Their Silent Graves

Book 7: Detective Gina Harte

by Carla Kovach

Genres: General Fiction; Mystery; Police Procedurals; Noir; Thrillers; Crime Fiction; Psychological Thrillers; Supernatural suspense; Suspense

Synopsis

Cherie sees the anger on her husband’s face. She’s late home from work. Again. He’s always like this when she doesn’t call, and she’s scared he wouldn’t believe her even if she could tell him the truth.

‘I called in to see Mum on the way home.’

Cherie didn’t visit her mum, but she can’t say where she’s been. It’s a secret that, if told, could ruin the lives of everyone around her. But recently somebody has started sending her messages. Somebody knows what Cherie has done and they’re ready to tell.

When a body of a young man, connected to Cherie’s past, is found in a shallow grave in a nearby woodland, she is certain the killer is sending her a message. And when her closest school friend then goes missing, her worst fears are realised. Someone wants revenge and they’re going to do everything they can to get it.

If you like Angela Marsons, Cara Hunter and Clare Mackintosh, you’ll love this heart-racing thriller from bestselling author, Carla Kovach. With gripping suspense and a twist you won’t see coming, Their Silent Graves will have you hooked from page one.

Release date: September 17, 2020

Publisher: Hachette UK - Bookouture

Print pages: 380

Sample

Prologue

Friday, 27 September

 

‘Hey, get my buddy here a pint and pour me another one while you’re at it.’ Terry sniffed, before wiping away the touch of white powder that was irritating the bottom of his nose.

He slapped me on the back, almost knocking me over as I went to sit on the bar stool. I didn’t mind, not while he was dishing out the freebies like there was no tomorrow. I glanced around and nodded at the others, mostly older men. I wasn’t the only one who was enjoying his drunken generosity. It looked like the party had been going on for a while now. My mouth watered as I inhaled the hoppy smell. ‘Thanks, Terry. You’re a gentleman.’ He’s far from it; I don’t know why I said that. It just seemed like the right thing to say.

‘I know I am. I just wish the bitch at home felt the same, my man; but that’s women for you.’ As the server bent over to grab another glass, I saw Terry leering. ‘What you doing later, love? Maybe you and me, we could do things that would have you howling with the wind in pleasure. All the fun with no strings. You know you want to.’ He stuck his tongue out several times before winking.

The woman rolled her eyes and stood, pulling her skirt down as she stepped over to the other side of the bar to pull their pints.

‘Have one yourself, you always do.’

‘I’m okay thank you, and no I don’t.’ She turned away.

‘She’s an ungrateful bitch just like my wife. The key is to stay ahead of them, all the time. Show them their place and if they try to step outside of it, drag them back by the hair. Be in control.’ He grinned and sniffed again.

I let out a wry smile and a slight huff. My takings have been down this month – not enough people are dying. I’m just ticking by. Don’t get me wrong; people are spending less on coffins than ever. I supply quality goods, the most beautiful bespoke boxes that people can rest in for eternity. Rubbing my fingers together, I flinch at the splinters and callouses. I’m not just a carpenter, I’m an artist. I sculpt the wood. I enjoy the feel of it and treat it with love.

Terry gave me a nudge. ‘I mean, that bitch dared to answer me back so what did I do? I left her in the shed. She has to know that she can’t get away with speaking down to me.’

He’s now grinning at me as the server plonks my pint down. ‘Thanks, Terry.’ I take a sip.

‘Might leave her in there all weekend until she learns her lesson. When I let her out, she’ll be so grateful, if you know what I mean. It does wonders for our relationship.’ He winked again.

He has no idea what respect is. Everyone around here knows where she gets her bruises from, but we pretend to be his buddy. Why? I don’t know. A sense of unease washes over me. I should say something, tell someone, but I won’t just like no one else here will. They could call the police or social services, but they won’t. We won’t. We ignore other people’s problems in exchange for free drinks at the pub. We live by an unwritten code of not grassing on our fellow man. That’s just what we seem to do.

‘I’m going to go home and see to ma bitch!’ He guzzles down the pint and slams it on the bar. ‘Me and her have got some unfinished business. I’m going to show her who’s boss. Bye, sexy, you’ve got my number. Call me.’ He staggers to the door and flings it open, almost falling as he leaves.

‘I don’t think so.’ The server leans over the bar. ‘Why do you all encourage him?’ The others turn away and get back to their conversations and games of cards and dominoes.

I recoil, scrunching my nose. ‘Encourage him? I don’t.’

‘Whatever. You accept him buying you drinks, you say nothing when he’s rude to people, mostly women. And the way he speaks about his wife, don’t get me started. You know something, you’re just as bad as him. You’re just as bad as them.’ She points to the others, throws the beer mat onto the bar and turns away from us all. I shrug and turn to them. I can see a couple of them grinning and one of them puts two fingers up at her back.

I grip the pint and I want to throw it. As I try to swallow a gulp, it doesn’t taste as it should. I could stop her suffering. I could stop it right now. I could follow Terry home and I could call the police when he goes for the woman. I imagine her, locked in a cold, wet shed, shivering. I knock my pint over as I leave.

‘Thanks for that,’ the server calls as I run through the fog, catching up with Terry. My heart pounds. If anyone ever treated my daughter, niece or sister in that way, I’d kill them. I’d go guns blazing, like Billy the Kid. Straight in there with a bullet to his head.

I can’t stand by and do nothing…

 

Chapter One

Halloween

 

‘Where am I? Help! Let me out.’ She began to feel around in the dark, flinching as something sharp pierced the skin that divides nail and finger. ‘Let me out!’ Banging on her surrounds, she hoped that someone was listening. With quickened breath, she tried to turn one way, then another. With every turn she bumped her elbow, toe or knee.

As she went to wiggle, she cried out as the muscle in her neck tugged, sending a sharp pain across her shoulder. Cold so cold and damp, and trapped. With trembling fingers she felt the gritty rainwater that had soaked into her midriff, right through to her tights and underwear. Each muscle burned with every shiver and she couldn’t feel her toes. This couldn’t be happening. Maybe it was all a dream and she was snuggled up in bed.

She inhaled sharply as a tear rolled down the side of her face, then she wheezed as if someone had stamped on her chest. This wasn’t a dream. She banged and kicked until the sound of her toe cracking sent a sickening wave through her body. While struggling to breathe, she grappled for anything but there was nothing to grab hold of. Even though she couldn’t see, she knew her head was spinning. The constant throbbing as blood pulsated through her body threatened to deafen her. Her head was going to explode with the boom, boom of blood whooshing through it. Banging and kicking, this was her last chance to escape before her own lights went out. She closed her eyes – not that that made any difference – and she willed the spinning to end. Her chattering teeth felt as though they’d shatter if she didn’t try to stop them.

‘Stop.’ She forced herself to inhale, hold her breath, and then exhale. A few moments later, her mind was beginning to clear. What did she know? She was in a box made of wood, old damp wood. She ran her fingers over the rough grain and let out a small cry as another splinter pierced her fingertip. Someone had hurt her, maybe hit her over the head, if the constant pounding was anything to go by; then they had placed her in something wooden… a box, a… a coffin. Screaming, she hit the sides and the roof.

‘Help, let me out.’ Tears spilled out and her nose filled. As she continued thumping everything, she felt a weak spot in just one part of the wood, the part above her belly that was leaking. Thudding and pressing, she managed to crack a piece. As she pushed at it, harder and harder, gasping for breath, she felt a tickle on her midriff that made her jump. If only there was a little bit of light, then maybe she could take a good look at where she was and what was on her now. Her mind filled with large eight-legged freaking spiders, woodlice, worms, centipedes; everything that gave her the creeps at home. She was never able to deal with creepy crawlies; her parents had often had to come to the rescue.

With trembling hands, she reached out and screamed as she grabbed a handful of earth. It’s just earth, not a spider. Wait – wasn’t that worse? She’d cracked the box and now it was filling up with mud and grit and… water. She could hear a drip, drip, dripping, as it seeped through the gap – the coffin would fill up and she’d drown.

Do something. Think, think. A whirl of thoughts flooded her mind in what felt like lightning speed. Do what? She banged on the roof and then came the thud, followed by muffled laughter. There was someone out there, watching and enjoying her misery. She’d already called for help and they’d done nothing. They were leaving her to die. Whoever was out there wasn’t there to help; they were enjoying the show far too much to end it. Running her fingers through her pockets, she pulled out a box and traced its contents with her fingers. A mighty shiver ran down her spine, causing her to jerk and kick the wood with her toes. She screamed out as one of her toenails pushed into skin with full force. The earthy smell in the little box turned into another smell she recognised. Matches – she fiddled around with the contents – there were three.

She placed a match between her teeth as she fumbled to turn the matchbox, getting the sandpaper in the right position. The match slipped from her mouth, and the other two spilled out into her hair. Why had she been so clumsy? She could barely feel around her shoulders, her fingers were too numb and it was as if the box was closing in on her. Calm down. It had to be there, she could find it, logic told her that. A few seconds later, she had the match that had fallen from her mouth and she wasn’t going to let it go this time. With one strike, she lit it. As she’d guessed, she was in a box. The hole she’d made was miniscule but that wasn’t stopping the filthy water and earth from getting in. If she pushed at it even more, would she be drowned in earth? ‘Ouch.’ The match had burned down and scorched her index finger. She inhaled the sulphur dioxide that filled the tiny space. She knew that fire burned oxygen; science was one of her favourite subjects. She also knew that the oxygen in the box was limited and she’d run out soon. What she didn’t know was how long it took to suffocate when buried alive. Seconds, minutes, hours?

She hyperventilated as the muffled laughter came again. Breathe in and out, slowly. She closed her eyes and thought back to before. She hadn’t been hit over the head. It was coming back to her. She’d been pushed, then she fell headfirst into a rock. From that point, she couldn’t remember anything. She rubbed her forehead with her gritty hand and flinched as she brushed the sticky wound. She let out a scream and hit the top of the box. Someone put her here. Who? She thought back to the evening but it was all a blur – only fragments of it flashed through her mind.

That was it. She’d been drinking some sort of blood red punch from a bowl. Everyone had been drinking it. The idea of the plastic floating eyeballs that had been bobbing on the top made her stomach turn as she thought about them.

Loud music.

A girl being sick in the kitchen sink while a group of boys passed around the funny smelling cigarette. They’d accused her of being a bore when she’d turned it down.

A neighbour wearing a dressing gown knocking, complaining about the noise.

People everywhere. Devils, witches, the Snow Queen, the skeleton-clad figures.

‘Don’t Cha’ by The Pussycat Dolls playing at top volume.

Falling up the stairs while trying to look for the toilet. Then stepping over a drunken sleeping boy who had lost his shirt.

A flash of a naked bottom-half sexy cat sitting on a vanity unit, being penetrated by Freddy Krueger. Her tail and leggings strewn across the bathroom floor and her cat ears were wonky. The girl telling her to shove off before throwing a hairbrush.

The sudden urge to get out. This wasn’t her scene. She’d tried, made an effort and now she wanted to go home, especially after everyone at the party had virtually ignored her, leaving her sitting alone in a corner. Her so-called friend had abandoned her as soon as they’d arrived.

Slipping down the stairs in her stripy leggings. She wished that she hadn’t dressed as a sexy witch, the outfit she’d chosen on the advice of her well-meaning newest friend. The one who’d ditched her as soon as they’d arrived at the house party. Her pointy shoes had long been discarded when she’d awkwardly tried to dance. She couldn’t find them. They’d gone.

A large tear began to well in the corner of her eye. Her lovely parents had told her to be safe and call them when she needed picking up. She didn’t tell them that she didn’t want to go to the party as she knew that she had to make the effort to fit in. Being a newbie to the area, that’s all she wanted.

Another image came back to her. It was when one of the boys was looking into her eyes just before he’d kissed her – her first kiss. Then he’d laughed at her with all his friends. She was nothing but a joke to them. Where had he gone? He’d left her, like all the others had.

Why had she left the party in tears? It would take more than a couple of people teasing her to make her cry. She had no trouble holding onto her sadness in a well-practised way, often letting it all out when she was alone in her bedroom. Maybe it was the alcohol in the punch.

She tried to swallow, then she coughed as her own saliva hit her windpipe.

There it was, the muffled laughter. The fact that she could hear them was good. She wasn’t buried too deep. It had to be a prank.

She let out a scream as a thud came from above. They were throwing more earth on the box.

She wanted to tell her family how much she loved them. She wanted to go back to their old house in Birmingham and talk to her best friend, Sasha, again; the same friend who’d since moved on and not answered any of her calls. She wanted to walk around the shops, breathe in the air, feel the rain dripping down her face; feel the frosty undergrowth crunching as she walked her terrier, Miffy, through the naked brambles. It was the little things she craved – even school. She wanted film night with her mum and dad, with popcorn and crisps. She didn’t want to die. She wasn’t ready. She hadn’t even had her first proper job or boyfriend. She’d never go to university or college or experience freshers’ week.

She felt the trickling earth that was now piling up on her tummy. She tried to bang again and again, barely getting any pressure behind her fists in the confines of the box. Would a group of partygoers all get her out and claim it was a Halloween prank? She forced her hand above her head and began to touch her surroundings again. Rough wood… and… wait— A piece of string was poking through the tiniest of holes. Her mind flashed back to how there used to be bells attached to string that led to the casket during historical outbreaks of cholera. That was it. This was a test, an initiation. Depending on how she handled this, she’d either be forever ridiculed or admired by her peers. The matchbox slipped from her other hand.

It was okay now. She knew how this worked. All she had to do was pull the string. A bell would ring and she’d be freed. The partygoers would be waiting for her and tell her it was just a joke.

‘Okay, I know what you’re doing. You can let me out now. Ha, ha, ha. It’s not funny any more.’ She’d play it cool, pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but it was. As soon as she was let out, she’d run as fast as she could, all the way home. She wanted nothing more to do with anyone she’d met at the party, or the one person who had claimed to be her new best friend.

The laughter started up again, but this time she couldn’t hear it as well and another spray of earth landed on the coffin. With numbing fingers, she reached for the string, taking two attempts to grab hold of it and wrap it around her wrist to gain some purchase. She began to pull over and over again, banging her elbow with each tug. The string slackened. She pulled it more and more, winding it around her two hands until the end flew through the hole with a final flick against her cheek.

All she wanted to do was cuddle Miffy and be in her bed. She dug what was left of her nails into the gap and felt the weight of the earth pressing on the wood above. She could see no way out. Goodbye Mum, Dad and Miffy.

 

 

Chapter Two

Monday, 26 October

‘I’m glad you could make it.’ DCI Chris Briggs sipped his coffee in their usual seat at Lucy’s Café. Even sitting down, he appeared tall. His greying brown mottled hair had flopped forward, giving him that off-duty look. At this precise moment, it didn’t feel like he was her boss and she was his detective inspector, they were just two friends having a coffee together.

Gina glanced at the fake cobwebs and pipe cleaner spiders that adorned the café windows, ready for Halloween. The new owners had done such a good job since taking over. ‘I’m glad you asked me to come.’ Gina waved a hand to the woman in the apron who was frantically cleaning the table that a family had just left.

‘Have you got any plans for your break yet?’ The coffee cup looked tiny in his shovel-like hand.

‘I have. I’ve booked a spa break. I’ll be away from Wednesday and, for once, I can’t wait.’

‘I didn’t have you down as the type to enjoy relaxing.’

‘I’m not. My daughter keeps telling me I need to try it.’ She pressed her lips together. Having some stranger’s hands kneading her back and painting her toenails fuchsia pink didn’t sound altogether appealing, but she had promised she’d try it at some point and after seeing a cheap break online, she booked it on a whim.

‘Is Hannah going with you? A bit of mother-daughter time?’

‘I haven’t told her I’m going. I’ve only told you. I thought, if I hate it, I can just come home and no one will be disappointed in me. If I go with her and I even look like I hate it for a second, she’ll never let me forget. I suppose I should have asked her, but it really is safer this way.’

‘Maybe next time?’

Gina pulled a horrified face and broke into a titter. ‘You always did know how to make me laugh.’

He looked into her eyes for a moment longer than usual.

She smiled and placed a strand of hair behind her ear. For once she’d made an effort, curling her hair to frame her face rather than it all falling down in an unruly mop. ‘Looks like that last lot of customers had a bit of a food fight.’

There were pieces of what looked like tuna sandwich mashed underneath the highchair, crisps all over the table and a spilled cup of hot chocolate dowsed in soggy napkins. The café owner looked up, not realising that she’d smeared cocoa dust across her forehead. ‘I’ll be with you in a tick.’ She brushed the errant strands of dark wavy hair away from her face.

Gina smiled. ‘It’s okay, I’m not desperate.’

‘Liar.’ Briggs knew her too well, better than anyone else at the station would ever know. ‘I can tell you’re beyond gasping for a proper coffee, not that machine stuff or cheap instant muck at the station.’

She held her hands up, rolling her eyes as she bit her bottom lip. ‘You got me.’ She looked across the room and spotted Cyril and June, the elderly couple who seemed to live here. June always knitted a few rows of the scarf she was working on while Cyril tried to do a crossword. The woman who sat in the corner peering through her large glasses was always alone and always reading a classic – this time it was Crime and Punishment. She was a people watcher and Gina could identify with her. Gina wondered what she might think of her and Briggs. Two colleagues enjoying a coffee, or past lovers trying to hide their feelings? A woman wearing heavy black boots and a vicar’s dog collar left. Gina watched her as she ran across the road towards the church, takeaway coffee in hand. Then, Gina glanced at June again, just as she was whispering into Cyril’s ear while looking at Gina. Gina frowned and looked away.

‘Coffee?’ Lucy wiped the sweat from her brow as she placed the broom against the window and exhaled. ‘Your usual… Let me guess.’ She closed her eyes and clicked her fingers a couple of times. ‘I make a lot of coffees but here goes: Americano with a spot of skimmed milk.’ She pointed at Gina.

‘That’s right, thank you.’ Gina smiled as the woman wrote it on an old-fashioned order pad.

‘Bill.’ She called across the room to the man with a slight hunch and a full head of grey hair. ‘Americano, spot of skimmed.’ She pointed to Gina. The man turned his back on them and set to work, making the drink. ‘Bill’s my dad – and you are? I hate pointing to you guys when you come in because I don’t know what to call you. What are your names?’

Gina cleared her throat. ‘Gina and Chris.’ It was rare that she got to introduce him to someone as Chris and she almost felt a warm flutter running through her body as she said his name. They were both out together, socialising, albeit only in a platonic way while enjoying a coffee. It had become a regular occurrence where they discussed life, the news and the cases that they were working on.

The server pointed to her name badge. ‘I’m Lucy.’ She turned to the counter. ‘The Americano’s for Gina, make it snappy, Bill.’

Bill stared in Gina’s direction for a second longer than she was comfortable with. Gina smiled and he looked away. When she glanced back, he was making her drink. Lucy hurried to the counter, her flat shoes slapping on the stone floor.

‘There you go.’ Bill winked and handed the coffee to her.

‘Thanks.’ Lucy took the drink from her dad. He smiled, then continued reducing the prices on the leftover sandwiches that hadn’t been sold at lunchtime. ‘One Americano. I’ve got a tab open for you both. Just flag me down when you want to pay.’ She tore the duplicate copy of the order and left it on the table along with a couple of beautifully wrapped chocolates. ‘New line, thought you might like to try them.’

‘Thank you. They are most welcome.’ Briggs reached over and his hair flopped forward, covering his forehead.

Gina noticed that he was wearing the casual shirt that she’d bought him when they were in a serious – but secret – relationship. ‘What’ve you been up to then?’

‘Today? Nothing. I’ve binge-watched season one of Stranger Things on Netflix and walked the dog, that’s all. Oh, I made a chilli, there’s a box of it for you in the car. I know you don’t cook. How was work today?’

Gina sat back in the swirly pink armchair and enjoyed the warmth of the vintage bulbs with the quirky filaments glowing above. The furniture was a mixture of comfy and colourful, made of reclaimed metal and wood. ‘As you know, we’ve charged someone with the assault on Hanger Road. So, all in all, a good day, not too taxing.’ She unwrapped a chocolate and popped it in her mouth.

‘I heard. You know me when I’m off, I can’t keep my head out of my emails. I can’t believe so many people stood around doing nothing during that attack. Normally some good Samaritan steps forward or calls the police before things get too out of hand.’

Gina nodded. ‘It seems people just hang around recording these things on their phones. We had seven recordings and, as you know, it took twelve minutes before someone stepped in and helped the man. We had lots of videoed evidence but the poor man had his jaw broken after ten minutes. In my book, that could have been prevented.’

‘I suppose sometimes people are scared to step in, just in case they get hurt. That doesn’t excuse them not calling the police.’ Briggs smiled at the server. ‘Could I get a top up, please?’

Lucy nodded from across the room, where she was admiring the scarf that June was knitting.

Gina tapped her finger on the table. ‘I know people get scared around trouble and I’d normally agree with you, but I heard the running commentaries on the recordings that were taken. There was a lot of, look at them go and phwoar, what a punch as they were watching it through a screen. It was almost like they were detached from what was happening in front of them. Bizarre. I couldn’t help feeling a bit sick after watching them while mulling over what we’re becoming.’

‘Sounds like it’s a good job that case is over.’

‘This time.’ Gina stared through the cobwebbed window at the old church that had been situated on the end of Cleevesford High Street for two hundred years. The giant cross was lit up on the front of the building. Several male youths and a couple of girls were hanging around in front of the Perspex bus stop.

Lucy sashayed towards Briggs and placed the large milky coffee, along with the order slip on the table. ‘Extra caffeine shot, just the way you like it.’

‘Thank you.’ He watched as a couple of cars passed by. ‘It certainly is a funny old world and we meet them all.’

‘You can say that again.’

Briggs took another sip of his coffee and Gina flinched as someone burst through the door. A small gale blew a flurry of dried leaves, scattering them across the café.

The man in the long navy coat stood at the counter, pulling at the thread unravelling at one of the cuffs. ‘Large black coffee and one of those reduced-price chicken sandwiches to go.’ He stared at everyone in the room, one by one, before slamming his fist on the counter. ‘Is anyone here serving?’

Lucy hurried to the counter. ‘Ooh, sorry about that. Bill must be out the back. You’re in luck, the sandwich has just been reduced. That will be three pounds and seventy pence.’

‘Rude or what?’ Gina shook her head but continued to listen as she watched through the reflection in the window. Her nostrils twitched; the smell of stale sweat and smoke filled them as the man fidgeted.

She felt a wash of tension working its way through her muscles. Maybe she needed this spa break more than she thought.

The man fumbled in his pockets, emptying change, keys and crumpled tissues onto the counter. He pulled his black beanie hat closer to his eyebrows, then he began counting his money and getting aggravated by a strand of wool trailing from his fingerless glove. ‘That’s expensive. How can you charge that for coffee and a sandwich? You said it was reduced? If it’s about to go off, you should be giving it away.’

Gina turned to get a better look.

‘Sorry, we have overheads to pay. We have to charge what we charge.’ Lucy began to tremble slightly.

‘Okay,’ he leaned in and read her name tag, ‘Lucy – lovely Lucy.’ He stared at her before breaking into a grin. ‘Forget the sandwich, just make. . .