Detective On The Edge: book 1

By sandra baldry

DI Vicky is a headstrong and sharp-tongued detective, given the cases nobody wants to touch. When handed a seemingly insignificant investigation involving missing rough sleepers, her instinct drives her to uncover the truth, regardless of the risks. With her, a newly transferred detective sergeant with his own personal demons, resulting in a captivating dynamic relationship.

While the world disregards the plight of these forgotten individuals, Vicky's unwavering determination fuels her quest to unveil the sinister hidden secrets behind their disappearances.

However, her journey nearly costs her life, frighteningly blurring the line between hunter and hunted. In this gripping tale, Vicky finds an unlikely ally in Joan Smith, a resolute rough sleeper with secrets of her own determined to assist the detective, regardless of Vicky's reluctance. As their reluctant partnership takes shape, they are further entangled in the dangerous web of deception surrounding them. To further complicate matters, Vicky's ex-lover, Michael, resurfaces, fueling an already volatile situation.

Through it all, their only shared objective is survival, propelling them forward even when the odds seem insurmountable. In this electrifying thriller, join Vicky and her motley crew as they navigate a treacherous world of crime and danger, weaving their way through unforgiving streets in their relentless pursuit of a truth that refuses to stay buried.

• Language: English
• Publisher: sandra baldry
• Release date: Sep 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223901808

Book preview

Prologue

'Kava! Get back here, you stupid mutt.' Tony snatched a lead from around his neck. Why had he volunteered to walk the dog? The answer is that his mother had a way of making him feel guilty.

'Kava needs a walk, but I feel knackered.' And she was, of course, looking at him while the mutt sat between them, its eyes flickering to the back door and the lead hanging on a hook, his tail wagging. Tony had only popped in to pick up the last of his stuff, having moved out the week before.

If he had known he would be walking the dog, he would have worn a warm coat and his boots since it had rained, making the ground soggy. He lifted his shoe and confirmed that it was caked in mud. And now the Jack Russel was barking at him, trying to draw his attention to something protruding from the ground.

Taking the opportunity, Tony quickly moved to clip the leash back on the dog. But then, on reaching Kava, he froze, letting what he saw sink in before he turned around to vomit.

Chapter 1

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‘Present for you, Pearce.’ Chief Inspector Jones grinned as he dropped an A4 sheet on Vicky’s desk before strolling on. He paused, glanced at her, and said, ‘Five pounds in the retirement pot!’ He was referring to a collection doing the rounds for him.

‘Still waiting for four quid change, sir,’ she said, and she wasn’t kidding. She had hoped the collection for the chief’s retirement fund wouldn’t catch up with her. Then how many times could she disappear to the loo when PC Rita Worth turned up with the hat and a smile?

With a grunt, he disappeared through the door to his office.

Vicky’s eyes flickered to the new detective, Bret Murphy, a transfer from London. He sat behind his desk, absorbed in positioning his pens, a laptop, a pack of sticky notes and a mobile in a way that led her to believe he had OCD.

He had arrived several days ago to replace Peters on suspension until the hearing. And since Vicky wouldn’t lie for him, she was now a pariah amongst her colleagues. She was unrepentant since in no universe do you beat on a prisoner because he looked the wrong way at you. Vicky had put herself between the prisoner, one Ricky Henson, a drug dealer and addict, and Peters, too late since he had already inflicted the prisoner with a broken jaw. She knew Peters had a quick temper, but even she was surprised at the rapid unfolding of events. His wife of six years may have walked out on him the day before, but that was no excuse. Her own domestic arrangements had gone to hell a few months earlier, and she liked to think it hadn’t affected her work. Yes, she had occasionally broken the rules; she was no angel, but even Vicky had her limits, a line she would not cross.

Considering the new guy, Bret Murphy, he looked keen enough. At thirty-two, he was five years younger than her, and his smile was genuine when he introduced himself. Her instincts told her he had come out of a relationship recently. Not that she considered it good detective work on her part. He had avoided questions about why he had moved from London to Suffolk, changing the subject. She knew it wasn’t a promotion. And whatever the reason, it had been rushed since he was staying in a B&B.

Two of the other detectives, DS Brown and DI Brown, had tried to interrogate him, making assumptions he’d been a naughty boy, and this was a way of moving him on, sweeping him under the carpet. Vicky had admired how Murphy didn't engage them in conversation, ignoring the jibes about his arse being moved to avoid embarrassment. In the end, bored with the pair, Murphy gave them a wink and hinted he was a fresh pair of eyes for their area. The response wasn't favourable, but Vicky could have laughed.

For her, the conclusive evidence that it might have been some domestic trauma was the gap on his finger where it could be seen a ring had once been.

Her eyes flickered over the case sheet, sensing detectives dumb and dumber, Brown and Dales watching her as they hunched over a computer screen, waiting for her reaction. She’d drawn the short straw again; she was on the case no one else wanted. Then what was new? Ignoring them, she approached the door, pausing at Murphy’s desk. ‘If you’re happy with your pens lined up with the other stuff you think is necessary, you’re with me.’

‘You’ll need to watch your back, Murphy,’ Brown called while Dale snorted.

‘Thanks for the advice; perhaps you might show how to beat up on a prisoner, too?’

Vicky’s jaw tightened. Not that she didn’t appreciate Murphy’s gesture, but she didn’t need his support; she could handle the shit pair all on her lonesome.

At the car park, she strode to her yellow mini Cooper, Murphy, trying to make conversation with her. Something about the weather and property prices in the area. It was an irritating noise to Vicky, who was more concerned with getting across the town at that time of day. He would have to learn she didn’t do small talk.

‘Really?’ Murphy said, eyeing her vehicle. He had approached the one-year-old shining silver golf parked beside her twenty-year-old mini. 

‘Nothing wrong with it,’ she said, amused at how he stared at her pride and joy. ‘I didn't cause the dent in the door. It works, so stop staring at it like the ugly girl you’ve been asked to date.’

‘Don’t think I’d fit in it.’

Vicky was tall at five feet seven, but having to look up at him, she guessed he was over six feet. She sent the thought he was ruggedly handsome to the back of her mind. He had dark hair swept back off his face, and his eyes were deep brown. His nose was long and straight, and she wondered if he was trying to grow a beard or had missed shaving that day.

‘Try,‘ she told him as she slipped into the vehicle.

‘Where are we going?’ he enquired, having pushed the seat as far back as it would go to feed his long legs in the passenger side and then discovering it would be a Mensa test to get the seatbelt to work. Can you give me any hint about our destination or the case we're working on, or is this a test of my detective skills?’

‘Our case is to investigate the disappearances of rough sleepers. The last, a week ago,’ Vicky responded with a glance in the rear-view mirror. Several thick strands of her dark blond hair had escaped the ponytail she favoured. Tucking them back in place, she glanced at Murphy, staring at her as she fired up the engine.

‘Homeless! Vanishing?’ He raised an eyebrow, the dark eyes beneath mischievous.

‘Even people without housing have routines. Places they go when hungry or need a wash or a bed at the shelter, and they’re missed if the routine’s broken,’ explained Vicky, not impressed with her companion. 'If you read the report, you might have also known that they identified the victim found on the rough common with his throat cut as a homeless person.' The only information we have is Tom's first name, which was provided by a shelter worker who recognised him from a newspaper photo.

‘So, is the thinking there’s a connection between that and the missing men?’

‘Possibly. If there is a link, we need to find it.’

‘So, where are we going now?’

‘Because I have been given the cases no one wants. I have developed contacts on the street.’ So if it’s alright with you, we’re heading to one now?’ Vicky rapped. While not expecting much, Smith's eagle eyes would make her the likely source of information.

‘Perhaps they’re being held for ransom?’

Having to dodge the traffic was one thing, but Murphy’s amused tone was becoming annoying. It was a Friday morning, and their destination, the town, and the lights conspired against her the whole way. It was rush hour, and the school run in full flow. On top of that, it rained. A screeching sound shot through the car as Vicky flicked on the wipers. She ignored Murphy's glance; buying new wipers was on her to-do list.

Vicky hit the horn as suicidal pedestrians sprinted across the street to escape getting wet, and cyclists that weaved in and out of the queuing traffic, annoying her, though she admired their agility.

Parking, they set off towards the shops where Vicky hoped to find the person she sought. Murphy was panting breathlessly beside her as he struggled to keep pace.

‘Can you slow down, and you know you’ve parked on yellow lines back there?’

Vicky glanced at him. ‘Parking wardens are working northeast today, and you need to drop a few pounds,’ she said with a flick of her eyes at his stomach, thinking possibly a beer belly developing, not knowing him well enough to decide the actual cause yet. Give her a week, and Vicky would have the highlights of his life, priding herself on being more subtle than dumb and dumber. And she liked to know who she was working with.

‘A week with you should do the trick,‘ he answered. ‘Any chance you could inform me who we're searching for?’

Vicky ignored him as they turned a corner onto the main high street. According to the clock on top of the public toilets, it was 9.30, and Vicky hoped to find Smith along the town’s pedestrian end. If correct, it would be near the fast-food outlets to catch hungry customers exiting with breakfast boxes and a coffee.

Vicky had been informed by the rough sleeper that such pitches never failed to produce enough coin to buy breakfast. But if you didn’t get there early, another bastard beat you to it. Then it was a trip to the local bakers instead, not so good, but better than nothing.

As Vicky strode towards her destination, she noted one of the few independents, a greengrocer that had survived for twenty years, had shut up for good. It was no surprise since there was a supermarket nearby. She didn’t suppose the bananas she brought there once a week would keep them afloat.

Walking past a Costa coffee shop, she headed towards the McDonald’s, scanning the doorways of closed-down shops on the other side.

‘Where are we going? I’m getting wet here,’ Murphy said as he dodged pedestrians hurrying either side of them to escape the rain pounding the pavement. 

Vicky had spotted the person she was looking for; she would have recognised the huddle in a closed shop doorway anywhere. 

Chapter 2

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Searching through her jacket pocket, Vicky retrieved a hanky, followed by her mobile and a pack of mints, before finding a small scent bottle. She squirted it under her nose and then offered it to Murphy, who had disappeared behind her, to shelter from the rain at a coffee shop entrance.

‘You’ll need it. The individual we want is over there, and she’s ripe.’ If Vicky were to describe the smell, it would be like a summer day driving past a farmer's field with open windows to discover that the areas had just been manured. She didn’t bother to explain this to Murphy. He would find out for himself as he waved her offer away. He was looking over his shoulder longingly at the coffee shop.

'Are you with me?'

Murphy turned and followed Vicky's gaze to the closed shoe shop doorway that sunk back several feet. In the shop doorway that sunk back several feet, a woman sat on a makeshift mat of flattened cardboard boxes, with her belongings in a supermarket trolley beside her. The woman’s eyes peered from beneath an unkempt fringe of matted grey hair, watching the passer-byes. Her body wrapped in a sleeping bag, and further from her, a plastic bowl designed to tempt contributions from anyone with loose change in their pocket.

Vicky tightened the hood of her jacket over her head as she dodged hurrying umbrellas to cross to the other side of the pedestrian precinct, aware her companion was close behind.

‘Hello, Victoria, my favourite detective,' the woman said, having followed her progress.

‘Inspector Pearce.’ Vicky reminded her. It wouldn't make any difference since the woman looking up at her call her what she wanted.

‘You can call me Joan, I don't mind,' she glanced to Murphy,' though most call me Smith,’ she said, wriggling on her cardboard mat to make herself more comfortable while letting wind. ‘That’s better.’ She grinned at them while her grey eyes sparkled mischievously. 

'Take it with a pinch of salt that it's her real name,' Vicky said, glancing at Murphy before resting her eyes on Smith again. ‘You reported,‘ Vicky started as she pulled out the case sheet from inside her jacket, her eyes running over it. ‘A Jake Baker missing a few days back?’

‘Name is Jake, for sure.’ She leaned forward to whisper, ‘but had to make up Baker.‘ She smiled, revealing gaps in her front teeth.

Murphy recoiled as the odour from the woman’s clothes wafted in his direction. ‘Oh god!’ He waved a hand over his face to redirect the smell.

‘I warned you,’ Vicky said as she crouched at eye level with Smith. The perfume spray didn’t completely protect her from the stench, but it was at least bearable.

‘You last saw Jake five days ago, correct?’

‘Yeah,’ she shrugged, 'but you know how it is. One day merges into another. It might have been six days. And he's the umpteenth one gone missing; something is very wrong, and the police don't care. They keep saying, with no fixed address, how do we know they're missing?'

'Which is a good point,' Murphy said, still waving a hand before his nose. Vicky glared at him; he wasn't helping.

‘Did he say where he was going when you last saw him?’ Vicky asked.

‘Wouldn’t have reported him missing if he’d told me, would I ?!’ she said, watching Murphy, who had staggered back, propping himself against the shop window, gagging.

‘He’s new?’

‘What gave it away?’ Not expecting an answer, she persisted, 'So, no idea where he was heading when you last saw him?’

Smith shook her head. ‘I liked your other partner, Harrison?’

‘His name was Peters, and you didn’t like him.’ Vicky recalled, there’d been tension between the pair. Peters believed rough sleepers were an eyesore in the town, an embarrassment, and he had no problem telling Smith so. Whereas Smith argued she added colour to the town and reminded everyone there was always someone worse off than them. So, in her eyes, she was doing everyone a favour.

‘Will I like this one?’ Her eyes flickered to Murphy again, trying to recover his composure and stepping back into the doorway out of the rain. She went on, ’Getting younger, aren't they? Did you kidnap him from school?’ She shot a look at Vicky, forcing a smile from her.

‘Okay, Smith, I need to ask you about this missing man. I understand you last saw him five days ago. Is it possible he moved to another area? Why do you think he’s missing?’ Vicky asked, bringing the conversation back to the missing victim.

‘We had arranged to meet last Saturday at the top end of the market. He would sit on one side collecting and me on the other. Works a treat as we raise enough money to get a few beers and some grub. He never misses that. And he