Long Way Home

Book 0: An Olivia Knightley Thriller

by Paula Lennon

Genres: General Fiction; Crime Fiction

Synopsis

Private investigator Olivia Knight has finally pressed pause on her busy schedule and regained some work-life balance - for the next three weeks. The ink on her divorce papers is barely dry, so she promises to take her sixteen-year-old daughter Amy travelling across the US. But no sooner than they arrive at a campground populated with other 'van lifers' and nomads, they discover a violent murder scene that shakes the community.

Enter special agent Jack Tyler, head of the Investigative Services Branch - known to some as the FBI of the National Park Service. He leads the bare-bones taskforce handling the most complex crimes committed on National Park land. Jack has been tracking this killer for months to no avail.

Olivia knows she might just be the silver bullet he's been looking for. She's used to running things her way, however, not pausing to explain herself to anyone, as her ex-husband is always keen to remind her. But when Amy falls in with the wrong crowd, and Olivia realises the danger she's placed her in, she is forced to choose between protecting her daughter and stopping a killer in their tracks.

Release date: July 1, 2023

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 400

Sample

OLIVIA KNIGHTLEY CLUTCHED the steering wheel, pressed her back against the seat and willed her stomach to stay still. Why had she agreed to this? She should have stayed in London for the summer, which was predicted to be a long, hot one.

‘Mom, you’re driving like you’ve got a flat tyre.’

‘No, I’m driving like a person should drive who’s never driven in America before and wants to stay alive.’

Olivia was relieved to be on the ground after the long non-stop flight from London Heathrow to Denver. She had sought distraction through the in-flight magazine, comedy shows, an adventure novel and occasional small talk with Amy. Luckily, the temporary nausea she experienced as the landing gear was released and the ground rushed up to meet them passed quickly once they were on solid ground.

She kept her eyes straight ahead. Driving on the wrong side of the road was something she would never get used to, and ahead lay a daunting twelve-hour drive to their destination. Even worse, the SUV, the colour of which the car hire company described as ‘tangerine tango’, was hauling a large caravan, and she was fully conscious of the extra weight. When visiting the East Coast as a carefree solo traveller many years ago, she had taken cabs and buses everywhere. Now she was heading west, accompanied by her sixteen-year-old daughter Amy, and for the Colorado-to-Iowa road experience, your own wheels were a must-have. Olivia had let Amy programme the sat-nav, and she took some comfort from the calm, robotic voice directing her along the unfamiliar route.

A knee brushed against hers.

‘Mom, you can press the pedal, you know,’ said Amy. ‘We might just reach the campsite some time this decade. You drive like a maniac all over England, following people to God knows where. No need to crawl around in this country.’

‘I’ve never gone above thirty miles an hour in England with you in the car.’

‘You’re in denial.’

For the past four years, Olivia had worked as a private investigator and was always on the way to somewhere. Some days, she was on her feet, bumping shoulders with passengers on the busy London Underground, or shivering in the wind and rain on railway platforms open to the elements. Most days, she was behind the wheel of her trusty Ford Focus, trying to avoid accidents while keeping sight of a target.

Olivia frowned. ‘When have you ever seen me speeding anywhere?’

‘You could wallpaper the entire IMAX cinema with the tickets you’ve collected, Mom. Your last one? Clocked doing thirty-five on Croydon Road, in a twenty zone.’

As she pulled up at a stoplight, Olivia squinted at her daughter, taking in her indignant face. She admired the tiny freckles on her brown skin, and the head full of thick, black hair that she liked to wear in cornrows all the way down her back. Amy could be quiet and moody sometimes, practically inevitable for a teenager. Olivia had learned to be grateful for any attempt at conversation led by her daughter, but this dig annoyed her, as all her tickets were hidden in one place. With great effort, she kept her tone even. Starting a three-week summer holiday with a fight would be a bad idea and could ruin everything.

‘I asked you to keep out of my study, Amy. I try to protect you from seeing and reading things you really don’t need to know about. I wish I didn’t have to bring work home, but I can’t do it all in the office with Bill around.’

The office, Dynamic Investigations Agency, occupied a prominent spot on the high street in Kennington, London, two miles from their family home in Camberwell. Bill Tweedy was Olivia’s boss, a demanding type with whom she held face-to-face meetings once a week. She was grateful Bill had shown faith in her by inviting her to join him when he set up on his own, and had been delighted to leave her old job, which is where they’d first met: the accident claims department of a corporate mill in the Docklands, where she spent excruciating days inside a tiny grey cubicle.

Her private-eye work involved investigating civil, criminal and domestic cases, and sometimes placed her in hairy situations, but it was much more interesting. Tracking down a missing child in a bitter custody case was a highlight, particularly since the police had given up after two years and let the case go cold.

The stoplight turned green and Olivia pulled away at a quicker pace, hoping to avoid further criticism. ‘My work is supposed to be strictly private and confidential. My clients wouldn’t like it if they thought anybody else knew what I was investigating.’

‘Can’t blame a girl for being curious,’ said Amy. She adjusted the air-con, which was on full blast, turning it down. ‘You come home, walk through the front door and hide away in a small room, only coming out to check the microwave.’

Olivia winced. It was true she would never be a contender for Mother of the Year. She glanced at her ring finger, now minus the gold band that had been there for seventeen years. Placed there by Christopher Knightley, it had been discarded by Olivia three months ago. ‘I’ve been doing much better, haven’t I? Give me that, at least?’

‘Dad doesn’t lock any doors in his new apartment. It’s big. Two huge bedrooms, two bathrooms. Plenty of living space, no separate study.’

‘Sounds lovely.’ Olivia forced a smile. ‘Anyway, what would a games designer be doing with a private room? There’s no need to protect your precious eyes from anything on his screen or in his workspace. My work isn’t bright visuals and cool layouts, you know. Some of my cases are brutal, especially the domestic violence ones.’

‘I’m sure I see far worse on TV shows.’

‘You see corn syrup and food dye on television,’ said Olivia. ‘Anyway, who wants to talk about work? We’re getting away from it all, remember?’

‘Yeah, I know your idea of getting away from it all. That April weekend in Brighton was meant to be “getting away from it all”. Ten minutes after getting there, you were following behind a man you swore had picked a woman’s pocket.’

‘It wasn’t ten minutes; it was half an hour.’

‘It was embarrassing. Fancy pouncing on a man putting his own wallet into his girlfriend’s handbag.’

‘Agreed, it wasn’t my best moment.’

Olivia recalled that the couple had been nice about it and laughed it off. Amy was the one who had been outraged at the whole thing, sulking her way through the trip and declaring it the Worst Weekend Ever. Olivia wished she had made better use of those fleeting forty-eight hours, which covered the first weekend after the divorce had been finalised. Amy had shown her resentment of the family implosion by blasting music, slamming doors, refusing to wash dishes and dumping clothes everywhere. The idea was that a mini-break to the seaside would help. It didn’t – and Olivia blamed herself.

‘I won’t be following any suspected pickpockets in America, I promise. You’re going to have the time of your life.’

Amy peered out the passenger side window. ‘The size of some of these vehicles, Mom. I thought we had it bad in London with the Chelsea tractors, but look at all these monster trucks.’

‘They do everything bigger over here. Not necessarily better, though.’

‘We’re the only ones driving a tangerine with four wheels, so I guess the joke’s on us.’

‘Hey, it’s a new model and we got a good deal. Be grateful.’

‘I am grateful. Extremely grateful that the caravan is just plain white.’

Olivia smiled. She was looking forward to these three weeks of freedom. Now Chris could not just stop by the house unannounced. She had been flooded with relief when he finally agreed that Amy could leave the country for America after weeks of putting all kinds of improbable obstacles in the way of her holiday plans. Multiple pile-ups and carnage on the highways was a thing, he said. Dangerous wild animals roamed around freely and could attack at will. Americans were always firing guns and were not particular about the targets.

Olivia rolled her eyes at the memory. Had she known for a second what horrors tomorrow would bring, she would have done a U-turn and headed right back to safety. Blissfully unaware of fate’s plans, she smiled and kept driving.

‘All I know is they better have good wi-fi at Hawkeye like they promised,’ said Amy.

‘You can go a couple of days without the internet, can’t you?’

‘No – are you crazy? I have to know what everybody is doing and where they’re going. I’d die if I couldn’t connect.’

‘When I was your age, we didn’t even have a telephone in the house – and no one had a mobile phone.’

‘Yeah, the olden days must have been rough.’

They had picked up groceries and camping supplies at a supermarket. Two stops were made for bathroom breaks, and to grab oversized beef burgers and sodas to go. As they returned to the SUV, Amy settled into the passenger seat. Olivia climbed in and closed the door, her attention fixed on balancing the drinks in the cup holders between the front seats. A cardboard sign slammed against her windscreen, darkening the interior of the vehicle. Startled, Olivia jerked around and, with shaking hands, locked the doors. She stared at the holder of the sign, a man in tattered clothes. On the cardboard, in bold black letters, was a request for cash. A panhandler. She released a breath.

‘Wow! He nearly scared the life out of me,’ said Amy.

‘Me too.’

The man removed the sign, rattled a tin can and shouted, ‘Spare some coins, please?’

‘Not today, sorry.’ Olivia pulled away, watching as the man approached another vehicle.

‘Could have given him a few coins, Mom.’

‘No way. He’s in dirty clothes, but I could smell cologne. His hands are clean, his nails are pristine. Those teeth belong to a regular at the dentist. I bet he’s got nice wheels hidden away nearby. For some people, panhandling is their career and it pays the rent.’

‘Trust you to see all that.’

Olivia drove on. As the hours ticked by, she pushed thoughts of the conman out of her mind. Plenty of other things were competing for attention in her brain, as much as she tried to push those aside too. It was hard not to think about work.

Amy held a cup of soda close to her mother and Olivia took a long sip through the straw. ‘You know, you’re frowning really hard, Mom. Relax. If you just pretended we were in England, you’d have an easier time around the wheel.’

‘My love, if we were in England, what’s going through my head right now wouldn’t be any different.’

Olivia could not burden her daughter with her problems. The last in-person meeting she’d had with Bill had not been good. The life of a private investigator was not always exciting or fulfilling. There were not enough hours in the day, and those that were available could be tedious. Sometimes, things went badly wrong. Sometimes, the wronged sued. Clients could turn against you in the blink of an eye, and so could the targets of those clients. It would be a miracle if there was not at least one lawsuit waiting when they got back to London. She vowed to keep her troubles to herself and make the most of the mother-daughter time they had together.

Had the choice been Olivia’s, she would have flown straight into Iowa rather than endure such a lengthy drive from Colorado. It was Amy who had planned this trip from scratch. Amy who had suggested a road trip around American campsites would be a great idea and selected their destinations. Amy who had decided it would be fun to mix with nomads and ‘get in touch with nature’, as she put it. Their first stop would be a campsite at Hawkeye Point, a flat, lush, green range offering panoramic views of the Iowa landscape. From the online advertisements, the campground looked vast and attractive, with twelve camping sites. The plan was to spend a few days at camp before taking to the road again. Their next destination would be Steer Creek Campground, near Nebraska National Forest, then they’d go onto the Yellowstone Loop, taking in Wyoming’s famous Yellowstone National Park. The final week would be spent at Topanga State Park in Los Angeles.

Olivia had manufactured enthusiasm and gone along with Amy’s infectious excitement, but it was not her idea of a good holiday. She would have preferred somewhere tropical, like Jamaica, where her parents were born and laid to rest. Where she could sit on a sun-kissed beach in front of glorious blue seas and let the eager hairstylists braid her hair while she sipped coconut water and listened to reggae music. Jamaica had been the last family holiday for the three of them before things fell apart for good, a sort of last attempt at playing happily families. The holiday had been enjoyable, with plenty of distractions and fun activities that helped to disguise the problems temporarily. Olivia felt guilty that Amy, misled by all the cheerful civility, had obviously thought everything was going wonderfully well. Amy had happily taken selfies of the three of them smiling on sandy beaches and standing under spectacular waterfalls, and sent them to her friends. The girl was blindsided when, a few months later, her father moved out. For Olivia, the feeling was sheer relief that he was gone, as the pretence had been so exhausting. An angry Amy had raged, embarrassed when her friends teased her for not seeing it coming. Those had been some pretty tense days, and Olivia sensed that resentment was always simmering beneath the surface.

She shot a quick glance at her daughter. ‘You alright, baby girl?’

‘Oh Mom, come on. I keep telling you not to call me that.’

Olivia sighed. She had slipped up yet again. ‘I forgot, sorry. Time really flies. It’s like yesterday you were four.’

‘Just think, soon I’ll be old enough to have my own apartment.’

Olivia winced inside. ‘Hold the soda up for me, please.’

She had three whole weeks to make things much better, and she intended to follow through.

The sign at their destination read ‘HAWKEYE POINT CAMPGROUND – PUBLIC WELCOME’. Olivia had never driven such a long distance in her life and was thankful to have made it in one piece. Her arms were numb and her knees impatient to be flexed. Weary, she pulled into the campground as the sun faded on the horizon.

The site was as well-kept as the website had described. She followed the wide road leading to their reserved campsite, passing under imposing trees set in low-cut grass, and a sprinkling of picnic tables. The cars, motor homes and camper vans were evenly placed throughout the grounds. Olivia had expected to see a few tents among the vehicles, but there were none in sight. Pets were allowed; she observed a chocolate Labrador, which ignored their slow-moving vehicle and continued playing with a stick.

‘Park Tango over there, Mom.’ Amy pointed out a suitably large vacant area. ‘There’s lots of space for the caravan, too.’

‘Looks good. We won’t be too close to anybody.’

Olivia climbed out of the driver’s seat and stretched towards the sky to ease her aching limbs. She then bent double and touched her toes. Amy followed suit and swung her body from side to side.

‘You guys had one hell of a journey, huh?’

The approaching woman had thinning grey hair that hung in a limp ponytail. A broad smile covered her well-lined face.

‘That obvious, eh?’ said Olivia.

‘Hi, I’m Darcy.’ She stopped at a respectable distance, hands on hips. ‘How’re you doing?’

‘Very well, thanks Darcy. I’m Olivia. This is my daughter, Amy.’

‘Hi, Amy.’ The woman waved a thin hand.

Amy stopped swaying and returned the gesture. ‘Hi, Darcy. Nice to meet you.’

The Lab ambled over, tail wagging, desperately trying to get Darcy to admire his stick. She patted his head. ‘Glad you made it before sundown. This place is much harder to find in the dark.’

‘It was touch and go.’ Olivia gazed around at the acres of green. ‘This is a beautiful, quiet area.’

‘Wow, I just love English accents. Don’t hear any of that around here.’

Olivia could not identify the woman’s drawl, and her sweats and slip-on shoes offered no clues. ‘Oh dear, and I was hoping we wouldn’t stand out too much.’

The woman took her time before giving a response. ‘There was a family here that left last week, kinda looked like you guys.’

Olivia realised that Darcy’s hesitation was born of a desire to avoid causing offence. She flashed the older woman a bright smile. ‘Drop-dead gorgeous, you mean?’

‘That too.’ Darcy grinned.

‘What’s your dog’s name?’ asked Amy.

‘That’s Ben. He doesn’t bark at strangers or bite. It’s okay; you can pet him.’

Amy made a fuss over the friendly dog. As Olivia watched, she was overcome by a wave of optimism for the days ahead. Her daughter was happy; the woes of London family life were behind them; the world was at peace. Everything was going to be alright. Amy threw the stick and followed a few paces behind the delighted dog, who galloped after it.

A door slammed and Olivia glanced in the direction of the sound, a silver-coloured travel trailer. A miniature die-cast Harley Davidson motorbike dangled from the bumper on a short chain. Men of a certain age wanted a Harley, but if a real one was beyond their price range, a toy was not a bad idea. The man who’d slammed the door was tall and well-tanned, with a strong jaw that looked as if it hadn’t seen a razor in weeks. He was dressed in black from head to toe. As their eyes met, he barely inclined his head. She nodded at him and stared at his broad back as he turned away.

‘Security guard or cat burglar?’ said Olivia with undisguised interest.

‘Seen a coyote I’d trust sooner than that one,’ replied Darcy with disdain. ‘Good to look at don’t mean good to taste.’

‘Wasn’t planning on biting him.’ Olivia stared after him. ‘Maybe I’ll just say hello.’

‘Trust me, he’s hiding from something or someone.’

‘Aren’t we all?’ murmured Olivia.

She decided against trying to get the stranger’s attention for the time being. If he came over to talk to them, great. If not, well, there was always tomorrow.

The Hawkeye Point nomads turned out to be a welcoming bunch. Olivia and Amy met a wide array of Americans from East Coast to West Coast and everywhere in between. Darkness set in unnoticed as they mingled and talked. They ate ribs and steaks with peppers and tomatoes straight off the barbecue grill, the savoury, smoky odour filling the night air. Some were families who had been on the road for years and could not imagine being rooted in one place. A few were young couples, digital nomads enjoying a different lifestyle away from the rat race, earning a decent living while avoiding urban fumes. Others were in-state visitors, groups of friends on a short getaway from the grey concrete and shiny skyscrapers of Des Moines.

Too full for another bite, Olivia waved away the chef’s offer of grilled s’mores. Amy made room for the dessert, her expression one of pleasure as the gooey, hot marshmallow-and-chocolate mix disappeared between her lips.

Olivia caught a flash of light and gazed at the dense trees, wondering if it was her imagination. She thought she saw a shadow of a person, but every object became the shadow of a person at night. Anyway, even if it was someone, this was a safe area, and wandering around at night was something the nomads probably felt quite comfortable doing. Maybe one of them had just grabbed a torch and gone exploring. She wondered if it was the mystery man; he had not joined in with the meal, and there was no light coming from his trailer. Soon, she fell back into easy conversation with the others, grateful that there were no rain clouds around to dampen the lively spirits.

By the time they turned in, Olivia had warmed to the idea of spending time in this amiable community and looked forward to a great holiday. Amy’s choice was a good one after all.

OLIVIA OPENED THE caravan door and the cool morning air rushed in, bringing with it the fresh smell of dew on leaves. The sun was barely visible as a sliver of bold orange above the trees. She pulled on her trainers and vowed never to think of them as sneakers, despite being in America. She descended the three small steps to the ground. Amy jumped from the top step and followed behind her. They planned to take an energetic walk around the outskirts of the campsite to work up an appetite for breakfast.

Olivia caught a glimpse of a belly-button ring below Amy’s tank top as the girl stretched. This addition to her daughter’s anatomy was new, and had never been seen or mentioned. Olivia pasted a smile on to her face and resolved to bring up the subject later on.

She gestured with her chin. ‘Let’s follow the path down that way.’

‘Nice and empty,’ said Amy. ‘We might spot some shy animals.’

Olivia thought it was just as well Amy did not know that the idea of encountering a shy animal had already crossed her mother’s mind. The path in question would take them past the mysterious man’s camping vehicle. Olivia had learned that his name was Rick Seagal, but none of the campers seemed to know much else about him.

She slowed her pace as they approached the trailer. The chassis was old, its many dents and scratches evidence of a rough life and poor care. The door was wide open, an invitation Olivia could not resist. Couldn’t hurt to introduce herself, since she hadn’t been able to last night.

She veered off the path and raised her voice. ‘Hello!’

Other than birds singing in the elm trees, the silence was near complete.

‘Come on, Mom, nobody’s in there,’ said Amy impatiently, continuing to walk. ‘They’ve probably gone for an early walk too.’

Olivia could not imagine Mr Brooding taking a stroll through the campsite to enjoy the dawn chorus. By all accounts, he kept himself to himself. Maybe it took a persistent person to get him out of his shell, and Olivia felt up to the challenge.

She approached the door and tentatively placed a foot on the bottom step. ‘Hello! Rick, is it?’

‘Er, Mom?’ shouted Amy. ‘You might want to come around here!’

‘Give me a minute, love. I want to say a quick hello to our new neighbour.’

Had she not been so focused on her goal, Olivia would have noticed that her daughter’s previously breezy tone had become sober. Instead, she leaned into the trailer. Paper plates and food boxes littered the countertop, next to a couple of beer bottles, and a strong odour of stale savoury food filled the space. The pull-out bed was bare, the sheets piled up in a corner. The owner was clearly absent, but Olivia was determined to satisfy her curiosity about his humble home.

‘Mom, say what you like to him. Quick or not, he’s not gonna answer.’

This time, Olivia detected the change in her daughter’s voice. ‘What?’

She turned abruptly and walked around the outside of the trailer. She noted in passing that the emblem was missing from the bumper, the miniature Harley die-cast that had caught her eye last night.

That was the least of her discoveries. A breath caught in her throat as her brain fought to process the unwelcome sight. Rick lay on his back in the grass, his face ashen, blank green eyes staring unseeing at the skies. Surrounding his matted hair was a large pool of dark red blood. The broad handle of a knife protruded from his neck, the business end buried in his flesh. His lips were parted as if his speech had been cut short, and his arms and legs were wide apart as though frozen while making a snow angel. Mud-caked waterproof boots pointed to the heavens.

‘Amy, get back!’ ordered Olivia.

Amy rubbed her throat self-consciously, but made no move to retreat. Olivia’s stomach churned. The last dead body she’d encountered had been that of a man who had been pushed off the roof at a building site. That crushed, bloodied body would never leave her memory, even though it had happened nearly a year ago. She’d hoped such grisly scenes were behind her for good, and had never imagined it would happen again, thousands of miles across the pond. Everything within her wanted to believe that this was a mannequin and not the person she had been so eager to meet.

‘Amy, I need you to move away!’

‘He’s way past being able to hurt me, Mom.’ Amy cleared her throat as she retrieved her mobile phone from her shorts pocket. ‘So, it’s nine-one-one, not nine-nine-nine, then?’

Olivia was surprised yet relieved that Amy was maintaining her cool. Not even a stifled scream. Regardless, she wanted her daughter away from the gruesome scene. She pointed. ‘They must have a security post here. Check the notice board for a number. Go, quick!’

As Amy ran off in the direction indicated, Olivia quashed the revulsion that ran through her entire body and went into private-eye mode. She crouched beside Rick’s still body. No point checking for a pulse, as the unmistakable smell of death was heavy in the air. Her finger barely brushed his forehead. Stone cold. He was clothed in the same black jeans and black long-sleeved polo shirt he’d been wearing last night. The previous day had been hot and the night warm. Why would anyone dress in thermal gear with the temperature in the mid-eighties?

After a quick glance around to ensure no one was watching, she rolled up one of his sleeves. She checked his bare arm and returned his clothing to its original position, then did the same with the other arm. Tattoos on both. She undid the two top buttons on his blood-soaked collar and stared at the strange mark a few inches below his neck. An indent rather than a tattoo, it bore more resemblance to what a branding iron would do. Sweat pooled in her underarms, soaking through her cotton vest.

She looked towards the notice board. Amy was talking to a man and woman while gesturing with her hands. More and more campers were leaving their motor homes to see what the commotion was about. Any minute now, Olivia would have company. Swiftly, she buttoned Rick’s damp shirt and wiped the tips of her soiled fingers on the grass.

St. . .