Damaged

By Hannah Howe

Eight and a half months pregnant. My detective agency was in good hands, Faye and Tamara’s hands, so time to put my feet up and await the Big Day. However, Gabe, my private eye friend from Boston, had other ideas.

Hired by Alexander Carmichael III the current head of a powerful Boston dynasty, Gabe was on the trail of Chelsea, Carmichael’s runway daughter. That trail led to Wales - hence my involvement - then on to the South of France.

Amongst the glitz and glamour of the South of France events took a murderous turn - someone was making and detonating bombs, and that someone had developed a close association with Chelsea.

We found ourselves in a race against time, to prevent an explosion and the loss of many innocent lives, and to return home to deliver my baby.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Goylake Publishing
• Release date: Jan 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9781838354893

Hannah Howe

Hannah Howe is the bestselling author of the Sam Smith Mystery Series (Sam's Song, book one in the series, has reached number one on the amazon.com private detective chart on seven separate occasions and the number one position in Australia). Hannah lives in the picturesque county of Glamorgan with her partner and their two children. She has a university degree and a background in psychology, which she uses as a basis for her novels.Hannah began her writing career at school when her teacher asked her to write the school play. She has been writing ever since. When not writing or researching Hannah enjoys reading, genealogy, music, chess and classic black and white movies. She has a deep knowledge of nineteenth and twentieth century popular culture and is a keen student of the private detective novel and its history.Hannah's books are available in print, as audio books and eBooks from all major retailers: Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Google Play, Kobo, iBooks, etc. For more details please visit https://hannah-howe.comThe Sam Smith Mystery Series in book order:Sam's SongLove and BulletsThe Big ChillRipperThe Hermit of HisaryaSecrets and LiesFamily HonourSins of the FatherSmoke and MirrorsStardustMind GamesDigging in the DirtA Parcel of RoguesBostonThe Devil and Ms DevlinSnow in AugustLooking for Rosanna MeeStormy WeatherDamagedEve’s War: Heroines of SOEOperation ZigzagOperation LocksmithOperation BroadswordOperation TreasureOperation SherlockOperation CameoOperation RoseOperation WatchmakerOperation OverlordOperation Jedburgh (to follow)Operation Butterfly (to follow)Operation Liberty (to follow)The Golden Age of HollywoodTula: A 1920s Novel (to follow)The Olive Tree: A Spanish Civil War SagaRootsBranchesLeavesFruitFlowersThe Ann's War Mystery Series in book order:BetrayalInvasionBlackmailEscapeVictoryStandalone NovelsSaving Grace: A Victorian MysteryColette: A Schoolteacher’s War (to follow)What readers have been saying about the Sam Smith Mystery Series and Hannah Howe..."Hannah Howe is a very talented writer.""A gem of a read.""Sam Smith is the most interesting female sleuth in detective fiction. She leaves all the others standing.""Hannah Howe's writing style reminds you of the Grandmasters of private detective fiction - Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler and Robert B. Parker.""Sam is an endearing character. Her assessments of some of the people she encounters will make you laugh at her wicked mind. At other times, you'll cry at the pain she's suffered.""Sam is the kind of non-assuming heroine that I couldn't help but love.""Sam's Song was a wonderful find and a thoroughly engaging read. The first book in the Sam Smith mystery series, this book starts off as a winner!""Sam is an interesting and very believable character.""Gripping and believable at the same time, very well written.""Sam is a great heroine who challenges stereotypes.""Hannah Howe is a fabulous writer.""I can't wait to read the next in the series!""The Big Chill is light reading, but packs powerful messages.""This series just gets better and better.""What makes this book stand well above the rest of detective thrillers is the attention to the little details that makes everything so real.""Sam is a rounded and very real character.""Howe is an author to watch, able to change the tone from light hearted to more thoughtful, making this an easy and yet very rewarding read. Cracking!""Fabulous book by a fabulous author-I highly recommended this series!""Howe writes her characters with depth and makes them very engaging.""I loved the easy conversational style the author used throughout. Some of the colourful ways that the main character expressed herself actually made me laugh!""I loved Hannah Howe's writing style -- poignant one moment, terrifying the next, funny the next moment. I would be on the edge of my seat praying Sam wouldn't get hurt, and then she'd say a one-liner or think something funny, and I'd chuckle and catch my breath. Love it!""Sam's Song is no lightweight suspense book. Howe deals with drugs, spousal abuse, child abuse, and more. While the topics she writes about are heavy, Howe does a fantastic job of giving the reader the brutal truth while showing us there is still good in life and hope for better days to come."

Book preview

Chapter One

I sat at my desk and reached for a rice pudding. Two weeks until the Big Day. Two weeks until our baby was due. If a week was a long time in politics then two weeks seemed an eternity in a pregnancy. I’d had enough, not of being pregnant, but of being in limbo. I couldn’t wait to see Carys. I couldn’t wait to hold her, to kiss her, to feed her. But wait I must. Two more weeks. I caressed my bump and sighed.

Our office was a hive of activity. Faye sat at her desk, typing a report on her computer. She’d given up on her contact lenses and opted for spectacles. In all truth, the spectacles suited her. Faye’s blue-green eyes were her best feature and her new spectacles enhanced those eyes, made them appear larger.

Faye’s fingers danced over the keyboard. Occasionally, she paused and frowned. She pushed up her sleeves to indicate that she meant business. A grey summer necessitated an extra layer of clothing. This year we were missing our sun-inspired vitamin D. Indeed, Faye had resorted to taking health supplements.

Tamara sat at her desk and talked with a client on the phone. Troubled with spina bifida since birth, the condition did not hamper her work rate or performance. Indeed, she was very intelligent and extremely athletic. In her wheelchair, she participated in a wide range of sporting activities, winning some, remaining competitive in others.

Tamara also wore spectacles. Maybe the sight of Tamara in spectacles had swayed Faye’s decision to abandon her contact lenses. Faye was content with her boyfriend Blake. As their relationship had developed, she’d dropped aspects of her vanity; subconsciously, she no longer tried too hard to please or to look ‘perfect’.

I stood, stretched my back and waddled over to the dormer window. Our attic office overlooked Cardiff Bay. I glanced at the bay, at the boats bobbing on the water, then stared across to an adjacent office block, hoping to catch a glimpse of the handsome man who worked as an architect in that office. I’m not sure why I was so fascinated with him. I was content with my husband and had no plans to stray. Maybe it was just natural human instinct. And he did offer a welcome distraction, particularly on a grey day. I hadn’t seen the handsome man for over a week. Maybe he was on holiday.

Our immediate neighbour, a friendly Rastafarian, was pleased with himself. He worked in the city and in his spare time wrote library music, background music for films, radio and television. He found the city work boring and wanted to write music full-time. A recent contract had placed him on the path to dream fulfilment. Whenever he saw us, he always offered a generous smile. Some people had the natural ability to lift your mood.

Faye glanced up from her keyboard and Tamara closed her phone. They sensed that I wanted their attention.

So, I said, I’m off now, for six months; you know what you’re doing?

Everything’s in hand, Faye said. Go away. Put your feet up. Come back in six months. The office is running like clockwork.

I nodded then turned to Tamara. Any problems? I asked.

Not really, she said. Except we do have a regular caller, a young woman with a strong Yorkshire accent. She’s using the agency as a helpline, seeking advice about family issues centred on her parents. She rents a flat, but doesn’t live there. She’s unhappy living with her parents, but is reluctant to leave. I don’t know what she thinks we can do about it. It’s all very strange.

Ease her towards emotional support helplines, I suggested. They can offer her the advice she needs. Maybe she’s lonely and just wants someone to talk with.

I think that’s the crux of it, Tamara said. She complains about her parents, has a flat all furnished, but won’t move in. I don’t understand her. She’s very strange.

People are strange, I said, pulling a face, crossing my eyes.

In school, the ability to cross my eyes at will saved me from some of the bullies. It disarmed them, made them laugh. My gesture made Tamara laugh. That was a delightful sound, lovely to hear because she could be intense at times.

Are you making any progress on the Denton case? I asked Faye.

I suspect that Mr Denton is having an affair, Faye said, but no proof, as yet. Every month or so he jets off to Spain, apparently on business. I reckon that I need to follow him to Spain. I’ve discussed this with Mrs Denton and she’s okay about the expenses. The uncertainty is creasing her. She just wants to learn the truth about her husband, even if it means uncovering an affair.

What business is he in? I asked.

Rubber, Faye said.

Tamara tittered at that. A private joke. I didn’t pry.

If Mrs Denton is happy with the expenses, I said, I reckon you should follow her husband to Spain.

Will do, Faye replied.

The security branch of our business was going well and proving to be a nice little earner. However, due to the recent pandemic our mystery guest work at the hotels had dried up. The holiday and leisure sectors were suffering. Most sectors were suffering but, somehow, we’d managed to buck that trend.

Carys would arrive into a turbulent world, a world gripped by a health crisis and a climate crisis. Was our generation unique in facing these challenges, or was it always so? Previous generations had fought in world wars. Our ancestors had not enjoyed an easy ride.

Once again, I glanced through the window and took in the view. On my return, that view would remain largely the same. However, my life would be totally different. It would be a challenge, jugging family and business commitments. But I liked a challenge. You develop as a person when confronted with challenges.

Okay, I said. I’m off now. I’ll leave everything in your capable hands.

I waddled towards the door, but felt reluctant to leave.

Go, Faye said. We can cope.

If something should crop up...

We can cope, Faye said. She sighed, becoming exasperated. But if we should need your advice, we’ll call you. Go, put your feet up; enjoy your rest. In two weeks, you’ll be on the go full time. Take this break while you have the chance.

I will, I said. But if you should need me...

Faye glared at me. She reached for a pen and took aim at my head.

I’m going, I said.

Chapter Two

I drove home, through the city, to St Fagans. The traffic was light. The sky was grey with the sun hidden behind clouds. The radio played ‘Orchard Road’ by Leo Sayer. I hadn’t heard that song for some time and was reminded of its quality.

Next up, ‘Bird of Paradise’ by Snowy White. That was a beautiful song. I felt like singing along, but refrained. I had a terrible singing voice. I ‘murdered’ songs. If charged and placed in the Old Bailey I’d get ninety-nine years.

I listened to retro radio stations. Sometimes, they conducted interviews with old rock stars. Some of those stars were in their seventies; others were in their eighties. I associated jazz and blues with old age; rock was a young man’s game, at least at the beginning. Of course, at its birth many regarded rock music as a passing fad, but it was still going strong. Moreover, some of the old-timers still felt the urge to perform or create. I found that admirable and revered their dedication and spirit.

The baby kicked in time with the music. She had natural rhythm. When I hit the brake hard at a junction, she offered a violent kick. She didn’t approve of my driving. I apologised and we moved on.

I’d sold my Porsche and bought another Mini. Looking back, I’m not sure why I bought the Porsche in the first place. I think the purchase was tied-in with a mid-life crisis and the thought that I’d never become pregnant. In retrospect, it was a crazy decision. We all make mistakes. We don’t live our lives in a bubble of common sense.

At home, I found Alan preparing dinner, a simple salad. He worked all day, mainly from his psychologist’s office, yet more times than not he prepared the evening meal. He spoiled me. I was lucky. I never ignored or forgot those facts.

I stood on tiptoe, placed a hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek. You spoil me, I said.

Alan smiled. I just want the best for you and our baby.

I want the best for her too, I said, but I won’t spoil her. Tantrums won’t get her anywhere and she’ll learn that for a fact. Our daughter will be loved and well grounded. She will not be a prima-donna. I will be firm about that.

Alan shrugged. Maybe her genes will decide her personality.

Nature or nurture?

He chopped a spring onion, mixed it in the salad and said, We’re about to find out.

I wandered over to the kitchen sink and washed my hands. Although not obsessive, I’d always been a regular hand washer, and the recent pandemic had reinforced that fact. ‘Cleanliness is next to godliness,’ my late mother used to say. I’m not sure why she said that because she didn’t believe in God and as a young child my hands were always covered in mud. Indeed, one of my favourite childhood pictures showed me with dirty hands and mud streaked all over my grinning face.

Alan sliced a cucumber and two tomatoes. He would take paternity leave when the baby arrived; just two weeks, but two important weeks that would allow us time to bond and adjust.

A fortnight until our due date. Everything was arranged. The baby’s room was ready. My agency was in good hands. I could put my feet up. Yet, I wasn’t sure that I could sit still for a fortnight. Physically, I could rest. However, from my childhood I’d always had an active mind. I’d need something to occupy my mind.

Chess puzzles, they were good, but you could only complete so many of them before losing interest. Reading. I had a pile of books on my bedside cabinet; I could catch up with my reading. My ancestors. Maybe I’d make a serious attempt to trace my family tree. Maybe I’d delve into the past. That sounded good. I’d uncover Carys’ roots. I’d delve into the past.

While Alan sliced a beetroot, fresh from our garden, I wandered over to his briefcase and a pile of research papers.

What are these? I asked, studying the papers.

I’m writing a paper on arachnophobia, Alan said.

Spiders, I said. I can understand why spiders distress some people, but they don’t bother me.

The good thing about object phobias like arachnophobia, Alan said, is that phobics respond well to desensitisation. Basically, you start with a picture of a tiny spider. You move on to pictures of larger spiders, then the real thing in a safe environment, such as a glass dome. The final stage focuses on becoming familiar with a spider in its natural habitat. I encourage my clients to give the spiders names. When you add that degree of familiarity the feared object becomes less frightening.

Alan checked the oven. He was baking potatoes and cooking chicken. As a carnivore, he enjoyed meat. As a vegetarian, I enjoyed meat substitutes. Carys would eat meat until she was old enough to make a decision on her food preferences for herself. I sensed that the climate crisis would move many people away from consuming meat, either through choice or through an enforced change in farming methods.

Glancing through the kitchen window, I noticed a furniture removal van and new neighbours. We were fortunate to live in a renovated sixteenth century manor house; I loved it. Our neighbours lived in a similar property. Our houses were isolated with only a few in our street. They were private, surrounded by large gardens. Our house wasn’t a