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
She pressed the car key to open her car and, hearing the action of the car locking, realised she hadn’t locked it. Clay pressed again, opened the car door and sat behind the wheel. Closing the door over, she heard herself let out a long sigh.
Clay looked down and leaned forward to turn the key in the ignition.
‘Excuse me?’
A voice behind her.
She reached into her coat for the gun.
The first blow to her skull was heavy but deflected by the head rest. She saw stars and random patterns of light.
She squeezed the Glock from her pocket and looked into the rear-view mirror as the second blow came down towards her. Clay dipped but the heavy instrument clipped her head and sent her sense of gravity spinning upwards in a wild spiral.
Clay saw. Clay forced her eyes wide as the tug of unconsciousness turned into a restraint that couldn’t be denied.
Clay looked.
A thick head of blond hair, freakish, and something sad and wild glinting across the surface of a pair of dark eyes.
She raised the gun and the effect was immediate.
The back window was smashed. The door opened.
The gun fell from her hands and, in those last moments of wakefulness, she felt the Glock skitter under her seat.
She slumped forward, felt the goodnight kiss of the steering wheel as her forehead made contact with its curve.
As darkness took over, the last of Clay’s senses told her that there were ambulances and traffic out there and someone had been there who smelt of something expensive.
Her senses dulled and, within a moment, Clay was buried alive in darkness.
88
9.30 pm
Detective Sergeant Karl Stone stood in the space beneath the floorboards in Edgar McKee’s living room and looked around at the bagged-up contents of his flat. DVDs, CDs and magazines were in three separate sacks. Each item of clothing from his wardrobe was in a bag of its own, waiting to be ferried back to Trinity Road for forensic inspection.
Detective Sergeant Terry Mason walked to the door of the living room with an air of intense disappointment and two bags containing a bottom bed sheet and a plain duvet cover.
‘Anything on the sheets?’ asked Stone, glancing at the mammoth collection of pornography on DVD.
‘The bed sheet and the duvet cover look like they’re freshly clean on. To the naked eye, there are no traces of semen or saliva. McKee had a dirty mind but his living space is squeaky clean. There’s no way he could’ve held a cat captive here, let alone a couple of women. Anything from the neighbours, Karl?’