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
‘Funnily enough, I didn’t swap contact details with any of the prostitutes I visited on my summer holiday. And guess what? I didn’t get any selfies with them either. Also, also… it was, like, four fucking months ago. They get through dozens of men a day. Do you think they’re going to remember me? I don’t think so, because I wouldn’t remember them, if I tripped over them on the street.’
‘How are you feeling, Mr McKee?’ asked Clay.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Coming back to more recent times. As in yesterday. Wren just asked you how you were.’
Edgar McKee shrugged. ‘He’s autistic. He’s random.’
‘No, he wasn’t being random. I’ve spoken to his father, Neil. You phoned in sick to the abattoir with diarrhoea and vomiting. How can you have a two-hour sexual marathon with a woman if you’ve got gastroenteritis?’
‘I phoned in sick because I wanted a breather from Wren. How would you feel if he was on your neck every minute of your working day? The lad was driving me nuts, and I’d only been with him for a couple of days. When I woke up on Friday, I just couldn’t face it.’
‘Well, as the saying goes, Mr McKee…’ Clay looked up at the CCTV camera filming the interview. ‘Every cloud has a silver lining. If you are found to have done nothing wrong, maybe this could be the lever you can use with the management in the abattoir to get Wren off your neck.’
McKee stood up and folded his arms across his chest.
‘Try to help someone. End up in a cell. You’re damn right I’m not having any more to do with him. Wren? That’s a fucking joke name. He’s more of a fucking albatross. What are you smiling at, Hendricks?’ asked McKee.
‘That was quite a witty play on words. Wren, neck, albatross. I am allowed to smile, Mr McKee.’ Hendricks looked at Clay. ‘We done for now?’
‘Just for now.’ She took out her iPhone and called the front desk. ‘Sergeant Harris, can you come and collect Mr McKee and take him back to his cell. And can you ask Detective Constable Cole to download some CCTV footage from the interview suite on to my laptop.’
She looked at Edgar McKee, read the twists and turns inside his head.
‘Something wrong, Mr McKee?’
The Past
1982
From her bedroom window, she could see her little brother standing perfectly still on the snow-dusted gravel in front of the house, in between the front door, the evil wind that pressed down on the earth and the black taxi that throbbed near the wide-open gateway.
Dressed in a grey coat and woollen hat, with socks that stretched up to below his knees, his lower thighs were exposed to the fierce cold.
She could feel the cold that pinched at his skin.