Cut You Dead (Dr. Samantha Willerby Mystery #4) - A J Waines Page 0,7

Morricone?’

‘Only on vinyl,’ he said, finding the cover straight away from a wide row of records on his built-in shelves. Not only did he have exactly what I asked for, he didn’t baulk at my choice. I liked that. I received enough derision in my life from my sister, even though I loved her to bits. As he slid the disc from the sleeve, the mobile on the coffee table rang.

Glancing at the caller’s details, he picked up. ‘Sorry, I need to take this,’ he said, his expression sombre.

A rock fell inside my stomach. Someone special?

He disappeared into the adjoining room, presumably the bedroom.

I still had a tickle in my throat, so I slipped over to the sink to top up my glass of water. Terry’s laptop was open on the kitchen island and I knew it was wrong to pry, but still I took a quick look.

I was surprised to recognise the photograph. It was the woman who’d fallen from the balcony the day before. The same picture the press had posted. I glanced up, but there was no sign of Terry coming back.

Originally a detective, and a good one, Terry was now involved with crime data management, training officers in the HOLMES 2 system. His change of direction came about due to a shotgun that had shattered his knee in an armed robbery a few years ago. Luckily, he loved his new job and with a passion for trying extreme sports, as well as learning new skills in the kitchen, he’d never let the injury hold him back. He didn’t even need his walking stick anymore.

When I looked closer at the screen, I noticed the Met logo in the corner. Of course. Terry must have been working on data connected to the incident when I turned up unannounced.

I quickly scanned the text. The deceased was believed to be twenty-three-year-old Hazel Hart – an estate agent from Kings Cross. A formal identification was being carried out by her next of kin before the post-mortem.

Claussen’s team had made it clear to me that I wouldn’t be allowed access to current cases, so I knew this was something I shouldn’t be looking at. Nevertheless, I was intrigued to know what information had been kept out of the media, if any. I tentatively put my finger on the touchpad and scrolled down. Then wished I hadn’t. I had to swallow hard to keep the curry I’d just eaten where it was.

There were a series of photos taken at the scene. Shots of Hazel, a stunningly beautiful woman, after she’d hit the concrete. I looked away. I didn’t want to see this. Nevertheless, something drew my eyes back. It was her hair. It wasn’t long, like it had been in the press picture, it was cut short into a bob.

I speed-read the police report underneath. The stunt occurred during a party in Hazel’s flat where around fifty people were believed to have attended. The police already had a long list of witnesses. The report stated that nothing was found on Hazel’s body at the base of the tower block apart from one item. A pair of hairdressing scissors.

I was so engrossed, I didn’t hear Terry march back into the room.

Hazel

One week earlier

Is it you again, you slimeball? Loitering at the end of my road, hands in your pockets, trying to look cool? How do you know where I live? You followed me home?

I take two steps out of my gate in my new Jimmy Choo ankle boots and glance round. Sure enough, you’re on the move. I still can’t see your face, but know it’s you from your big strides. What kind of pervy game are you playing?

Whatever it is, I’m getting pissed off. How do I get rid of you? I finger the phone in my pocket and think about calling the cops, but what would they do?

I should tell someone though. Until now I haven’t been sure – I keep thinking it might all be in my head – but it’s been three days. No one’s going to help me if they don’t know what’s going on. On the other hand, I’m going to feel like a total wimp if I have to get one of the lads in my block to walk me to the bus stop and meet me from work, like an effin’ bodyguard. Humiliation, or what? In any case, that’s no use to me right now, because I’ve just checked and you’re right behind me, your hood