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
As Gina Riley walked away from the padlocked railings, Clay walked towards them.
‘We’ve got the kid in Trinity Road and we’ve got a name for The Ghoul. Edgar McKee.’
Riley nodded and carried on as if she’d heard nothing.
Clay stood with her back turned to the padlocked railings. The people walked away, as if they’d been magically alerted to leave on cue with her arrival.
On the promenade to her right, the wind pushed something metal against a street light, an irregular clanging of metals like a defective bell summoning mourners to a funeral by the river.
Clay stopped and waited as the cold wind bit down on her and pinched her face, just as it had done to Annie Boyd, Amanda Winton and Francesca Christie.
84
7.31 pm
In 199 Moscow Drive, there were six flats spread out over three floors. Winters stepped over the threshold with five armed officers at his back, past the man who had opened the front door of the tall building.
He showed the man his warrant card and said, ‘You’re to stay in your flat. Keep the door closed and don’t come out until we’ve left.’
Winters turned to his colleagues. ‘I’ll have one man on each floor to keep the neighbours indoors. One, two, come with me.’
On the landing of the top floor, he pressed in the timed light and identified the door of Flat 6. With one hand he knocked on the door three times, each time a little louder, and in the other hand felt the weight of the ram.
‘Open up, Mr McKee. It’s the police. I’ve going to give you a count of five. If you haven’t opened the door on five, we’ll ram your door.’
On five, Winters opened the door with one swift blow.
The flat was in complete darkness. Instinct told him that it was empty. There was a concoction of competing odours, musk and sweat at the heart of it, thinly masked by body sprays that did nothing to eradicate the ingrained stench.
Winters stepped inside and turned the light on in the narrow hall. After the armed officers had checked the rooms either side of the corridor, Winters knew that his instinct had been right. McKee wasn’t home.
He turned on all the lights in the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and living room and took in how clean and tidy it all was, despite the stale smells.
Stepping into McKee’s bedroom, he saw that the sheet was folded over at the top of the single bed. Fastidious bachelor, thought Winters, opening the wardrobe where shirts, jackets and trousers were lined up in neat rows, the hooks of the hangers all pointing in the same direction.