Her Last Breath

Book 2: Sullivan and Mullins

by Alison Belsham

Genres: Police Procedurals; Crime Fiction; Suspense

Synopsis

He leaves his victims fighting for life,

And with the mark of death....

After old remains resurface in a heatwave, a young woman is attacked and left fighting for her life in hospital. 24 hours later she dies and a deadly tattoo is discovered on her body.

When another young woman disappears, Detective Francis Sullivan and his team fear a serial killer walks the streets of Brighton.

His team identify a suspect, Alex Mullins, son of his lover, Marni. Can Francis forget their shared past and save the next victim before it is too late?

Release date: September 19, 2019

Publisher: Orion Publishing Group

Print pages: 416

Sample

1

Saturday, 12 August 2017

Alex

Walking into The Haunt at just after midnight was like walking into a solid wall of sweat. Alex Mullins felt instantly clammy as he pushed his way across the dance floor to the bar. As the tempo of the music ramped up, dripping bodies bumped against him, deflecting him from his course as if he were inside a giant pinball machine. He grinned and looked over his shoulder to check that his girlfriend, Tash, was still with him.

She smiled back, then wrinkled her nose, the combination of cloying perfume and body odour making her grimace. But her hips were already moving to the beat, so Alex abandoned his attempt to get drinks and caught her hand to lead her deeper into the throng. They’d shared a spliff in an alleyway outside the club before coming in, and now Alex let the music seep through his body and take control. Nineties Hip Hop Sweatshop. They certainly got the name right tonight. He danced round Tash, grinding his hips and watching her moves from under heavy eyelids. He couldn’t help thinking about how they’d spent the afternoon in his bedroom, exploring each other’s bodies until his mother got home from work, at which point they’d headed to the beach and the pub.

God, he needed to get a place of his own.

‘Looking so hot, babe,’ he breathed into her ear as their heads bobbed closer together.

It was no exaggeration. Tash Brady was easily the fittest girl on his course. A heart-shaped face with a wide mouth, long chestnut hair and even longer legs. Great rack. Alex had wanted her the moment he saw her, and his desire for her showed no sign of waning several months on. He’d never dated anyone for this long before.

He watched her dancing. She had great moves, but she kept adjusting her position so she could see herself in the mirror behind the bar. She smoothed down her top, then a moment later fiddled with her hair. Alex moved to block her view of herself and Tash frowned.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he mouthed over the music. She shook her head.

Why was she so insecure? Were all girls like this? Yeah, his mother was a bundle of insecurities, but her relationship with his dad had been a mess for years. But what about Tash? There was no reason for her to constantly doubt herself. He didn’t get it, so it pissed him off.

A moment later, she’d danced round him so she could see herself again. This time she pouted, checking her lip gloss, and then stopped dancing. She leaned forward and grasped his arm.

‘Just going to the toilet,’ she said, her mouth close to his ear, warm breath on his neck.

Alex felt a surge of longing and pressed his hips forward against hers. Tash laughed and pulled away. He watched her go and saw her talking to Sally Ann at the edge of the dance floor. If she was here, perhaps the rest of the crew were too. Tash would be gone for some time, so Alex circled the floor looking for other mates.

He didn’t see anyone he knew, so he carried on dancing, letting the music clear his mind until all he was aware of was the rhythmic pulse of the thudding bass.

Alex felt a tug on one of his dreadlocks and snapped out of his trance.

A skinny blonde girl in tight sequins was gyrating in front of him, reaching up to pull his hair again. He swung his head to one side to avoid her hand. It annoyed him. His dreads weren’t public property but it was amazing how many people thought it was okay to touch them. He kept dancing, watching to see what the girl would do next. She was pretty enough, but not his type. Her flinty eyes and pointed nose made her face sharp. She was probably the sort of girl who would actually look better when she wasn’t plastered in make-up.

She came closer, smiling and beckoning him in with a hand. She wanted to say something.

He leaned in.

‘Is it true about black men’s cocks?’

‘What?’ he mouthed, taking a step back so he could see her face. He’d heard perfectly clearly what she’d said. It was something he’d heard too many times before – from toxic girls just like her and from cocky lads wanting to pick a fight. He tried not to let it bother him. With the blokes, he could handle himself, and as often as not they backed away as soon as he made it clear he’d take them on. But the girls wound him up, giggling behind their hands, whispering to their friends.

‘Your cock,’ she said. ‘Big, is it?’

For fuck’s sake.

He forced himself to grin at her, then leaned forward again.

‘Why don’t you find out for yourself, babe?’ At the same time, he grabbed her hand and pressed it to his crotch.

She tried to struggle away as soon as she realised what was happening but Alex tightened his grip. Stupid bitch needed to learn a lesson. It took her a moment to gather herself, then she narrowed her eyes and he felt her grabbing at his privates. He pushed her hand away, making her stumble slightly.

Tash appeared behind the girl’s shoulder. ‘What the fuck?’ she mouthed.

She pushed past the blonde to get at Alex. Her brows were lowered in a scowl. She’d seen what had happened.

As the blonde girl melted back into the crowd of dancers, Tash glared at Alex. ‘Jesus, I’m gone for one minute and you let another girl feel you up?’

Alex raised both hands in supplication.

‘It wasn’t like that.’

The music was too loud for an explanation, and it seemed like Tash wasn’t interested in hearing one anyway.

‘I saw what you did,’ said Tash, her voice raised and harsh. ‘Bastard!’

She slapped him hard and fast, and as Alex raised one hand to his cheek in stunned silence, she shoved her way across the dance floor towards the exit.

‘Tash?’

She didn’t hear him. His cheek stung and he realised that people were staring at him. Sally Ann Granger was coming towards him.

‘What’s wrong?’ she said.

Alex shook his head. ‘Nothing. Just a misunderstanding.’

Sally Ann’s eyebrows shot up.

He needed to get out of here, so he pushed past her and followed Tash out.

It was gone one in the morning, but the welcome flood of cold air he expected on leaving the club didn’t materialise. It was still muggy and he felt clammy inside his clothes. There was no sign of Tash – she hadn’t waited for him – so he went around the corner into the alleyway and pulled his gear out of his pocket. Leaning up against a wall, it took him less than a minute to roll a joint and, after glancing around for cops, he lit it.

He held the smoke in his lungs for as long as he could, and waited to feel his body relax. Leaving the joint hanging from the corner of his mouth, he fanned his T-shirt up and down to get some air onto his sweaty chest. Fuck that stupid blonde girl. He’d finish his smoke, then go and find Tash.

Bloody women. Sometimes he wondered if they were worth the bother.

He inhaled again. It was good stuff, strong. He let go of his T-shirt and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. He’d sort Tash out in a moment . . .

2

Saturday, 12 August 2017

Tash

Tash Brady took a lungful of sea air to clear away the sweat and fug of the club, then lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. Damn Alex Mullins! She turned her back on The Haunt, wishing she’d never agreed to go there tonight, and headed down Old Steine towards the seafront. Even though it was well past one in the morning, heat still radiated off the stone walls, which was just as well as she didn’t have a jacket.

She’d had too much to drink in the pub garden earlier, and the potent mix of lukewarm Prosecco and hot sun had made her head ache. The joint she’d shared with Alex outside The Haunt hadn’t helped either. She’d been snappy with Alex in the pub and by the time they’d arrived at the club, at just gone midnight, she wasn’t in the best of moods. Half an hour of the thumping bass of the Nineties Hip Hop Sweatshop set had made her head pound. She felt sick and she wanted to go home. She’d retreated to the toilets with Sally Ann, where she sat gossiping from one of the cubicles, door open, while she waited for a couple of Nurofen to kick in. Sally Ann’s stories of the hunk she was shagging at work brightened her mood, but by the time she came back to the dance floor, Alex had been cracking on with another girl.

Screw that. They were done as far as she was concerned. Over. Finished.

Her six-inch heels clattered on the pavement, and she could hear the throbbing beat of house music coming from another of their favourite clubs on the corner. A drunken couple emerged, grappling with each other on the pavement, and Tash sniffed self-pityingly as she carried on walking on her own. Friday nights were always busy in the clubs, but once she got down to the front, there was far less action. It was completely different to earlier, when the beach had been jam-packed with bodies – tanned girls in tight bikinis, ripped guys showing off their abs, mums screaming at toddlers, and old guys turned lobster-red because they’d fallen asleep in the sun. The air still carried a whiff of suntan lotion and chips.

She crossed the main road to the promenade without having to stop for traffic. She looked around and listened, hoping to hear Alex’s heavier footfall behind her, or to see him coming to get her as if he really cared.

But that was the thing. The bastard didn’t.

She couldn’t turn back. She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him with that girl, so she marched purposefully along the front in the direction of The Grand Hotel. If he hadn’t texted her by the time she got there, she’d get a cab home. His loss. He’d realise that when he woke up in the morning and didn’t get her usual ‘good morning’ text.

The moon was a sharp, silver crescent and her tears blurred the light dappling the surface of the sea. Had she really been that clever to get into a relationship with Alex Mullins? Sure, he was buff, but he was a mare to deal with. Everyone knew he was a player. A fuckboy with double standards – he could chat up other girls in clubs as much as he liked, but if she so much as looked at another guy, he flipped.

But then she thought about the afternoon spent in bed with him, and lit another cigarette. She hadn’t been a virgin when she’s started seeing Alex but she might as well have been. He’d made her aware of her body in ways she’d never experienced with other boys. Like he really knew what he was doing. . . Because he was a player, right?

She craned her neck over her shoulder, looking back towards the pier. There was still no sign of him, but there were no taxis outside The Grand either, so she carried on walking. Fuck him. She wouldn’t go back to him, even if he begged. She deserved someone better.

She took another drag of her cigarette, then dropped it. She didn’t want to stink of smoke. She’d be home in fifteen minutes even if she walked the whole way. If her mum was still up, there’d be hell to pay. Smoking. Staying out late. She could never do anything right – her mum treated her like she was still a kid. Then she remembered – her parents were away and she’d be going home to an empty house. She ground out the butt with her foot, then slipped off her heels and picked them up. The pavement was hot under her bare feet, and she had a sudden urge to feel the cooling balm of wet sand between her toes. She headed down a ramp that led from the promenade onto the beach, scurrying across the pebbles, gasping aloud at the sharp stones underfoot, until she reached the soft sand at the water’s edge. She looked up at the town, walking back along the beach a little way until she could see the floodlit domes of the Pavilion. Then the bright lights of the pier made her feel even lonelier.

The sand was deserted. Just a broken deckchair and a line of litter at the highwater mark. Tash started to cry again as she turned back to head for home. The noise of the waves raking the gravel drowned out the sound of her sobbing. She didn’t want to break up with Alex. They had fun together, they had amazing sex. Having a boyfriend like him made her feel good about herself. And what would happen when she went back to college in September? If they broke up, how would she bear having to see him every day, hanging out with those slags who were always pushing themselves at him?

With a sniff, she wiped her eyes and kept walking. Up on the road, the traffic had all but disappeared and there was no one else out walking at this time of night. That was a good thing, wasn’t it? She shivered and started to wish she hadn’t been so impulsive. Maybe if she’d acted cool and hadn’t shoved the bitch, she’d still be at the club with Alex . . .

A hundred yards ahead, she could see the intricate silhouette of the Victorian bandstand, jutting out above the beach from the promenade. It reminded her of a wedding cake. She’d walked further than she thought, and she was cold now, but she still had quite a way to go. The moon vanished behind a cloud and it seemed instantly darker. She quickened her pace, moving away from the water’s edge – her feet were freezing.

She thought she heard something but she couldn’t work out what it was over the sound of the waves. A lone gull swooped inquisitively and then flew off with a screech. Tash gasped. It was nothing, but it unnerved her so she walked faster still, thinking of how bright and cosy her bedroom would be in a few minutes. She thought about how Alex would sprawl on her bed when her parents were out and what they got up to, always in a hurry in case her mother came home. God knows what would happen if they were ever caught.

Footsteps crunched on the stones behind her and she whipped round.

Alex?

A figure had materialised further down the beach, making a beeline for the water’s edge. He wasn’t looking at her, but she felt scared and headed back towards the promenade at the base of the bandstand. There were steps by the bandstand café that led back up to the street. She’d feel safer on the promenade, where the street lights would guide her home. She sat down on the bottom step to put on her shoes, brushing the sand off her feet with frenzied strokes.

A flare of bright, white pain exploded on one side of her head. Her shoes flew out of her hand and she tumbled forward. Her chin hit the paving.

What the hell?

She tasted blood in her mouth.

‘Alex?’

Two hands grabbed her by the ankles. She struggled but it was no good. The grasp around her legs tightened. She was being dragged over the rough stone surface. Panic stole her breath and made her dizzy.

She wanted to kick out at her attacker, but her legs and arms wouldn’t co-operate. Her head smacked against a low kerbstone. Pain ripped through her skull. She couldn’t focus her eyes, and tears were pouring down her cheeks. She screamed, tearing the back of her throat, but there was no one on the beach to hear her.

Who? Why? Half-formed questions bubbled into her brain.

‘Please,’ she spluttered. ‘Let me go.’

Her captor stopped pulling her along and released one of her ankles. She could see the dark silhouette of a man looming over her. Still holding the other ankle, he moved to one side of her. Then he took aim with a booted foot and kicked her in the ribs.

Venomous pain flooded her body and she couldn’t breathe.

A dark shadow cloaked her vision and her mind went blank.

i

19 July 1982

Your fifth birthday is a very exciting day, Aimée. Of course it is – all birthdays are. But especially turning five, because this afternoon you’re going to have your very own birthday party for the first time. There will be games and presents, and a cake shaped like a giant yellow sunflower. You were allowed to choose five girls from your class at school to invite and you’ve got a new dress. A red dress with satin bows, and shiny black sandals to wear with it, and Mummy’s going to put a red ribbon in your long black hair.

Your guests won’t be here for at least an hour, but already you’re practically sick with excitement.

Mummy has sent you to your room with a book. She’s too busy with party preparations to keep an eye on you. She’s quite snappy, so you’re glad to be out of her way. You get the feeling that she doesn’t really like parties. Not unless they’re grown-up parties, when she can have drinkies and do her fake laugh.

You’re bored with the book and your brother, Jay, won’t play with you. Yours is a girls-only party – no boys allowed. Jay said he doesn’t care and wouldn’t want to go to the party anyway. He called it a baby girls’ party. He has better things to do up in his room. You try to go in but he shoves you out and tells you to go away because he’s reading. Just because he’s four years older than you, he thinks he’s better than you. You know that’s not true.

But it means you have no one to play with now. You wish Jay wasn’t acting so stupid. You want him here to make you laugh, or even to tease you rotten. You sit on the window seat in your room and stare out of the window, tapping your foot anxiously as you wait for your first guests to arrive. You’re sure they’re late. You keep asking Daddy, ‘Shouldn’t they be here by now?’ This makes him laugh, which you don’t think is very nice of him.

At last, the doorbell rings.

Things don’t go well at the party. Isabella has decided she doesn’t want to be your friend any more. This might be because you fibbed to her about having a swimming pool in your garden and a pony. Now she just wants to be Bethany’s best friend. You’re sat next to Bethany to play pass the parcel and she won’t pass it to you quickly enough. The music stops and Bethany still has it, when you know it should have been your turn to unwrap the next layer.

‘Come on, Bethany,’ you say. Mummy glares at you.

Bethany unwraps the parcel as slowly as she can, making a face at you.

‘It’s not fair,’ you say.

‘Aimée, don’t shout!’ says Mummy.

Bethany sniggers loudly.

You pull Bethany’s hair. It’s not that bad, what you do, but Mummy sees you doing it and then Bethany, seeing that a grown-up’s watching, screams like a baby.

‘Aimée!’

Goodness, Mummy looks ugly when she’s cross. This makes you laugh and you pull Bethany’s hair again, just to hear her scream again. You pull harder this time to make her scream for real.

‘Valentine, she’s had too much sugar and too much excitement. Can you take her up to her room?’

This makes you furious. But worse is to come.

‘Bethany,’ says Mummy, ‘you are the winner of the game. You can unwrap the rest of the layers.’

Daddy picks you up. He knows how cross this will make you. You pummel his arm, then you start to cry. Up in your room, Daddy sits down on the bed, shifting you easily onto his lap.

‘Bethany’s a nasty girl, isn’t she?’ he says. ‘I saw her holding onto the parcel.’

Daddy always knows how to make you feel better and he practically never gets cross with you. He’s not like Mummy or Jay, who never have time for you and always have more exciting things to do. When Daddy’s home, he makes time for you. And he stops Mummy from being cross with you all the time. He’s your favourite person, always.

He lies down on your bed, even though his feet are too long for it, and gathers you in to a big hug. You begin to feel better.

‘Shhhhhh, princess, no need to cry.’ Daddy smells nice, better than Mummy. ‘There, there, princess. No harm done. We’ll go back down in a while and then you can say sorry to Bethany for pulling her hair.’

You hate this. You never want to say sorry.

‘Let’s just stay up here,’ you say.

Daddy laughs and holds you tight. So tight you can hardly breathe. He’s the best daddy in the world. Everybody says that. He presses you closer to him. It’s as if he never, ever wants to let go of you. You feel safe.

Until you hear Mummy’s footstep on the stairs.

3

Saturday, 12 August 2017

Marni

‘For God’s sake keep her talking, Alex,’ said Marni. ‘Tell her we’ll be there in a couple of minutes.’

She could hear a keening cry coming through Alex’s phone and pushed her foot down harder on the accelerator. It didn’t make any difference – she was already driving flat out. Ten minutes earlier, Alex had barged into her bedroom without knocking, dragged her out of bed and pulled her downstairs and out of the door.

‘Mum, we’ve got to help Tash!’ he shouted. There was a tremor in his voice and the hand clasping his phone was shaking. ‘She’s been attacked.’

‘How’d you know?’ said Marni, still groggy, pulling on a misshapen sweat top over crumpled pyjamas. With no time to check her blood sugar, she grabbed her insulin kit and followed him towards her car.

‘She just told me.’ Alex put the phone back to his ear. ‘We’re coming, Tash.’

Thierry, of course, had slept through the whole commotion. Not surprising given the amount of weed he’d smoked the previous evening, not to mention the half-bottle of Cognac he’d drunk.

Marni glanced at the clock on the car’s dashboard. It was just after half past six and the dawn light was struggling against a bank of dark clouds rolling in off the sea. Though there was traffic on the streets, it was light enough not to bog them down, and a couple of minutes later, Alex craned his neck out of the car window as the bandstand came into view.

‘Tash? Tash, are you there?’ Alex’s voice went up a pitch. ‘Mum, I think she’s passed out.’ He repeated her name again and again, louder and louder. ‘Should I call the cops?’

‘Wait till we get there and see what’s happened.’ Marni’s ill-ease about the police made her guts churn. Maybe it would be nothing. Maybe they wouldn’t need to call the police. But Tash’s piercing shrieks over the phone line hardly signified nothing. Marni gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles as her shoulder and neck muscles tightened.

She momentarily lost focus, then too late realised the van they were speeding up behind had stopped. She slammed on the brakes, and Alex jolted forward against his seatbelt.

‘Jesus, Mum!’ He closed his eyes and clutched the edge of his seat.

They sat in silence, waiting for the van to move again, but the driver’s door opened. It wasn’t going anywhere.

‘Sorry,’ said Marni, taking a deep breath before pulling out to pass the stationary vehicle. ‘What about Tash?’

Alex redialled her number. ‘Nothing.’ He tried again and again.

‘She just said she was at the bandstand? Anything else?’

‘She was crying – she’s hurt. Maybe badly.’ His voice cracked and his head dropped forward to his chest. He pressed his thumb and index finger into the corner of his eyes.

‘Weren’t you out with her last night?’

He looked up, sniffing. ‘She went home without me.’

Marni sighed. ‘You let her go home on her own? Was it late?’

Alex stared out of the window without speaking. He twisted his phone in his hands, unable to keep still.

‘Alex, what time was it?’

‘I don’t know, Mum. We had a row. We were in The Haunt and she stormed off.’

‘Well, you should have gone after her.’

‘I was going to . . .’ His voice tailed off.

‘The bandstand,’ said Marni. ‘Look.’

‘I don’t get it,’ he said, pointing. ‘It’s deserted.’

Marni pulled the car up in the first empty parking space, a few yards beyond, and Alex had the car door open before she’d even stopped.

‘Maybe she’s on the other side. Come on.’ He ran ahead.

The bandstand stood several feet higher than the main promenade and could be accessed by a small bridge with wrought iron railings. Steps also ran down from the promenade to the beach level, where underneath the bandstand there was a small tearoom, with a terrace overlooking the sea.

Given that the octagonal floor of the bandstand was empty, Marni and Alex ran straight for the steps down to the beach.

‘Tash?’ called Alex. ‘Are you there?’

There was no answer but as they drew closer to the café, Marni saw blood on the paving. Fear channelled through her body like lightning and her legs seemed suddenly too weak to carry her weight. She put out a hand to the bandstand wall to steady herself.

‘Look,’ she said.

‘Tash!’ called Alex again. He ran around the side onto the seafront terrace. ‘Oh my God! Mum, she’s here.’

As Marni rounded the corner, she saw her son bending over the prone figure of a girl. Blood stained the paving all around her.

‘I think she’s unconscious,’ said Alex. He knelt down and pulled her head onto his lap. Her long dark hair was matted with blood, her dress stained with it. Her hands, and her arms and legs were covered in it.

Marni looked at the amount of blood on the ground around her, then back at the girl. She must have multiple wounds. Her blood-spattered mobile lay next to her where she’d dropped it. Marni’s stomach contracted but she had to take charge.

‘Call an ambulance, Alex. I’ll find something to stop the bleeding.’

The blood trail came from the other side of the bandstand. It looked like Tash had crawled from that direction before she lost consciousness – trying to get away from her attacker or trying to get help? Marni ran to investigate. The door to the café was ajar and there was a bloody handprint on the doorframe. It looked to Marni as if someone had broken in.

‘Oh shit.’ Cold fear washed through her. What would she find inside?

Marni knew she shouldn’t go in – it was a crime scene. But she couldn’t let Tash lie there bleeding out – she’d already lost a lot of blood and the ambulance would take time to arrive. She gingerly pushed the door further open, using her elbow so she didn’t leave fingerprints. It was warm inside and the stench of blood hung heavily in the stale air. With daylight still just a smear in the eastern sky, the interior of the café was half dark. But Marni could see enough. Her breath caught in her throat – the place was a bloodbath. A pair of high-heeled sandals lay abandoned in the middle of the floor, one on its side, both stained with blood.

Tiptoeing carefully so she wouldn’t tread in any of a dark slick in the centre of the floor, her whole body shaking, Marni went around the back of the café’s glass counter. She needed to find something she could use to staunch Tash’s wounds. A frantic search of the drawers and cupboards turned up nothing useful, but then she saw a package of kitchen rolls on a shelf under the sink. Fingerprints be damned! She picked a clean knife out of a drawer of cutlery and sliced through the plastic outer wrapping.

‘Mum!’ called Alex from outside. ‘Hurry.’ There was desperation in his tone.

Marni came out of the café. She was sweating, suddenly conscious of the smell of her own body. She wanted nothing more than to retreat into a cool shower, to pretend this wasn’t happening.

‘Did you call the ambulance?’

‘It’s coming.’

She unrolled several sheets of kitchen towel and knelt down to press them against a wide gash just beneath Tash’s ribs. The girl stirred and whimpered as she did it.

‘Tash?’ said Alex.

Tash’s eyes opened and stared at him blankly. Her face was grey, with a shiny coating of sweat.

‘Tash?’ Alex’s voice faltered on his girlfriend’s name.

Marni took one of the girl’s bloody hands, and with her other hand, stroked Tash’s hair back from her forehead.

‘Tash,’ she said softly, ‘can you tell us what happened?’

‘I . . . a man came at me from behind . . .’ She could barely manage a whisper. She looked at Alex as she said it, and shrank away from him.

Marni carried on pressing the paper against Tash’s side.

‘He must have stabbed her,’ she whispered to Alex.

God, what had she been through?

It was a serious attack – they needed to call the police. Marni felt light-headed. Could she bring herself to speak to DI Frank Sullivan? His rejection had hurt her, but that had been more than ten months ago and now she was back with Thierry. Maybe she wouldn’t have to deal with him. After all, his beat was murder, and as serious as Tash’s wounds were, she was very much alive.

‘Mum? Mum?’

She glanced back at Alex. ‘What?’

‘Look!’ He was holding Tash’s hands, palm up. ‘What are these?’ In the centre of both of Tash’s palms were deep pits that looked to have been gouged out with a blade. Her hands were completely covered with blood as if she was wearing red gloves. ‘And her feet . . .’

Marni looked down.

Tash Brady had similar wounds dug into the top of each foot.

Alex’s hands were shaking, making Marni look at her own. A dark fear swept through her. Tash’s bag had been lying on the floor of the tearoom – it hadn’t been taken. This was no ordinary mugging – this attack, these wounds, signified something.

Tash suddenly stiffened and tried to free. . .