Chapters (156)
- A DATE WITH DEATH
- Also by Mark Roberts
- A Date With Death
- Copyright Page
- Contents
- The Past
- 1977
- Day OneWednesday, 1st December 2021CatoptrophobiaFear of mirrors
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- The Past
- 1979
- Day TwoThursday, 2nd December 2021OneirophobiaFear of dreams
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- The Past
- 1980
- Day ThreeFriday, 3rd December 2021MonophobiaFear of being alone
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- 77
- 78
- 79
- 80
- 81
- 82
- 83
- 84
- 85
- 86
- 87
- 88
- 89
- 90
- 91
- 92
- 93
- 94
- 95
- 96
- 97
- 98
- The Past
- 1982
- Day FourSaturday, 4th December 2021ThanatophobiaFear of Death
- 99
- 100
- 101
- 102
- 103
- 104
- 105
- 106
- 107
- 108
- 109
- 110
- 111
- 112
- 113
- 114
- 115
- 116
- 117
- 118
- 119
- 120
- 121
- 122
- 123
- 124
- 125
- 126
- 127
- 128
- 129
- 130
- 131
- 132
- 133
- 134
- 135
- 136
- 137
- About the Author
- An Invitation from the Publisher
‘How are you feeling, Eve?’
‘Up for it. How are things here? I’ve been in my own little bubble for hours.’
‘Things here have been strange.’
‘Have we heard from Daniel Ball, Maguire Holdings?’
‘No. We need to stick his head into a mangle ASAP.’
‘Anything else?’ asked Clay.
‘Barney Cole’s on one,’ Riley smiled.
‘How so, Gina?’
‘The image system on the board in the incident room. He’s pulling his hair out.’
‘Good. Barney Cole’s agitated spells usually bring results.’
A pipe rattled deep in the building and the wind wrapped itself around the walls and windows like a requiem hymn defying the night.
‘Great night for a first date,’ said Riley. ‘Everyone’s ready and in place. I’ll be two or three cars behind you as you drive down to the waterfront. You’re not on your own here. But we have to go right now.’
Clay felt the weight of her bag, the solidity of the handgun against the make-up.
‘Then let’s go right now,’ said Clay. ‘Let’s get this sorted.’
82
7.10 pm
Neil Wren stared straight ahead, tried to drown out his son’s voice, the verbal battering ram banging incessantly against his skull and his ears.
‘Dad, Dad, Dad, talk to me, Dad. This is the fifth time we’ve driven under the Garston bridge, fucking Garston Bridge…’
‘Wren, cut the language, now!’
‘You’re going round in a circle, Garston Village, the high street, under the bridge, turn left and carry on and slow down at the police station, and on, and on, and on…’
Wren fell silent, then made a clucking noise with his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
‘You’re acting weird, Dad. What’s wrong with you?’
‘I’m trying to think. Shut up and let me get my thoughts in order.’
The moment when Neil Wren saw his son on television, caught on CCTV in the passenger seat of Edgar’s white van, hit him again at full force.
The police want to talk to this man in relation to the discovery of a woman’s body in the Allerton district of Liverpool.
As the newsreader’s words went through him, he wondered if he was imagining that it was Wren or if he was mistaking another man’s white van for Edgar’s, but he knew at his core there was no mistake.
‘What happened when Edgar took you home early on your first day in the abattoir?’
‘Nothing.’
‘He told me he was going to take you home but that he was going to go on a message on the way there. Where did he go to on that message?’
‘Nowhere.’
‘Answer the question. And don’t lie!’
Where words had cascaded, they now came in drips.