CrossFire: Lives, #3

By Jaye Marie

DI David Snow has a serial killer to catch, a killer as mysterious as the crimes he commits.

Snow is due to retire, but not before he discovers why someone killed his sergeant and is now coming after him.

The killer seems to have a personal vendetta against Snow, but he is determined that no one else should die because of him. His efforts are hampered by the arrival of a new sergeant, 'ruthless' Ruth Winton, for she is not what she seems. Alarm bells start to ring when Snow realises she is after more than just his job.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jaye Marie
• Release date: Jun 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9781540111968

Jaye Marie

I have been an editor and proofreader for many years, but only recently written my own book.It was an enjoyable experience, once I stopped fighting with my characters and let them have their own way. Consequently, I ended up with quite a different book from the one I intended to write. But I like it and hope you will too.

Book preview

Prologue

It was almost midnight, the cold rushing wind the only sound in the empty, deserted streets.

Someone had been following the detective ever since he left the public-house. This had not been a social visit; he had been looking for information, seeking to loosen a few tongues with the help of the local brew. It had been another waste of his time, his mood as black as the night around him. 

A sound behind him made him pause, and he waited for the person to come into view. When no one appeared, he knew he had been mistaken, due no doubt to being more than a little drunk and frustrated.

Something hit the side of his head as he stood at the side of the road, something hard and painful. He had been right, after all. His senses began to fail as the pain in his head intensified, his sight the first to go. As his knees buckled, he reached up, his fingers touching the alien object that was protruding from the side of his head.

The shock of realising what was happening accelerated his system failure, and he collapsed, his head hitting the road hard. As he lay dying, someone knelt down beside him. He couldn’t see who it was, whether they were friend or foe, but he had the feeling it didn’t matter anymore anyway.

The last thing he felt were the icy fingers on his face...

––––––––

Chapter One

Detective Inspector David Snow stared at the black and white photograph, struggling to grasp why the familiar face of Jim Harris was looking back at him from the whiteboard in his office. He refused to acknowledge that the man he had worked with for years wouldn’t be coming through the door again, grinning, with a Costa coffee in his hand.

Snow had attended the post-mortem, the least he could do for his friend. Jim would have been impressed, knowing how much Snow hated them. It had to be a mistake. Jim Harris couldn’t be dead. What had he been doing at that time of night? Snow found himself thinking like all the surviving relatives he had ever tried to console over the years. If you refused to believe, it couldn’t be true, didn’t happen.

His job had been wearing Snow down for a while, and he was bone weary of the constant struggle. The last few years had been difficult, his energy never at full strength when he needed it most. Without Jim Harris, the future not only looked bleak but also doomed.

Snow sat down at his desk and closed his eyes, remembering the optimistic presence, the calm and persuasive way Jim always handled people and their problems. No one else could diffuse a situation quite like him. Snow knew they would replace him with some snotty-nosed graduate, intent on playing cops and robbers.

The sheer frustration of the situation threatened to ruin another working day, and the cheap pen he was holding snapped in two in his hands, the black ink staining his fingers.

He found himself staring at the Coroner’s Report again, willing the name to change into something else. It was futile, yet he couldn’t look away or stop doing it.

What the report didn’t say, and never did, was why. Why someone had followed Jim that night and killed him in cold blood. Snow pushed himself away from the desk, the wheels of his chair squeaking on the vinyl flooring.  He stood, unsure and puzzled. What was the time? Or the day? The urgent need for coffee the only thing he knew for sure.

On his way to the high street, the image of a wild-haired woman with sad eyes flashed through his mind. Kate Devereau had been a victim in one of his cases last year. Her ex-husband had taken it upon himself to slaughter everyone who had ever been involved in his relationship with Kate.  Kate was one of the few survivors, rescued by Snow himself. Because of the trauma, she had suffered a complete mental breakdown, unable to communicate or recognise anyone. Once in a while, Snow would visit her, hoping she would remember him, but her eyes were as dead as the people she had lost.

Further down the road, the familiar flash of red hair signalled the imminent arrival of his next-door neighbour and nemesis, Susan Miles.  It was too late to take evasive action, so he braced himself for the meeting.

‘How lovely to see you, David... but why didn’t you say if you needed something in town?’

He stared at her, trying to think of something non-committal to say, but the desire to be rude was overpowering. ‘I’m not shopping, Susan. I just needed a coffee ... and a few minutes peace and quiet.’

They continued walking, his strides deliberately longer than hers, hoping her impossibly high heels would slow her down or at least trip her up, he didn’t really care which.

‘David, please slow down, I can’t keep up with you. I wanted to invite myself to dinner tonight...?’

She was really pushing it today, he thought. So many times, he had tried to explain that he neither wanted nor needed a replacement for his dead wife. Since that awful time, he rarely thought about women like that. And if he did, he wouldn’t choose Susan Miles. ‘Sorry Susan, I’m working late again. Too much work on at the moment...’

She frowned, and he could hear the wheels turning in her brain as she tried to think of something that would get her what she wanted. One of these days, he would have to be blunt and put an end to her dreams of romance.

Ever since she had moved in next door she had been a problem, constantly pestering him with food and offers of help. The reason Snow worked so late most of the time was to avoid her, and he knew he should have done something about the situation a long time ago, but he didn’t know how to do it without hurting her.

The whole idea seemed unattainable and impossible to fathom. He needed Jim, he would know how to make her leave.

Chapter Two

The smart new suit had fallen from its hanger and lay on the bedroom carpet in a crumpled heap.  Ruth Winton stared down at the disaster, unable to process this latest setback. The suit had been chosen for her new job, not just to impress, but also to bolster her confidence. It wasn’t ruined, but there was no time to have it cleaned.

This was the story of her life, really. Something about the best-laid plans never seemed to work out for her. Her mood began to swing between annoyance and desperation. She walked to the bathroom and the small brown bottle of tablets that hid in the cabinet. She hated taking them, her mind never as sharp afterwards. But they did stop her from sliding over the edge.

This edge had been creeping towards her for days, and she had been handling it. This new job was far too important for her to fall apart now. Holding the tablets in her hand, she scrutinised her face in the mirror. She looked tired, and her hair was a mess, something the scheduled appointment that afternoon would sort out. She needed to look efficient and capable, the image she wanted to present. Someone to encourage trust and sincerity, all learnt for her chosen role.

Two days from now, she would become the replacement for a fallen officer in DI Snow’s Guildford Division of the Surrey Police Force. Just thinking about it made her pulse race and her stomach tighten.

It had taken her years to get this far, and it hadn’t been easy. She had almost given up on her quest several times when it all became too difficult. The problem, as she often called it, was her inability to be subservient. It just didn’t come naturally to her and was the hardest thing to master. She was proud of her success, especially as it had been so hard won.

‘But it will all be worth it in the end, won’t it, you little beggar?’ She said, tipping the tablets in her mouth. She knew the white cat was there, watching her, waiting to see if sleeping on her new suit had been a good idea or not. She spotted him in his favourite place under the radiator and as she approached him, he stretched out his front legs and sank his claws into the bath mat, pulling it towards him.

She never understood why she ever thought she needed a cat. He was a constant nuisance, always demanding, and the mess he created was a nightmare. He shed white hair everywhere, which was almost impossible to remove from the furniture and her clothes. Not to mention leaving scraps of his food littered around the bowl and muddy paw prints all over the floor near the cat flap. Despite everything, though, he was her friend, the only one she could relax with. She could leave her artificial façade outside in the cold and come home to relax, even if he was more trouble than he was worth.

Kneeling down, she rubbed his ears and stroked his back. The gentle purring became louder as he pushed his head against her hand, which slid from his head to his neck and tightened into a stranglehold. The cat’s eyes widened in surprise, and he froze, wondering what she would do next.

‘I forgive you... but don’t do it again, okay?’

––––––––

On the way to the hairdressers, she took the suit to the cleaners, begging them to perform a miracle. They had to, as she didn’t have another outfit suitable for her debut.

What followed that afternoon should have been pleasant. Women were supposed to enjoy it, but Ruth found being stuck under a spotlight in front of a revealing mirror made her feel she was under a microscope. Almost as though they could see all the things she had hidden.

Sick of looking at herself in the mirror, she studied the salon for something else to concentrate on. There were several women there today, all in various stages of treatment, none of whom were paying the slightest interest in her. Far too busy being pampered and loving every minute. She watched as the staff pulled and tweaked their hair, snipped and shaped all the different hairstyles, fascinated by their expertise.

Her stylist, a tall sophisticated young woman with the most incredible turquoise hair was on the other side of the salon, talking to the receptionist. Something about a treatment that had gone wrong. From the barely concealed tension that emanated from both women, it would appear that a satisfactory solution had not yet been found.

Should they have been discussing their problems in front of everyone? Not that anyone seemed to be taking any notice.

Ruth was beginning to feel like a fish out of water. She had been sitting there waiting for an age, wet hair dripping water down her neck and her mood was deteriorating fast. She shouldn’t have come here after all. It had been a mistake. A mistake to think she could pull any of this off in the first place.

It reminded her of another occasion when she had sat in a chair much like the one she was on now and had her hair cut short. It wasn’t from choice and not a pleasant experience. She never knew what had been plastered all over her head. It was black and sticky and smelled awful. Whatever it was, it had resisted all attempts to wash out and the decision had been made to cut off as much as possible.

There had been no mirrors that day, no sweet smelling shampoo. Just a cold, impersonal room and a cold, impersonal woman with a huge pair of shears. She knew it was best she couldn’t see what they had done to her, or what she looked like afterwards. Feeling it with her fingers had been bad enough, the short tufts of still sticky hair would keep the memory alive for a long time. And every now and then it seemed like only yesterday.

The protective cape she was wearing was heavy and cumbersome, resisting her fumbled attempts to remove. The panic she had kept at bay threatened to erupt when she realised that the cape fastened at the back and she wouldn’t be able to free herself without help.

The overhead spotlights seemed to grow brighter and she knew she had to get out of there. She managed to stand up and tried again to remove the cape, just as her stylist became aware that something was happening and came rushing over.

‘I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting, but I’m here now. Please sit down and let me dry your hair...’

Ruth stared at her, wondering what would happen if she refused. She didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to be anywhere. Not anymore. It was a stupid idea to think she could change anything. It was too late and she wasn’t strong enough after all, not clever enough to pull it off.

She sank back down on the chair, trying to decide what she wanted to do, but before she could, her hair was combed and dried, the decision made for her. Ruth stared at the proceedings in the mirror, reflecting on all the other time's things had been out of her control.

This had to be the last time, she thought, or there was no point in anything...

Chapter Three

On the morning of the funeral, the weather was doing its best to match David Snow’s mood.

An icy cold, blustery wind was busy whipping the flowers on the nearest gravestone into a frenzy. Some of them had given up the fight and were scattered on the pink marble stone. At least it wasn’t raining, Snow thought.

His mind was clearer today, no foggy bits hiding the truth from him. He knew what was happening and why he was there. This funeral was for his friend and colleague, Jim Harris, his sergeant for such a long time. They had made a formidable but successful team, earning the affectionate nicknames of Batman and Robin.

Jim Harris, one of the few married men in the department was the last person Snow would have imagined turning up dead, as he always managed to see the world through rose coloured glasses. The medical report suggested the use of some kind of sharp tool, which penetrated the brain. He must have made someone angry and suffered the consequences.

Snow couldn’t imagine this happening under any circumstances, no matter what the provocation. Jim just wasn’t like that. Never one to think badly of anyone, despite the job he did. He could diffuse the angriest of situations. The man was patient to a ridiculous degree, at least by Snow’s standards. Snow had limits but rarely reached them. If Jim had any hidden away, they had never materialised.

The priest finished the service, the words ‘ashes to ashes’ causing everyone present to start foot shuffling and fidgeting. He waited to see who would be brave enough to leave first.

They just cannot wait to get away, Snow thought. Was that all the time they could spare for all those years of loyalty and dedication? He glared at them all, willing them to show a little more respect, but some of those higher in command were already moving away.

The crowd began to thin, leaving Jim’s widow alone at the graveside. Snow noticed another woman standing a short distance away, dressed in a smart black trouser suit. She seemed rooted to the spot, in no hurry to leave like all the others. Snow had no idea who she was, or why she was there. What he did notice, the object of her attention was not Jim’s wife, Janet Harris. She was looking at him, something Snow did not appreciate, not at all.

Ignoring the strange woman, Snow walked over to say the final words of consolation to Jim’s grieving widow. A diminutive, good-natured woman, size matched for her husband, she reminded Snow of a fairy-tale fairy godmother. He had met her on several occasions over the years and was always made to feel welcome in her house. She was one of life’s natural carers, making everyone feel special, fussing over every detail to make you feel at home.

The woman in front of him now bore no resemblance to the woman he knew. Tears ran down her face, which had been scrubbed almost raw by fistfuls of paper tissues. She looked up at Snow, the whites of her blue eyes almost scarlet.

‘Hello, David...’ She put her hand on his arm, and Snow couldn’t bear the thought of her wanting to comfort him. He took her hand in his, trying to return the comfort for she needed it far more than him at that moment.

‘I am so sorry, Janet ...’ He searched his mind for some consoling words but found nothing that sounded right.

She squeezed his hand. ‘It’s all right, I know