Raw Material

Book 2: The Beatrice Stubbs Series

by JJ Marsh

Genres: International Crime & Mystery; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

British crime fiction where characters become people and place is part of the story.

Ever feel like you're being watched?

London 2012. A Portuguese cleaner under a railway bridge. Two schoolgirls on a canal bank. A French student at a bus stop. All victims of the same serial offender.

This predator must be stopped before he turns rapist. But how do you catch someone who prowls the London Underground, leaving no more trace than a shadow?

From wild Welsh beaches to the underpasses of London, Beatrice uncovers the darker side of human nature.

Each book works as a stand-alone novel.

If you enjoy Ann Cleeves, Peter Grainger and Peter James, you'll love Raw Material.

Release date: December 3, 2013

Publisher: Prewett Bielmann Ltd.

Print pages: 291

Sample

Chapter 1

 Twenty minutes after the alarm blasted her out of a profound sleep, Fernanda dragged on her uniform and locked the flat. Her eyes were open but yet to wake. She trudged down the path in the dark, squeezed past the wheelie bins and out onto Biggerstaff Street. The cleaning contractors’ depot was a good half hour away. Thirty minutes walking in the cold would liven her up, as it did every morning. Not much movement on Fonthill Road. She gave a long, creaking yawn, before getting into a determined stride towards the Tube station. Her teacher had taught the class a new expression this week – no rest for the wicked. She liked that. Sounded like there was some fun involved.

   Despite her fatigue, her main feeling was one of relief and optimism. Luis would sleep until she returned. His fever had broken and now came the easy part. And Rui could answer any fretful calls. He was a caring man. A fine father and such a kind husband, insisting she go to bed at midnight and taking over the watch. She was grateful; three hours’ sleep was better than none. 

   The railway bridges loomed above and Fernanda picked up her pace. These new lights meant you could see the length of the tunnel, check there was no one waiting in the shadows – no one following some paces behind – and relax as you walked. Fernanda never relaxed. She scurried under those bridges as fast as she could without running. Denim on her inside legs brushed a regular beat, while her heels ticked in syncopation. The street lights at the other end beckoned her to safety and her breathing was short. She was awake now – eyes, ears, everything. Clearing the last of the bridges, some of her tension dissolved and she began to climb the ascent to the main street. That was when she heard the voice.

   “Hello. I’ve been waiting for you.”

   She snapped around, her breath tiny, fearful puffs. There was no one behind her. The sodium light created shadows on the banks rising from the underpass, but she could be sure no human shape hid there. Electric pulses buzzed through her, even between her fingers. She turned and began hurrying away, just short of a run.

   “Aren’t you even going to say hello?”

   She whipped back, the voice so close, so intimate. A light clicked on. Her eyes flew upwards. Balanced on the railway bridge, above the security camera, a man stood with a torch in his hand. A baseball cap kept his face in darkness, but his naked white thighs and abdomen were exposed in the torchlight. One hand provided the illumination, the other worked rhythmically at his groin. The images took their time to reach Fernanda’s consciousness. He grunted, like Luis passing a stool, and something spat onto the tarmac near her feet. These random elements connected in her frightened mind and she realised what she was watching.

   Her stomach contracted and bile rose. She turned to run, tears of shame filling her eyes, when she heard his satisfied voice.

   “Thank you, darling. See you tomorrow?”

   She finally stopped running on Seven Sisters Road and vomited at a bus stop. The birds were singing.