Don't Turn Around

Book 1: Detective Jennifer Knight

by Caroline Mitchell

Genres: Crime Fiction; Suspense

Synopsis

You don’t know him. But he knows you. Soon he would be able to touch her, to feel the warmth of her blood. And when the time came, nothing would stop him. As D.C. Jennifer Knight investigates a routine stabbing in the quiet town of Haven, she is shocked at what seems like a personal message from beyond the grave. When more bodies are found, Jennifer is convinced the killings are somehow linked. What she discovers is more chilling than she could possibly imagine. The murders mirror those of the notorious Grim Reaper – from over twenty years ago. A killer her mother helped convict. Jennifer can no longer ignore the personal connection. Is there a copycat killer at work? Was the wrong man convicted? Or is there something more sinister at play … With her mother’s terrifying legacy spiralling out of control, Jennifer must look into her own dark past in a fight not only to stop a killer – but to save herself and those she loves. A heart-stopping supernatural thriller to engross fans of Rachel Abbott, Paul Finch and James Oswald. Discover the other books in the DC Jennifer Knight series: 1. DON'T TURN AROUND 2. TIME TO DIE 3. THE SILENT TWIN What reviewers are saying about Don’t Turn Around ‘With a brilliant cast of crime characters, and a plot that was enough to make me feel dizzy, this was a compelling book that I just couldn't get enough of. Every word, every page, every murder, every guess... I couldn't wait for the final piece of the jigsaw to fit into place… the word 'thrilling' just doesn't do this justice.’ Becca’s Books ‘This is a fantastically written story that keeps you on the edge of your seat and I really didn't want to put it down and was gutted when it ended but what an ending it was and one I didn't see coming at all.’ It’s All About the Books ‘This is a promising and well written supernatural detective story, with a surprising twist. One to look out for! ’ Northern Crime ‘ Loved this book! A strong, independent, smart heroine and a hair raising plot made this a read in one sitting book!’ Books for Avid Readers ‘It was truly a great read and well written… I recommend it to everyone that enjoys murder mysteries with a twist.’ Word Gurgle Q&A with Caroline Mitchell Q: What was the inspiration behind Don’t Turn Around? A: I wanted to bring my readers on a journey and based it on two of the most thrilling subjects I know – police and the paranormal. I had several ideas for my first novel but Frank Foster’s character came to me one sleepless night and refused to go away. Q: Like D.C. Jennifer Knight, you have had some terrifying paranormal experiences. How much of your own background has gone into the novel? And do you see much of yourself in Jennifer? A: In my true story, we were plunged into the world of the supernatural, as our home became a virtual playground for a real life ‘Paranormal Intruder’. Both D.C. Knight and I had to dig deep to cope with the frightening challenges before us. As a police officer myself, I know how hard it is to open up to your colleagues when your world begins to collapse around you. Q: And can you tell us a little about what’s next for D.C Knight? A: In book two Jennifer is challenged to the limit when she crosses paths with a man known as The Raven, a tarot card reader hiding a deadly secret.

Release date: April 24, 2015

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 320

Sample

The concept of a paperless office was lost on Haven CID. Each desk carried the burden of dusty box files, frayed spiral notepads and reams of open cases demanding attention. All except DC Jennifer Knight’s, whose neatly stacked paperwork was filed in order of importance, and coordinating stationery locked firmly away in her desk drawer.

Jennifer pushed open the door, casting an eye at the clock on the wall. It was a choice between arriving at work unwashed and on time, or suitably preened and late. She glanced at her colleague DC Dunston, guessing he had gone for the first option.

Will threw her a weary look. ‘You’ve missed briefing.’

‘Tell me something new,’ she said, pointing at the yellow stain on Will’s tie. ‘Eggy soldiers for breakfast?’

‘Egg McMuffin, if you must know,’ he said, patting his beard to dislodge the errant crumbs in his blond whiskers.

‘McDonalds at this hour? Here, let me.’ Jennifer pulled a sterile wipe from her bag as she crossed the room to inspect his tie. ‘You need to start looking after yourself. No wonder you look so tired.’

Will sighed as she picked away at the offending stain. ‘For God’s sake, you’re worse than my mother.’

‘If I was your mother I’d be down the pub every night drowning my sorrows. Now, what jobs have we lined up for today?’ Jennifer threw the wipe in the bin and rubbed her hands on her skirt.

‘Would you believe a grievous bodily harm? They’re finally trusting us with something decent,’ he said, handing her a wad of paper bound together with a large black clip.

‘How come?’ Jennifer's eyes greedily scanned the page. Like any typical police station, Haven had a pecking order, and Jennifer was no longer given precedence when it came to serious crime.

‘Steph’s assisting the others with a raid so they’re tied up for the morning.’

Jennifer was glad her sergeant was out. Steph was a stickler for timekeeping, and Jennifer’s lateness had got up her nose on more than one occasion.

Jennifer froze as she stared in disbelief at the file. ‘Is this a wind-up? Johnny Mallet’s been nicked for stabbing Mike Stone?’

The small town of Haven had changed when ‘Man Mountain’ Mike Stone took up residence. An ex-boxer well known in the criminal underworld, he was purported to have retired from the drug scene, having amassed his fortune. But the pull seemed too strong, and his newly opened nightclub, Klass, covered for an increasing network of users in the area. Users like Johnny, a scrawny lowlife who funded his drug habit through petty crime.

Will grabbed his interview folder. ‘Apparently Mike called around there to recover a drug debt, and Johnny shanked him. We’ve recovered a knife. The forensics aren’t in yet, but Steph suggested we conduct an initial interview to see if Johnny would cough to it.’

‘Have you read through the package?’

‘Yep,’ Will said.

Jennifer clipped the papers back into order and grabbed a notebook and pen. ‘No time like the present then, let’s interview now.’

‘Don’t you want to read through it?’ Will asked, downing his coffee, now cold.

‘I’ve seen enough. You lead the interview, I’ll pick it up along the way.’ She strode down the narrow corridor, her heels clacking on the thinly carpeted floor. A faint smell of cannabis tainted the air, a seized harvest from the day before.

Will half walked, half trotted to keep up. ‘I wish you’d wear flat shoes. It doesn’t do much for my ego when you’re towering over me every day.’

‘It’s not my fault you’re a short arse,’ Jennifer grinned.

‘I’m taller than you if you wore proper bloody shoes.’

Jennifer didn’t miss a beat. ‘Is that with or without your Cuban heels?’

Will feigned indignation. Their banter was a coping mechanism. It had seen them through probation as idealistic eighteen-year-olds, then through the never-ending nights investigating what followed; broken victims, fractured lives, and the brutal violence that lingered, surfacing lead-footed in the dead of night when sleep betrayed them. They had joined the job to save the world, and twelve years later had settled for keeping the streets of Haven clean. But even that was a battle, and as Jennifer approached the custody block she hoped that today she would be on the winning team.

She pressed her tag against the scanner on the wall and pushed the heavy custody door ajar. A film of water glistened on the freshly mopped cement floor, and she narrowly missed colliding with the yellow hazard sign.

‘All right, Sarge?’ Jennifer nodded at the harassed-looking custody sergeant. His platformed desk lent him an air of authority, and the clear plastic screen protecting his computer was a necessary precaution against prisoners that either wanted to spit at or punch it, depending on the charge against them.

He replied without taking his eyes off his computer screen, his glasses perched halfway down his nose. ‘Mallet’s in cell nine. He doesn’t want a solicitor, so he’s all yours.’

Will followed the detention officer to the cell, while Jennifer made three cups of watery tea in the custody kitchen.

Walking down the narrow corridor to the interview rooms, Jennifer juggled the polystyrene cups, a pen in her mouth, and paperwork under her arm. She leaned against the door with her bottom, pushing it open. Shaking the spilled tea from her fingers, she placed the cups on a small wooden table in the corner of the pokey room. Looking around the windowless space she found an air freshener. Voices echoed down the corridor outside, and she quickly squirted a burst of lavender and lily into the air.

Will wrinkled his nose as he entered with his prisoner.

‘Johnny. Nice of you to grace us with your presence today,’ Jennifer said, trying not to inhale the smell as sweat and cheap air freshener assailed her nostrils.

No answer. Johnny stared at the floor. His pockmarked face turned downwards in a scowl, as he stood rooted to the spot. A pathetic creature, he stood at five foot five and weighed about seven stone.

‘C’mon Johnny, you know the drill. Have a seat.’ Will gestured to the padded chair in the corner. Bits of yellow foam peeped through the blue material, holes picked by nervous suspects. Johnny pulled back the chair and glanced furtively around the room as if someone was going to jump out on him at any second.

Jennifer pushed the tea towards him, hoping it would calm him down. She leaned into Will, pulling her seat close. ‘He’s a bit jumpy. Has he been checked by the FME?’ The force medical examiner was kept busy with the steady stream of drug users and mental health cases that graced their custody block.

‘Yeah, they said he’s fit for interview. Doesn’t seem himself though.’

Jennifer noted that Johnny was born the year after her, which made him thirty-one, but his pale-lipped gaunt face appeared twenty years older. ‘Are you OK, Johnny? Can I get you anything?’

He smiled, revealing a row of rotten teeth with the breath to match. ‘Fuck off, bitch.’

Fuck off yourself you ugly sod, Jennifer thought, as she donned her most professional smile and turned on the tapes.

Johnny gave a short laugh, raised one buttock, and broke wind. A stench of rotten cabbage filled the already stinking room.

Will clenched his fists. ‘You dirty …’

‘Right!’ Jennifer interrupted. ‘This interview is being tape-recorded. My colleague is going to explain the process, read out your rights and entitlements, and then we can talk about why you’re here.’

Jennifer leaned back in her chair as Will read through the pro forma that preceded every interview. He had been in the job for twelve years but still insisted on using his procedural ‘dummies guide’, something that earned him endless teasing from his colleagues. Today Jennifer was grateful for it, and used the spare time to compose herself. She rubbed her arms as the cold bit through the sleeves of her jacket. Johnny stared at her intently, his red-rimmed eyes boring into her skull. The beat of a headache began to throb, and she kneaded her forehead to ease the building pressure.

‘Johnny, I said, “can you confirm you are happy to proceed without a solicitor?”’ Will took a swig of his tea and made a face that said he wished he hadn’t.

Johnny’s eyes set firmly on Jennifer. ‘Fuck you.’

She looked at her watch. At this rate, it was going to take forever. She gave Will a nudge. ‘Just carry on Will, um, DC Dunston. Johnny has given his reasons for declining a solicitor on the custody record.’

Will continued his interrogation and Johnny answered every question with a profanity.

‘Is there anything else you’d like to say before we end the interview?’ Jennifer said, having exhausted her armoury of questions. ‘As I mentioned, we’ll have the forensics from the knife so you’re better off coming clean.’ She returned her hand to her head. The growing pressure was more than a headache, and a feeling of dread grew as an insistent dark energy tapped into her senses.

‘Well DC Knight, to be honest I find this all very tiresome. Do you think we could get rid of your ineffectual sidekick in order for me to speak to you alone?’ Johnny’s sudden change of accent was relayed with such eloquence it was as if someone else had entered the room.

His words hung in the air as the room fell silent; the only noise the faint squeaks of the tapes turning in the battered machine. The unnatural voice threw Jennifer off guard, and she replied with an automatic response.

‘The time is nine-fifteen. If there’s anything you’d like to say relating to this offence, then do so now, before we conclude the interview and my colleague switches off the tapes.’

‘You are so masterful, just like your mother. Elizabeth sends her regards, by the way.’ Johnny straightened his posture and crossed his legs, resting his clasped hands on his knee.

Jennifer flinched at the mention of her dead mother’s name. She sat back, at a complete loss for words.

‘This interview is concluded,’ Will said, hastily switching off the tapes.

Jennifer felt a trickle of anger mounting within. ‘What the hell is wrong with you, Johnny?’

‘Have I touched a nerve? Sorry, it was not my intention.’

‘C’mon, back to your cell. We’ve got more than enough to charge you anyway,’ Will said, knowing that the spell inside would do nothing more than provide Johnny with a decent meal and bed for the night.

‘Because I could not stop for Death, he kindly stopped for me,’ he said, in an oddly cheery manner.

Johnny’s words echoed down the corridor as Will returned him to his cell.

Will met Jennifer back in the office after he had updated the custody sergeant with the results of the interview. Her wavy brown hair shadowed her face as she sat at her desk, poring over the paperwork.

‘You all right mate?’ Will said, standing behind her with his hand on the back of her chair

‘None of this makes any sense. How dare he …?’ She gulped back the words as she tried to maintain control. The mention of her mother’s name had sent her mind racing with questions.

Will squeezed her shoulder. ‘Don’t let him get to you. He’s just trying it on. He probably wants to be declared unfit for interview.’

‘Emily Dickinson.’ Jennifer said, pushing her hair back off her face.

‘What?’

‘What he said earlier, it was a quote from a poem by Emily Dickinson. How would he know that? He can’t read or write.’

‘He probably planned it just to mess with your head. Don’t waste your time worrying about it.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’ Jennifer said. ‘Have you got any painkillers? I’ve got a stinking headache.’

Will searched his drawer and pushed two tablets out of a foiled pack. ‘Here you go. Anything else I can do for you?’

‘There is, actually. Can you come with me to take a statement from the victim? I’ve rung the hospital, he’s fit to see us now.’

Will scratched his beard as he glanced over at the growing stack of paperwork on his desk. ‘Yeah sure, paperwork can wait.’

Jennifer was glad of the respite as they drove the battered Ford Focus to Haven Hospital. Will tapped the steering wheel as he hummed along to the tunes provided by their local eighties station. It was certainly more cheerful than the built-in police radio competing for their attention. Crime was on the increase in Haven, and she felt for the uniformed officers putting their heads above the parapet on a daily basis. But shoplifting and break-ins were minor compared to the worries weighing heavy on her mind. A cloak of foreboding had consumed her since Johnny’s interview. It made her feel like she was underwater, unable to get to the surface for air. Just what darkness was Johnny carrying? And why bring it to her door? She wound the window down an inch and breathed in the cool winter breeze. But it could not dismiss the feeling of unease growing inside her.

The tin bucket wobbled beneath his feet as Frank reached the ledge in his father’s shed. The smell of damp rotting wood made it unique, and the dimly lit hovel was his favourite place in the world. Reaching over to the muddied window, he gripped his small chubby hand over a fly and felt it angrily buzzing against his palm. It tickled. His face screwed in concentration, he opened his fingers enough to detach one wing, then two. Its remains scattered on the ledge, the protesting fly joined the other insects in various stages of dissection. Frank leaned over the body of a legless fly, cupping his ear to listen for the tiny buzzing sound. In the darkness of the shed, he was the ruler of life.

His mother had nicknamed him ‘Casper’ due to his ability to sneak up on her without making a sound. He liked that game. It gave him a warm feeling inside. Mummy had just bought him some Casper comics for his sixth birthday that he would hide under his pillow and read when everyone was asleep. He shifted the numbness from his bottom as he sat on the stairwell. He had only come inside to use the toilet, but peeping down through the banisters at his parents below, he sat entranced as the drama unfolded before him. They were shouting because Mummy wanted to buy nice things and Daddy had to work too hard to pay for them.

The papers shook in his father’s hand as he waved them about. He had his coat on, which usually meant he was on his way out. Mother, or Viv, as she preferred to be called, stood next to some pink shopping bags with her hand clasped to her chest. Strands of dark brown hair fell loose from her bun, which was held together with a diamond-encrusted pin.

‘How can I be expected to pay all these bills when you are off shopping every day? It’s no use, you’ll have to return it all.’

Viv smiled, but it was a cold smile, through bared teeth and narrowed eyes.

‘You expect me to look like those tired old women across the street? With curlers in my hair and an apron around my waist? I’m telling you now, it’s not going to happen.’

‘Of course not, darling, but if things don’t improve soon, we may lose our home.’

‘Can’t you tap your mother up for some money?’ Viv’s hands rested on her hips, her long talons flashing red against her black dress.

‘Mother’s barely on speaking terms with me. How can I ask her for money?’

‘I don’t see why not. She can afford it.’

‘It’s not an option …’

Frank craned his neck forward as his father lowered his voice. He could barely hear him as he took Viv’s hands.

‘If I got promoted we would have a lot more money to play with …’

His mother snatched her hands away. ‘I know where this is going and the answer is no.’

‘I’m just saying. You know my boss has really taken a shine to you. He told me he’d do anything for a night in your company. I was shocked when he suggested it but as you say, you’re a charming woman. It’s not surprising men would fall at your feet.’

Viv softened at the compliment. ‘Please Charles, can’t you get promoted without my involvement?’

Charles shook his head. ‘Burke can’t choose between Jeffery and me. The only thing that would swing it in my favour is you. He told me as much.’

Viv folded her arms and sighed hard, looking down at her nice new patent shoes.

‘You’d be able to keep all these things and even buy that handbag you’ve always wanted,’ Charles coaxed.

‘Wouldn’t you be jealous? The thought of me … with another man.’

‘Of course I would, I don’t want another man touching you. But if it was just the once … and I mean, it’s not as if Burke is looking for a relationship, he’s a married man. I think I could live with it.’

Viv sighed. ‘I … I don’t know.’

Charles laid a hand on each of her shoulders, softening his voice. ‘For our family’s sake. Look at Frank, he’s growing so quick, he’ll need a new set of clothes soon.’

Viv’s face contorted into a sneer. ‘It’s a waste of money buying nice clothes for him. He only gets them covered in mud.’

‘I know, sweetheart. But it would get us out of a jam. And then we wouldn’t have to bring these back to the shops.’ Charles picked up the bags and raised them to get his point home. ‘But if it’s asking too much … maybe I should just get these refunded.’ Charles walked towards the door and Viv grabbed him by the forearm.

‘No, wait. Leave the bags. Call Burke and tell him I’ll do it. It’ll have to be quick, before I change my mind. And tell him … tell him I want to be taken out for dinner first.’

Charles dropped the bags to the floor and embraced his wife in a bear hug, swaying from side to side as he lifted her off her feet. ‘Darling, you’ve just saved this family.’

Frank wondered what they were talking about. Saved the family? By going out for dinner? His mother passed him on the stairs as she brought her bags to her room, barely giving him a second glance.

The next night was hot and sticky. Frank was unable to sleep, despite his father trying to coax him with some dark gloopy medicine he did not need. A car pulled up outside. He peeked through the net curtain onto the street below. Sounds of laughter filtered through the air as his mother stepped out of the car with a tall, broad man, bigger than his father and dressed very smartly. It had been a long time since he had seen his mother laugh. She looked so pretty in the tight-waisted dress with the ruffles underneath. His father’s footsteps creaked on the landing and Frank jumped into bed. Snoring softly, he pretended to be asleep as his father entered the room. He planted a kiss on Frank’s dark hair, which lay in contrast to the whiteness of the starched pillow underneath. Frank continued to snore as his father gently pulled the door behind him, leaving the faint smell of cigars lingering in the air. The muffled voices downstairs piqued Frank’s interest and he bided his time until he slowly turned the doorknob and crept onto the landing. The upstairs bulb was gone, so they would not see him. Frank smiled at his ingenuity. The dark was safer than the light. It harboured you, while all the light did was sting your eyes and leave you exposed.

A deep voice boomed from the downstairs hall. ‘Charles, Vivienne has been the most pleasant company this evening. I really am quite taken with her.’

‘Thank you, Mr Burke. I see you have had a drink, Vivienne.’

Viv giggled and ran her hand across Mr Burke’s arm. ‘So what if I did? I had a lovely time and I gather it’s not over yet. So if you’d like to make yourself scarce?’

Charles coughed. ‘Yes. Of course. If you’re quite sure …’

‘Yes, Charles, I am quite sure, now off you go. Frank, is he …’

‘Yes, fast asleep. I gave him the medicine. He’s out like a light.’

Frank grimaced. He had spat the foul mixture into a tissue when his father wasn’t looking. His mother was not as easy to fool.

Charles paused and Mr Burke leaned towards him, speaking in a low voice. Frank shuffled towards the stairwell to hear.

‘Don’t worry, Charles, I’ll take good care of her. And your promotion is secured. I will announce it in the morning.’

Charles shook Mr Burke’s hand and smiled. ‘Thank you,’ he said, shrugging on his coat as he went. Frank tiptoed back into his room. His mother ran upstairs, squealing with delight as Mr Burke slapped her on the backside.

‘Now get up there you, it’s time for some fun.’

Viv stopped at her bedroom door and Mr Burke pulled her to him, kissing her hard on the mouth. Frank scowled as he peeped through a crack in the door. His mother was acting very strange indeed. Mr Burke’s big hands were squeezing her all over, and as quick as a flash she pulled him into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her. Frank yawned as he went back to bed and dragged the covers over his shoulders. More giggling came from the room next door. They must have been playing the squeezing game again.

Mr Burke visited his mother lots more times after that, sometimes bringing presents. She seemed much happier, while Charles grew more withdrawn. Frank knew that if he pretended to be asleep by eight o’clock he did not have to take the medicine. It was hard to sleep with the noise in the room next door and most nights he clasped a pillow over his ears to block it out. Then one evening Mr Burke brought over a friend and things became very loud indeed. His father came home and punched Mr Burke square in the face. Mr. Burke never came back.

The arguing between his parents ended the night his father packed a case. The familiar sound of his father’s footsteps approaching his room made Frank pull the covers to his face and turn to the wall. Charles slouched on the edge of his bed and sighed. The bed seemed to sag from his weight, as if it carried his burden. ‘Son, are you awake?’

Frank sensed the anxiety in his voice. He sat up in bed and stared at his father’s haggard face. ‘Son, Daddy has to go away for a while.’

Frank stared unblinkingly.

Charles gave a forced smile. ‘Daddy’s got a new job in a place called Australia. They have kangaroos there, you know.’

Frank gave a little gasp, the life flickering into his eyes. ‘When are we going, Daddy?’

Charles lowered his head and rubbed his face as if he wanted to wash something dirty away. ’Well … Daddy has to get a place set up first. Then I’m going to come back and get you.’

‘Is Mummy coming too?’

‘No, Mummy wants to stay here. Mummy has new friends.’

Frank heard a little catch in his father’s voice as he stared at the floor.

‘Be a good boy for Mummy and I’ll be back soon. Can you do that?’

Globules of tears filled Frank’s eyes and he blinked them away. The thought of being left alone with his mother fired a strike of terror into his heart. He felt it give a little flicker and he caught his breath. He must have done something bad to make his father leave him behind.

‘But I want to come too. Please Daddy, I’ll be good.’

‘I’m sorry son, you can’t. But I’ll come back for you. I promise.’ Charles wiped the tears from Frank’s freckled cheek with his thumb. ‘Frankie, listen to me. I know Mummy doesn’t always say so, but she loves you, really she does. And it’s not forever, as soon as I get us a nice place to stay I’ll come back for you. OK?’

Frank pulled the covers over his head and buried his face in his pillow to choke back the sobs. His father kissed his forehead and walked out. ‘Bye son, I’ll be back, I promise.’

Frank knew he was on his own.

Charles’s footsteps thudded slow and dull as he walked downstairs toward the front door. Frank rubbed his eyes and sat up in his bed, his teddies staring accusingly through button eyes from the shelf on the wall. His mother would not allow him to sleep with them, they were expensive and just for show. The teddies whispered, their lips unmoving in the darkness. This is all your fault. It’s all your fault he is leaving.

As if in a dream, Frank crept out to the crack of light coming through the door and listened. His father had long since given up telling Viv to ‘keep her voice down’ in case he heard.

‘Said goodbye to him, have you? Happy now?’ His mother shrilled, taking a gulp from the glass of wine in her hand.

‘You know I didn’t want any of this,’ Charles said, picking up his suitcase. ‘I’ll be back for him as soon as I get settled.’

‘You’re welcome to him. Just remember you owe me.’

‘How can you be so cruel? Frankie’s up there crying his eyes out.’

‘More fool him. And don’t turn this around on me. All I’ve ever done since we got married is try to please you. On and on you nagged me for a baby. I told you I wasn’t ready, but oh no, “It will be good for our marriage,” you said, and now look at you, abandoning him to travel halfway across the world.’

‘That’s not the reason I’m going and you know it. I told you I couldn’t bear you sleeping with other men. How could any husband be expected to put up with that and keep his dignity?’

Viv took another swig from the glass. ‘And whose idea w. . .