Cut You Dead (Dr. Samantha Willerby Mystery #4) - A J Waines Page 0,10

to blink in slow motion; it was very sexy and it distracted me. I reached down to scratch my ankle to break the seductive spell he was weaving, whether he knew it or not.

‘How the hell can you track down suspects suffering from delusions merely from police records?’ he asked.

‘Er… hmm… how indeed? That’s what’s worrying me.’ I rapped my nails against the side of my glass. ‘Sorry to keep going on about this.’

‘Don’t apologise. We’re chatting about things we both find engrossing, aren’t we?’ He got up suddenly. ‘I’ve got a book about Jack the Ripper; the psychology behind his rampages. You probably could have written it yourself, but let me go and get it.’ Terry flashed an unexpected grin and put his hand on my knee as he got to his feet. The heat of his palm lingered long after he pulled away, sending shivers skittering headlong down my spine.

There was something different between us that evening. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was simply the right time.

Despite the risk, I scuttled back to his laptop, taking my glass with me. Back to the woman with the long hair who’d fallen from the balcony. Something was bothering me. As I reread the details, Hazel’s radical haircut wasn’t mentioned once. That was a lot of hair she’d had removed. And the scissors. Not just any scissors, but they were hairdressing scissors that had been found in the deep pocket of her mini skirt. What about the selfie? Had she taken the picture? I skimmed the particulars. She had lost her balance before the shot was taken. The mobile was found shattered about three metres from her body.

Once again, I was so engrossed in the report that I failed to see Terry come back in. I wasn’t so lucky this time.

‘Hey, what are you up to?’ He was serious.

Caught in the act, I grimaced, swaying a little, still holding my wine glass.

He glanced down at what I was studying.

‘You do understand you’re not allowed access to current cases,’ he said, reproach transforming his eyes.

I nodded, not taking my eyes from his face. ‘I was curious – her hair… I mean, who carries hairdressing scissors at a party? It says here she was an estate agent, not a hairdresser. Had she just cut off all her own hair? Look at it here.’ I pointed to the shot given to the press where her sleek mane reached down to her waist. ‘This photo was taken only two weeks earlier. That’s about two feet of hair she’s had lopped off.’

He reached across me and shut the lid of the laptop, then leant back against the sink folding his arms. ‘You shouldn’t be looking at this.’ He took a laboured breath as if to imply it wasn’t the first time I’d overstepped the mark. ‘You’re meant to be looking into unsolved murders. Cold cases. This is strictly off limits.’

‘But maybe someone pushed this woman? Maybe she didn’t just “fall off” the balcony taking a selfie.’

‘It’s not a suspicious death, Sam.’

‘But what about the scissors in her pocket? Were they her scissors or the killer’s?’ I was on a roll. ‘Were they meant to be the weapon? Was the killer a hairdresser?’

Terry shook his head in despair. ‘I think maybe you’ve had a bit too much to drink.’

‘No,’ I retorted, blinking hard. I stared at the floor working out how much I’d actually had. Three large glasses? Four? I didn’t usually drink this much.

I felt my face fall and reached out to take hold of the edge of the sink. The room shifted a fraction to one side. ‘What if I have? I’m still talking sense.’

‘You shouldn’t be talking about this, at all.’ Disapproval showed in his mouth and I cringed inwardly at my transgression.

‘Shall we get you home?’ he suggested, stepping into the hallway and reaching for my coat.

Damn. I didn’t want to go. I was enjoying myself and there were too many unanswered questions left up in the air.

Although, one thing was certain. I’d well and truly blown it between the two of us.

9

My instant companion, even before I’d opened my eyes, was a hangover. The full works: nausea, dizziness, a mouth like the bottom of a parrot’s cage, topped off with a splitting headache. I turned away from the hairline crack in the curtains, as a laser shard of light stabbed my eyelids. It was as if I’d spent the entire night being churned on the tornado ride at an amusement