Ghost of a Chance

By Jaye Marie

A damaged detective, out of a job
A relationship on the rocks
What does the future hold for David Snow?
Just when he thought life couldn’t get any worse
A ghost with a grudge adds to his pain
A ghost hell bent on stopping him from rebuilding his life...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jaye Marie
• Release date: Oct 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005526085

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

The eerie scratching woke her, echoing around in the darkness of the bedroom. The sound seemed to be coming from under her bed as if an animal were trying to escape. A glance at the luminous display on the bedside clock revealed it was the middle of the night. Going back to sleep would be difficult as the noise was getting louder, and the room seemed cold. She wondered if one of the windows had been left open.

She switched on the bedside lamp, and the noise stopped abruptly.

The sound of snoring coming from across the landing meant that her husband had not been disturbed. She breathed a sigh of relief, which materialised in the air in front of her in a misty cloud. Why was it so cold?

Judging by the soreness between her legs, he had revisited her last night. The streaks of blood on the sheet when she threw back the covers confirmed that she hadn’t imagined it, along with all the missing objects, strange odours, and peculiar noises she was forced to live with.

He tried to drive her insane but constantly denied all knowledge of anything strange happening in the house lately. She tried to remember when he first insisted on sleeping in the spare room and what excuse he had used. It seemed odd, considering he still wanted sex every night. She found the idea repulsive but was grateful she didn’t have to be awake to see the performance.

He always denied it, but the traces of blood told a different story. Never an affectionate man, their relationship had deteriorated into a state of polite animosity. Something she longed to escape from, as the nightly attacks were becoming unbearable.

Later that day, after a strained and distraught breakfast, he suddenly accused her of having a man in her room in the middle of the night.

While he waited for her to speak, she studied his flushed and angry face, the weird glint in his eyes, and something inside her shuddered. She wondered what game he was playing now.

He stood up, the sudden rattle of disturbed crockery as his huge stomach collided with the edge of the table. As he lurched towards her, the room began to spin, slowly at first, then faster. He grabbed her arms with both hands, his fat fingers digging into her flesh. She felt herself slipping away, her vision becoming dark and cloudy.

When she opened her eyes again, she was lying on the floor, broken crockery scattered around the room. She wondered what had happened, and as she rolled over to get to her feet, she saw her husband lying on his back a few feet away. He wasn’t moving.

She crawled over to him. One look at his battered and bloody face told her he was dead. Worst still, it would seem she had killed him, for his blood was all over her hands…

Chapter One

David Snow

I heard the front door closing, even over the noisy drumming of the shower. I must have been waiting for that sound and Jane to leave. I knew she wouldn’t say goodbye.

As the hot water pounded my skin, trying to dull the pain in my shoulder, I knew our marriage was over. It had been dying for months. I had tried to make conversation many times, only to receive more of her gentle reassurances that there was nothing to discuss.

Although a cold, clinical place, the bathroom was full of things that reminded me of Jane. Her brand of soap, favourite shampoo, the strands of blonde hair in her brush. And in the drawer, the discreet supply of feminine necessities. I wondered about those. How something so inconvenient had been allowed or tolerated in her perfectly organised life. Or why she had ever chosen me, the least likely candidate to share her life with, especially now.

I avoided looking in the mirror at the maze of cracked and splintered glass, a victim of my angry frustration. It should have been replaced by now, not left as a testimony to how bad life in this house had become.

At the beginning of our marriage, everything had been wonderful between us until the day a serial killer used me for target practice.

In a way, today was a relief. Seeing her disapproval every day had become a trial. A trial I didn’t think I deserved.

I wondered where she would go. Had she planned her escape with her usual methodical efficiency, or was there someone else, who fitted better with her career, now I didn’t have one anymore? Someone like I used to be before that crossbow ruined my life.

My injuries eventually healed well enough but left me in constant pain, with a damaged left arm and no desire to return to work. When I failed every medical, they generously offered me a desk job. Something I couldn’t bear to think about and insulted that they had offered it to me, not after my illustrious career as Detective Inspector David Snow.

I turned off the water, wishing I could turn back time as efficiently.

The sudden silence was punctuated by the slow drip from the showerhead above my head like a prodding accusatory finger, landing with soft plonks on the enamel below. I should reach for the towel, get dressed and start making some decisions, but I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to move. I couldn’t bear to think about my future.

Too late, I realised Jane had been right. All this time, I had been thinking about the past, wishing I hadn’t been injured, obsessed with what should have been. I needed to do something with my life. Starting with a new job and somewhere else to live, as I had come to hate this prison of a house.

I had to leave the past behind, but first, I had to find out if my life as a detective was really over.

~~~~~

Walking through the main doors of Guildford police station for the first time in weeks, the little courage I had summoned deserted me. I went to the shabby old desk in the corner of the Incident room and sat down. No one acknowledged my presence. I was invisible.

The words on the paper before me blurred as I waited for inspiration to strike. The inspiration I sought was the words I needed to get my job back. The job they considered me unable to perform due to the damage to my shoulder.

My last case as a detective had ended badly. The killer had ended up behind bars but not before a crossbow had done its worst, firing two deadly bolts into my back. After weeks of painful but futile rehabilitation, leading to my unfortunate despair and depression, Jane had given up trying to find the man she had fallen in love with. By this time, I was ashamed and disgusted by my lack of enthusiasm and wasn’t surprised when she walked away. It had the desired effect, though, for almost at once, I began to pull up my mental socks and set about sorting my life out. One of these days, I must thank her, preferably after figuring out a way to get her back.

I had been relegated to a desk job, mainly because I wouldn’t listen to reason. They wanted me to quit, but that wasn’t my option.

I had to get my life and job back.

After chasing the proverbial bull inside my head for another hour, desperation grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and steered me toward Alan Turner’s office. My office.

He looked up as I walked in, a look of delight swarming over his ugly face. Most women wouldn’t think him ugly with his dark hair and eyes, but whatever evil thoughts he had tended to be reflected on his face, leaving you no doubt what he thought of you. Right now, he looked smugly superior, sitting there in my chair.

I knew I was about to waste my time but had to try, so I launched into my carefully worded speech. I might have been speaking a foreign language for all the attention he gave me, and when I finished speaking, the silence was deafening.

‘I’m not ready to retire, Alan.’

Without looking up at me, he said, ‘DI Turner to you, Mr Snow. Why don’t you give up and go home? Please, close the door on your way out.’

Resisting the overwhelming desire to grab him by the throat, I was secretly pleased to leave as I never wanted the desk job in the first place. I walked away from my old office, trying to decide what I should do, when a commotion started in the outer office.

Obviously concerned about something, a young woman was waving her arms around in frustration, having trouble making herself understood.

Beside her was a well-dressed middle-aged woman, clutching the girl’s hand and perched on the edge of a chair with utter terror on her face. She looked up at everyone, her eyes searching their faces. She stared at me, her eyes exploring my face. Was she appealing to me the only way she knew, or was she searching for something the people around her didn’t seem to have?

I wondered what had happened to her, already feeling the familiar, overwhelming desire to help. But I couldn’t help her. Those days were long gone, killed by a crossbow.

The young woman beside her had noticed the exchange between us and started staring at me too. She called to me across the office. ‘Can you help us, please?’

As I started walking toward her, one of the officers closed the office door, halting further discussion and stopping me in my tracks. Something made me turn and look in the direction of Turner’s office. I instinctively knew he had given the signal. He was standing in the doorway, grinning at me, pointing the way out…

~~~~~

As I left the building, I noticed the young woman sitting on the step. I sat beside her, unable to think of anything to say.

‘I thought you were going to help; you certainly looked like you wanted to...’ She turned to face me, her accusing face inches away from mine. ‘Why didn’t you?’

I had to come up with something fast, for she looked determined to have it out with me. As I thought of an excuse, I noticed the damp tissue in her clenched hand and the redness around her eyes. She had been crying, but was it because she was sad or angry? I knew tears came for both emotions. I said I was sorry, hoping to have more time to get my act together.

‘And that makes everything all right, does it? Sorry for me, or that poor woman?’

‘Basically, for not helping. I wanted to...’ I stopped talking, not about to offload my problems to a stranger.

She suddenly stood up, probably deciding I was wasting her time. I couldn’t say she was wrong about that. She stood looking down at me, and I saw her properly for the first time. Not quite as young as I first thought, she had a pixie-like face, dark curly hair, and bright blue eyes. ‘Do you want to tell me what happened?’

‘A bit late to be interested now, don’t you think?’

‘Better late than never...’

‘Well, this time, it isn’t. You obviously can’t help me anyway.’ She went to walk away, and something made me stand up too. I did want to help, even though I wasn’t a detective anymore.

‘If I buy you a coffee, will you talk to me?’

Twenty minutes later, in the local cafe, coffee and doughnuts on the table in front of us, she told me her name was Laurie and all about the terrified woman that ran past her on the main road that morning.

‘I tried to stop her, but she was surprisingly strong for such a frail woman. Someone or something had scared the living daylights out of her.’

‘I wonder what happened. Did you get anything from the woman?’

‘I tried to calm her down, but she pinched my arm every time I asked if she had a husband.’ She pushed up the sleeve of her coat, revealing fresh bruises.

‘Did she say anything to the police?’

‘No, not a word. Why didn’t you get involved back there? I thought you were going to help.’

‘It’s a long story.’ I had boxed myself into a corner. Did I want to explain why I hadn’t rushed to help? After this morning’s slap in the face, I was still raw and exposed. I decided to change the subject. ‘What did they decide to do with her?’

She gave no sign of being offended by my reluctance to answer her question, more concerned about the terrified woman. ‘She had no identification and wouldn’t answer their questions. Because of her mental state and confusion, they sent her to the local hospital for evaluation. They probably won’t let me see her.’

I opened my mouth to speak without thinking, without remembering the truth of my situation. ‘They won’t turn a detective away, Laurie. Shall we go?’

She seemed nervous on the drive to the hospital, picking at the lurid purple nail polish on her fingernails. I tried to make conversation, but she wasn’t interested in talking to me. I wondered if that meant she hadn’t forgiven me for not rushing to help her that morning.

Sitting close to her, I was reminded of Kate Devereau, someone I once knew. Probably the combination of the unruly hair and short temper, both of which Kate had in abundance. I wondered where she was these days and found myself smiling for the first time in a long while.

The hospital car park was crowded. I found somewhere to park and made our way to the main entrance. I flashed my badge to the receptionist, who seemed to know all about