Cold Sacrifice Read online

  Leigh Russell studied at the University of Kent, gaining a Masters degree in English. A secondary school English teacher, and guest university lecturer in creative writing, she is married, has two daughters, and lives in North West London. Her first novel, shortlisted for the CWA best first novel award, Cut Short, was published in 2009. This was followed by Road Closed in 2010, Dead End in 2011, Death Bed in 2012 and Stop Dead in 2013.

  CRITICAL ACCLAIM FOR STOP DEAD

  ‘All the things a mystery should be, intriguing, enthralling, tense and utterly absorbing’

  – Best Crime Books

  ‘Stop Dead is taut and compelling, stylishly written with a deeply human voice’

  – Peter James

  ‘A definite must read for crime thriller fans everywhere – 5 stars’

  – Eileen Thornton, Newbooks Magazine

  ‘For lovers of crime fiction this is a brilliant, not to be missed, novel’

  – Helen M Hunt, Fiction is Stranger than Fact

  ‘Geraldine Steel sticks out as a believable copper and Stop Dead flows easily’

  – Nick Triplow, Electric Lullaby

  ‘a well written, a well-researched, and a well-constructed whodunit. Highly recommended’

  – Linda Regan, Mystery People

  ‘a whodunit of the highest order. The tightly written plot kept me guessing all the way’

  – Graham Smith, Crimesquad

  CRITICAL ACCLAIM FOR DEATH BED

  ‘Earlier books have marked her out as one of the most able practitioners in the current field’

  – Barry Forshaw, Crime Time

  ‘Death Bed is a marvellous entry in this highly acclaimed series’

  – Promoting Crime Fiction

  ‘An innovative and refreshing take on the psychological thriller’

  – Books Plus Food

  ‘Russell’s strength as a writer is her ability to portray believable characters’

  – Crimesquad

  ‘A well written, well plotted crime novel with fantastic pace and lots of intrigue’

  – Bookersatz

  ‘Truly a great crime thriller’

  – Nayu’s Reading Corner

  ‘DEATH BED is her most exciting and well-written to date. And, as the others are superb, that is really saying something! 5*’

  – Eurocrime

  ‘The story itself was as usual a good one, and the descriptive gruesomeness of some scenes was brilliant’

  –Best Crime Books

  CRITICAL ACCLAIM FOR DEAD END

  ‘All the ingredients combine to make a tense, clever police whodunnit’

  – Marcel Berlins, The Times

  ‘I could not put this book down’

  – Newbooks Magazine

  ‘A brilliant talent in the thriller field’

  – Jeffery Deaver

  ‘An encounter that will take readers into the darkest recesses of the human psyche’

  – Barry Forshaw, Crime Time

  ‘Well written and chock full of surprises, this hard-hitting, edge-of-the seat instalment is yet another treat… Geraldine Steel looks set to become a household name. Highly recommended’

  – Eurocrime

  ‘Good, old-fashioned, heart-hammering police thriller…a no-frills delivery of pure excitement’

  – SAGA Magazine

  ‘the critical acclaim heaped on Russell thus far in her literary career is well deserved’

  – bookgeeks.co.uk

  ‘a macabre read, full of enthralling characters and gruesome details which kept me glued from first page to last’

  – www.crimesquad.com

  ‘cleverly thought out, gripping and convincing… I couldn’t put this book down… can’t wait for the next Geraldine Steel story to come out’

  – bookersatz.blogspot.com

  ‘a series that can rival other major crime writers out there… can’t wait for the next one!’

  – Best Books to Read

  ‘Dead End was selected as a Best Fiction Book of 2012’

  – The Miami Examiner

  CRITICAL ACCLAIM FOR ROAD CLOSED

  ‘A well-written, soundly plotted, psychologically acute story’

  – Marcel Berlins, The Times

  ‘Well-written and absorbing right from the get-go… with an exhilarating climax that you don’t see coming’

  – Eurocrime

  ‘Leigh Russell does a good job of keeping her readers guessing. She also uses a deft hand developing her characters, especially the low-lifes… a good read’

  – San Francisco Book Review

  ‘perfect character building… cleverly written… can’t wait for the next one’

  – bestbookstoread.co.uk

  ‘New star of crime fiction, Leigh Russell’s chilling psychological thriller is terrific and terrifying!’

  – Clem Chambers

  ‘Road Closed is a gripping, fast-paced read, pulling you in from the very first tense page and keeping you captivated right to the end with its refreshingly compelling and original narrative’

  – New York Journal of Books

  CRITICAL ACCLAIM FOR CUT SHORT

  ‘Cut Short is a stylish, top-of-the-line crime tale, a seamless blending of psychological sophistication and gritty police procedure. And you’re just plain going to love DI Geraldine Steel’

  – Jeffery Deaver

  ‘Russell paints a careful and intriguing portrait of a small British community while developing a compassionate and complex heroine who’s sure to win fans’

  – Publishers Weekly

  ‘an excellent debut’

  – Mark Campbell, Crime Time

  ‘It’s an easy read with the strength of the story at its core… If you want to be swept along with the story above all else, Cut Short is certainly a novel for you’

  – crimeficreader, itsacrime.typepad.com

  ‘Simply awesome! This debut novel by Leigh Russell will take your breath away’

  – Eurocrime

  ‘an excellent book…Truly a great start for new mystery author Leigh Russell’

  – New York Journal of Books

  Cut Short is a book I had to read in one sitting… excellent new series’

  – Murder by Type

  ‘a surefire hit – a taut, slick, easy to read thriller’

  – Watford Observer

  ‘fine police procedural, with a convincing if disconcerting feel of contemporary Britain’

  – The Compulsive Reader

  ‘Cut Short featured in one of Eurocrime’s reviewers’ Top Reads for 2009’

  – Eurocrime

  ‘Cut Short is not a comfortable read, but it is a compelling and important one. Highly recommended’

  – Mystery Women

  ‘well written debut psychological thriller’

  – stopyourekillingme.com

  ‘gritty and totally addictive debut novel’

  – New York Journal of Books

  ‘If you’re a real fan of police procedurals, you’ll probably enjoy this read’

  – Sacramento Book Review

  ‘I found Cut Short to be a fantastic read, taking me only days to finish. I thought it to be well-written and well-paced, with a fresh batch of intriguing characters to go along with a fresh tight plot’

  – Dance on Fire

  ‘An excellent story, skilfully built and well told’

  – www.thebookbag.co.uk

  ‘Intelligently written, gripping crime fiction’

  – Bookersatz

  ‘I look forward to the second book in the series’

  – Nayu’s Reading Corner

  ‘A very excellent book!’

  – The Book Buff Blog

  ‘A wonderful series’
r />   – clarissadraper.blogspot.com

  ‘Difficult to put down’

  – The Secret Writer

  Dedication to

  Michael, Jo, Phillipa and Phil

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank Dr Leonard Russell for his medical advice, all my contacts on the police force for their generosity with their time, Zoe Crosby at the Premier Inn Herne Bay for sharing her local knowledge, my editor Keshini Naidoo for her unerring judgement, Alan Forster for his cover design, Ion Mills, Annette Crossland, Claire Watts, Jem Cook, Alexandra Bolton and all the team at No Exit Press for their support and expertise, and Michael who is always with me.

  Glossary of acronyms

  DCI

  –

  Detective Chief Inspector (senior officer on case)

  DI

  –

  Detective Inspector

  DS

  –

  Detective Sergeant

  SOCO

  –

  Scene of Crime Officer (collects forensic evidence at scene)

  PM

  –

  Post Mortem or Autopsy (examination of dead body to establish cause of death)

  CCTV

  –

  Closed Circuit Television (security cameras)

  1

  A FLASH OF MOONLIGHT touched her hair with silver as she scurried along the street into town. It wasn’t safe to go back yet. She had to allow time for his temper to subside. Another half hour should do it. After walking fast for about fifteen minutes, she was more than a mile from home. The night air was chilly on her face, the side streets peaceful. There was no one around to see that she had been crying. Once, she thought she heard footsteps behind her. Fearful he had followed her she looked round, but the street was deserted. Shoving her hands into the pockets of her woolly jacket, she hurried on.

  ‘What are you saying?’ he had asked, so softly she had failed to notice the warning signs.

  Too late, she had registered the heightened colour of his face. Apologies were no use once rage took hold of him. She had stared, mesmerised by the spittle on his lips as he shouted obscenities at her.

  ‘It’s only a hoover,’ she had whispered when he quietened down. ‘We can get another one –’

  As soon as the words left her mouth she had realised her mistake, but his anger made her panic so she couldn’t think clearly.

  ‘Only a hoover? So I’ll just go and buy another one, shall I?’ He had leaned forward until he was so close she could feel the soft spray of his saliva on her face. ‘Do you think we’re made of money?’

  ‘No. No.’

  This had nothing to do with money.

  It was pointless to protest once he lost control like that. All she could do was protect herself until she was able to escape. Reaching the deserted Memorial Park she stumbled along the path towards the pond. In the darkness she found a bench, and sat down facing the water. It was still February, too cold to stay there for long. She was about to stand up when something struck her on the back of her head. Soundlessly she slumped forward and keeled over sideways on the hard seat. For a moment she lay quite still, stunned. Whimpering quietly she twisted her head round until she was looking straight up, blinking, struggling to make sense of her situation. She remembered her husband’s fury, his eyes bulging with the effort of shouting at her. Now she was lying on a hard surface in darkness with a pounding headache, and the sour taste of vomit in her throat. She had no idea where she was.

  In the darkness a blurred moon hovered far away, while close up a face shifted in and out of focus. Her terror slipped away.

  ‘Thank God you’ve come.’

  She reached out to touch him, but his features dissolved like a reflection in water.

  ‘Help me.’

  As he raised his arm, moonlight glittered on the blade he was clutching.

  2

  IAN PETERSON TIDIED UP his desk, checked the time, and set off for the car park at a trot. He had hoped that Bev would be more relaxed about his work relationships now they were married, but two months had passed since the wedding and she had become, if anything, more carping and suspicious than before. If he was home late, she was bound to kick off. It was driving him nuts. A detective sergeant in his mid-thirties, successful in a career he loved, he was reduced to an apologetic coward by one sharp word from his wife. They had been together, on and off, since they had met at school. He hadn’t been alone in his infatuation. All the boys in his year had fancied her. His teenage crush had developed into a serious attachment when they started dating. After they left school he had driven long distances to spend time with her whenever he could. It was thanks to his determination that they had stayed together.

  The first time he had asked her to live with him, Bev had refused outright to move away from Kent.

  ‘All my family are here, and my friends. And there’s my job. I know you think your work is so important, but I happen to value my job too.’

  When he had joined the Kent constabulary and she had finally agreed to move in with him, he had been blissfully happy. For a few years they had lived together harmoniously but somehow, since the wedding, Bev had changed. She complained more and more about the long hours he worked.

  ‘You knew about my job when you agreed to marry me,’ he had protested more than once. ‘Working on murder investigations isn’t a nine-to-five job. If I’m on a case, I can’t drop everything just because you’re expecting me home.’

  ‘So I’m supposed to wait here by myself while you hang around in the pub until all hours –’

  ‘What are you talking about? When I’m not here, I’m working. Whatever gave you the idea I was out drinking to all hours?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t tell me anything. I never know where you are, or who you’re with, do I?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’

  ‘So now I’m stupid.’

  It baffled Ian that someone as beautiful as Bev could be so insecure. He did his best to reassure her, but it was wearing.

  ‘You know I love you.’

  ‘So you say.’

  ‘I married you, didn’t I?’

  ‘Well, thanks for doing me a favour. How kind of you, taking pity on me –’

  ‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’

  ‘So I’m ridiculous as well as stupid.’

  He just couldn’t win. Sometimes he wondered if he’d made a mistake. ‘Marry the girl,’ his father had advised him. It had worked well for the previous generation, but the world had been a different place when his parents were young. He had hoped to encounter a security like his parents enjoyed in marriage, but now he wondered if Bev would ever really feel settled with him. Looking back, he wondered if they had ever been happy, after the initial excitement of the relationship had worn off. He felt as though he had always been hanging on, waiting for the good times to come.

  Before the wedding they had lived about two miles away from the police station. Bev had insisted on moving. The property they were buying was a stretch, even on their joint salaries, although the area was certainly pleasant.

  ‘I want to feel safe coming home after dark on my own,’ she had told him. ‘It’s not as if you’re always around in the evenings. I never know when you’re going to be called away unexpectedly, and I can’t rely on knowing when you’ll be home. You know I don’t like being on my own in the house at night.’

  Ian had caved in, even though the move meant he spent at least an hour a day driving in to work and back.

  This evening the traffic was light and he was home relatively early. Even so, Bev’s car was already in the drive and lights were on in the house. He hoped she would be in a good mood with him. Constantly worrying about his wife’s moods wasn’t how he had envisaged married life. Sometimes he arrived home to find her in tears, for no apparent reason. He tried to find out if she was depressed or just unhappy. Either way, he was prepared to do anything in his power to help her, but she clamme
d up when he asked her about it. He hated the fact that she wouldn’t confide in him, but he couldn’t force her to talk. When he pressed her, she would snap at him.

  ‘You’re not at work now. I’m not one of your suspects.’

  Steeling himself, he went inside and found her busy in the kitchen. Her short blonde hair looked shiny and neat, and she was wearing make-up. She turned to him with a welcoming smile. With a pang, he recalled how loving she had been in the early days in their relationship. Always an optimist, he dared to hope they had come through a rocky patch. Moving house and organising a wedding, not to mention making a lifelong commitment to another person, was bound to be stressful. She had probably needed time to adjust to her new life as the wife of a detective.

  ‘Dinner’s nearly ready,’ she smiled.

  ‘It smells great,’ he said, wary of upsetting her.

  ‘You look tired.’

  ‘I’m knackered.’

  ‘Go and sit down and I’ll pour you a drink. There’s some beers in the fridge.’

  Ian went into the lounge and pulled off his tie. He leaned back in an armchair, stretched out his long legs, and ran a hand over his light brown hair in an attempt to smooth it down.

  When they had finished eating, Bev came and sat beside him on the sofa to finish her glass of wine before clearing up in the kitchen. She often complained that he never talked to her about his work, so he decided to try and explain his passion for his job, although he hardly understood it himself.