Deadly Revenge Read online

  CRITICAL ACCLAIM FOR LEIGH RUSSELL

  ‘A million readers can’t be wrong! Loyal fans of Geraldine Steel will be thrilled with this latest compelling story from Leigh Russell. New readers will discover a terrific crime series to get their teeth into. Clear some time in your day, sit back and enjoy a bloody good read’ – Howard Linskey

  ‘Taut and compelling’ – Peter James

  ‘Leigh Russell is one to watch’ – Lee Child

  ‘Leigh Russell has become one of the most impressively dependable purveyors of the English police procedural’ – Marcel Berlins, Times

  ‘A brilliant talent in the thriller field’ – Jeffery Deaver

  ‘Death Rope is another cracking addition to the series which has just left me wanting to read more’ – Jen Med’s Book Reviews

  ‘The story keeps you guessing until the end. I would highly recommend this series’ – A Crime Reader’s Blog

  ‘A great plot that keeps you guessing right until the very end, some subtle subplots, brilliant characters both old and new and as ever a completely gripping read’ – Life of Crime

  ‘Russell at her very best and Steel crying out to be turned into a TV series’ – The Mole, Our Book Reviews Online

  ‘This is an absorbing and compelling serial killer read that explores the mind and motive of a killer, and how the police work to track down that killer’ – Jo Worgan, Brew & Books Review

  ‘An absolute delight’ – The Literary Shed

  ‘I simply couldn’t put it down’ – Shell Baker, Chelle’s Book Reviews

  ‘Highly engaging’ – Jacob Collins, Hooked From Page One

  ‘If you love a good action-packed crime novel, full of complex characters and unexpected twists this is one for you’ – Rachel Emms, Chillers, Killers and Thrillers

  ‘I chased the pages in love with the narrative and style… You have all you need within Class Murder for the perfect crime story’ – Francesca Wright, Cesca Lizzie Reads

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

  ‘A series that can rival other major crime writers out there…’ – Best Books to Read

  ‘Sharp, intelligent and well plotted’ – Crime Fiction Lover

  ‘Another corker of a book from Leigh Russell… Russell’s talent for writing top-quality crime fiction just keeps on growing…’ – Euro Crime

  ‘A definite must read for crime thriller fans everywhere’ – Newbooks Magazine

  ‘For lovers of crime fiction this is a brilliant, not-to-be missed, novel’ – Fiction Is Stranger Than Fact

  ‘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’ – Crime Squad

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

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

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

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

  ‘A gritty and totally addictive novel’ – New York Journal of Books

  To Michael, Jo, Phillipa, Phil, Rian, and Kezia

  With my love

  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)

  VIIDO – Visual Images, Identification and Detections Office

  MIT – Murder Investigation Team

  Prologue

  ‘A lot of men would have given up on you a long time ago, the way you carry on,’ he told her. ‘You don’t appreciate how lucky you are.’

  ‘Lucky?’ she retorted before she could stop herself.

  She bit her tongue and lowered her gaze, but it was too late.

  ‘It’s all just one big game to you, isn’t it?’ he replied, his voice rising as his anger escalated. ‘You like to see how far you can go before I snap. What about my feelings? You don’t care about me, do you? Do you? Answer me, you stupid bitch.’

  She shook her head, struggling to control her trembling. He had that effect on her. However hard she tried to hide her fear, he could see it in the craven drooping of her head, and the way her legs shook.

  ‘Take your clothes off,’ he commanded, stepping back to watch her as she stripped.

  He sat on the bed and waited until she was naked. She could feel his eyes crawling over her skin, from the top of her head to her bony feet, lingering on the small mounds of her breasts and the darkness between her thighs. She clutched her shoulders, hiding her breasts behind her crossed forearms.

  ‘Drop your arms,’ he snarled.

  ‘I’m cold,’ she whimpered.

  ‘Did you hear me?’ he demanded. ‘I want to see the whole of your body, not just your scrawny arms.’

  Shaking violently now, she let her arms fall to her sides. He pounced like a panther then, teeth bared in a grin as the soft flesh of her belly gave way beneath his weight, and she cried out in pain.

  ‘Don’t you ever do that again,’ he hissed, his breath hot against her hear.

  ‘What did I do?’ she whimpered. ‘What did I do?’

  She closed her eyes and tried to imagine she was somewhere else, somewhere far away.

  When he had finished, he strode away leaving her sprawled on the bed. She waited until the door closed behind him before bursting into tears. For now, all she could do was suffer. He had drawn all the strength out of her, and now even the sound of his breathing in bed beside her at night was enough to shatter her will. But one day she would summon the strength to resist him. She made that promise to herself. Only when she was out at the shops, or walking along the street, did her terror abate. She never felt safe inside the house.

  1

  Geraldine wasn’t currently involved in a murder investigation, where her position as a detective sergeant working in serious crime often placed her. There was still plenty for her to do, like questioning a young delinquent who had threatened an elderly man with a knife. Geraldine adopted a friendly tone. The boy was less likely to talk freely if he felt intimidated. He looked several years younger than his nineteen years, was articulate, and seemed intelligent enough to know what he was doing. After questioning him for some time, Geraldine finally worked out that his victim had berated the youngster for spraying graffiti.

  ‘He was bang out of order calling the cops on me. I got every right to express myself.’

  ‘By threatening a stranger with a knife? How is that expressing yourself?’

  ‘I know my rights,’ the youngster insisted.

  Geraldine dropped her relaxed approach and spoke severely. ‘Everyone has the right to walk along the street without being attacked.’

  ‘But he wasn’t just walking along the street. He was interfering with my right to express myself.’

  ‘
Your right to express yourself doesn’t stretch to vandalising property and threatening to stab someone, and your victim wasn’t trying to suppress your right to free speech,’ Geraldine said. ‘He was protecting his property from your graffiti.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with free speech,’ the youth persisted. ‘I should be able to say whatever I want to anyone I like.’

  ‘You know perfectly well that you’re missing the point,’ Geraldine said.

  ‘But how else am I going to get them to listen?’ the youth burst out angrily.

  ‘Who?’

  He shrugged. ‘I dunno. The government, the council, everyone in power. They don’t do anything to help us.’ He leaned forward. ‘My mother and her boyfriend threw me out on the street the day I turned sixteen and left me to fend for myself. I’d be dead now if a homeless shelter hadn’t taken me in and given me somewhere to stay. And now the council want to cut their funding.’ He was nearly in tears. ‘The council are the ones who should be arrested, not victims of their cutbacks like me.’

  That evening, over supper, Geraldine discussed her day with her boyfriend and senior officer, Ian.

  ‘Are you defending what he did?’ Ian asked.

  ‘Of course not. But no one should find themselves homeless in a civilised society.’

  ‘Granted he didn’t have much of a start in life, but he’s hardly helping himself, is he? Sooner or later he’s going to end up in the nick, no matter how much help is thrown at him. Some people are too damaged to become functional adults.’

  ‘So we just wash our hands of them and lock them up?’ Geraldine replied angrily.

  Ian shrugged. ‘Of course that’s not what anyone would want. All I’m saying is that there’s nothing we can do. We’re not social workers, Geraldine, and our job is to keep our streets safe so people can walk around without fear of being attacked. This boy threatened an old man with a knife. Members of the public should be able to feel safe anywhere, not just in their own homes.’

  Geraldine sighed. Ian was right when he said there was nothing the police could do about the young man’s situation but pass him on to overstretched social services. It was a pity the council were cutting their funding for homeless shelters.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ Ian grumbled later that evening, returning from the bathroom, a bottle of aftershave in his hand.

  Geraldine looked at him, hiding her dismay behind a smile.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘This.’ He gesticulated, waving the bottle in front of his face.

  ‘What’s wrong with it? Haven’t you always used it?’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with my aftershave. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m complaining about living in two places at once. I can never remember where anything is. Now this bottle’s empty and I’ve not got any more here.’

  Geraldine smiled. ‘I’m sure you can manage for today.’

  ‘For today?’ he repeated quizzically. ‘What about tomorrow? Or are you throwing me out?’

  Geraldine frowned. She had been in love with her colleague, Ian, for years without disclosing her feelings. Now that Ian and his wife were finally getting divorced, and he had revealed that he reciprocated Geraldine’s feelings, he had begun spending the night at her flat. There was nothing stopping him from moving in with her, other than her reluctance to share her private space. She had not lived with anyone else since her early twenties, and was not sure how she would cope with having him there all the time.

  ‘You know that’s not what I meant,’ she replied. ‘I couldn’t throw you out.’

  Ian tossed his empty bottle on to the bed and raised his hands, his fists clenched in an exaggerated boxing pose.

  ‘I’d like to see you try.’ He glared at her from beneath his lowered brows.

  Geraldine laughed and he grunted in response.

  ‘What does that inarticulate noise mean?’ she demanded.

  ‘It means: “Do I really have to go through the motions of telling you how wonderful this all is, and how you are the most beautiful woman in the world, and I’m the luckiest man in the world to be here with you,” and so on and so on. I went through all that bullshit with my wife and look where that got me. You know how I feel about you, and if you don’t then you’re not the brilliant, intelligent, sensitive woman I’m in love with, and this is all a mistake.’

  He leaned over and kissed her on the nose and she laughed.

  ‘I’ll settle for that,’ she said.

  ‘What? A peck on the nose?’

  ‘For you saying you’re in love with me.’

  They smiled at one another, a comfortable, affectionate smile.

  ‘All I’m saying is that living like this in two places is driving me nuts,’ he said. ‘Apart from anything else, the parking is terrible.’

  It was true; he was rarely able to park close by. Geraldine had a reserved space in the underground car park beneath the block of flats where she lived, but Ian had to cruise around looking for a space on the street, and it wasn’t always easy to find one. She felt guilty about refusing to drive him to the police station where they both worked, he as a detective inspector, she as a detective sergeant, but she wasn’t ready to announce their relationship to their colleagues. Not yet. She was still wondering whether it was unfair of her to insist they keep their relationship a secret when she left for work the next morning. But at least Ian had his own flat to go to. Her thoughts strayed to the young man who had been thrown out by his mother, and was now losing his place in a homeless shelter thanks to council cutbacks.

  2

  She recoiled, shocked into silence.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded, taking a step towards her, his fists clenched but not yet raised. ‘Well?’

  On his lips the innocuous word sounded charged with malevolent power, forcing her to edge away until she felt the wall pressing against her back.

  ‘Well? Have you lost your tongue, you stupid bitch?’

  ‘I’m – I’m sorry,’ she stammered. ‘I didn’t mean…’

  ‘You didn’t mean, you didn’t mean,’ he sneered.

  His fists rose and she winced, waiting for him to hit her. Instead, he spat in her face with such violence she felt the impact of the saliva as it struck her cheek, warm for an instant, then cooling as it dribbled down her face towards her jaw bone. She didn’t dare move.

  ‘Well?’ he repeated. ‘How long are you going to stand there staring at me like an idiot?’

  She shook her head. Her tears mingled with his saliva as her trembling fingers reached up to wipe her cheek.

  ‘I won’t do it again, I promise. I didn’t think it would matter… I thought you wouldn’t mind – I should have asked you – I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ Once she began, she couldn’t stop babbling. ‘I won’t see her again without asking you first, I promise. It won’t happen again. I should have asked you first…’

  ‘You’re not to speak to that witch again. Not for any reason. I won’t have it, do you hear me? I won’t have it.’

  His voice rose as he lowered his fists and she breathed more easily. She tried to explain that she felt sorry for his mother, but he interrupted her.

  ‘I won’t have you listening to her lies, spreading her poison about me, behind my back. If she’s all on her own, she’s no one to blame but herself. I won’t have you drawn into her toxic games. You’re my wife. My wife! She drove my first wife away with her filthy lies. She’s not going to do the same to you.’

  ‘She never breathed a word against you – I wouldn’t have let her –it’s not like that…’

  ‘I’ve said all there is to say on the subject. If she calls here again, hang up. I won’t have you talking to her. Not a word. As soon as you hear her voice, hang up. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I understand. I understand. I was wrong. I’m sorry.’

  They b
oth knew that she would never have capitulated so readily if he hadn’t threatened her with his fists. He glared at her and she lowered her eyes, terrified of infuriating him even more while he was in such a temper. He must have moved silently because a moment later she heard the door close and looking up saw that she was alone in the room. Her legs buckled beneath her and she slumped to the floor, sobbing quietly.

  With hindsight it was easy to see that she should have recognised the signs earlier, but the abuse had begun very gradually. Of course it had. Unless the victim was crazy, or a masochist, that must be how it always started, because no normal person would deliberately court pain. It had begun with the odd pinch, an occasional slap on the arm, nothing serious. He had been too circumspect to let himself go until he was confident of her collusion. She still found it hard to believe how easily she had allowed him to deceive her, but to begin with he had been relentlessly charming. He still could be, although the mask slipped more often the longer they were together. It maddened her to remember that she had been over the moon when he had asked her to marry him. For a while everything had seemed perfect – until the first time he had hit her.

  After that, her life had been a sickening rollercoaster of pain and emotional torment. She had learned to recognise the threats: the heightened colour in his face, his sweaty forehead and flared nostrils, and the wild glare in his eyes, but sometimes she noticed these warnings too late to escape his punches. After a violent outburst he would treat her so kindly, it made her yearn for him. She wondered if it was his way of showing he felt contrite, because he never apologised for hurting her. To do so would have been an admission of his guilt. The really stupid part of it was that she had seen that kind of domination before; she, of all people, should have known better. For a while she had refused to acknowledge what was happening. Only when her mother had commented on her bruised wrist had she been forced to admit the truth to herself.

  Even then she had done her best to shrug off her realisation. ‘Jason doesn’t know his own strength.’ Her words had sounded hollow to her own ears while she thought, ‘Oh my God, is it really possible that I’ve married a violent man?’