under the water. She was there in an instant. A reset button flicked in her brain, and she opened her eyes, allowing her fantasies of Emily Edmonds to wash away. She was not Lucy Edmonds. She had another Mummy with a different surname, and soon she would be knocking on her door.

Steam haloed around her head as she emerged, giving in to the instinctive need for air. She closed her eyes as the scene played out, vivid in her imagination. It was warm, comforting, the perfect Christmas Day, back in a time where nobody could hurt her. Her hands caressed the silkiness of her skin, until the scene dissolved and the transformation was complete. She was no longer a child at Christmas but a woman, and she had housework to do and a mess to clean up in the basement. She examined her hands and thought of the blood, the life she had extinguished. Emily’s muffled pleas had not gained her empathy, but fed her sense of power. Emily was merely a representative of all the people who turned their back on her pain. Lucy allowed the blood-tinged foam to wash over her as she dipped her chin into the water; her hands stroking now, gaining in rhythm. ‘Yes,’ she moaned. That felt good. There was nothing to regret. Soon she could start again.

She re-enacted the basement scene: the blood dripping from the corners of Emily’s mouth; staining Lucy’s gloves as she gripped her throat. The metal chair, tilting and collapsing beneath them as she straddled Emily’s limp frame. Finally, the thrill of feeling Emily’s pulse fade beneath her fingers as her pathetic life ebbed away. Lucy’s eyes rolled back into her head as pleasure rippled through her body. Gradually, the water turned cold and the sound of the music box stilled.

Tomorrow she would begin again. And again. And again.

She would do what it took to find her mother. Somebody worthy of her love.

Ruby nodded at staff through the reception window as she scrawled her signature across the visitor’s book. Just being in Oakwood helped settle her, at least for a little. . .