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
‘When?’
‘Last night. Thursday, 2nd December. The Travelodge.’
‘What time?’
‘Eight o’clock until ten at night.’
Shit, thought Winters, the CCTV footage of Francesca Christie walking away from the Albert Dock just after half past eight replaying in his mind, the last time she was seen.
‘Are you absolutely certain about this, Susan?’
‘It was last night, for heaven’s sake. Of course I’m certain.’
‘What room did you use?’
‘The room we always use if it’s available. Room 1002.’
‘Whereabouts in the building?’
‘Top floor. Do you know what?’
She walked to the freezer in the corner of the kitchen, opened the door and pulled out a frozen leg of lamb.
‘Whenever I service him, he always brings me a gift from the abattoir where he works. Last night it was this leg of lamb. The time before that…’ She thought about it as she placed the leg of lamb back in the freezer and shut the door. ‘It was a load of top-end T-bone steaks. He doesn’t have to do that. Hardly any of them do express gratitude or give me gifts. With most of them it’s like, I’ve paid for it now so suck my dick or kiss my snatch and act like you’re grateful. Not Edgar. He’s a gentleman. What’s he up for?’
‘Murder.’
‘Oh, fuck right off, pardon my French. Some of the punters are rough. He’s not one of them.’
She fell silent, listened hard to a noise in the house that Winters couldn’t make out.
‘OK, change the subject. I never quite know what she hears or understands.’
The kitchen door opened and an elderly woman peered in as if looking through a dense fog. Winters worked out she was well advanced in her dementia.
‘Who? Who is this, Susan?’
‘It’s Clive, the manager of the Philharmonic pub. We’re having a business meeting.’
‘Don’t be silly. It’s your dad, Susan.’
‘I’m not your husband, sorry, Mrs Hurst,’ said Winters.
‘Mum, go and watch the ending of Silver Linings Playbook. I’ll come and join you soon.’ Susan’s mother nodded even though she looked a thousand miles from certain. ‘Go on, Mum. See you soon.’
She stood up, gave her mother a gentle push on the shoulder and closed the door. From the baby monitor came the sound of a young child smacking its lips as it turned over in its sleep. It sounded exactly like Winters’ son when he was two years old, and an unfathomable sadness filled his being.
‘Mind if I take a picture of you, Susan?’
‘OK, but why?’
‘To show Edgar McKee we aren’t bluffing when we say we went to see you. He’s questioning just about everything.’
Susan sat back down and Winters took a picture of her on his iPhone.