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
The sweat in the air was fresh.
‘Someone’s been here. Recently. Not long ago.’ She spoke to the glare from her torch on the surface of the mirror.
She walked back to the wooden steps and weak light from Norma Maguire’s kitchen filtered into the basement.
Clay called Mason on her iPhone and asked, ‘How are you getting on, Terry?’
‘We’re working on McKee’s boots from the abattoir.’
‘Anything?’ she asked, hoping against hope.
‘We’ve got one long hair from inside his right boot, but it’s impossible to give it a colour. It’s like it’s been there since Noah was a baby. We’re about to start looking at his hairnets. What are you up to?’
‘Searching Norma Maguire’s house.’
‘Whoa! Norma Maguire? Why?’
‘You’ll find out soon enough.’
Mason disconnected and Clay listened to the sound of the search above her head. She stooped to the pile of plaster and lit it up.
She found a chunk covered in black paint, the form of the letter s. She rooted through the plaster debris, found a letter n and an f, and concluded there had been writing on the wall that been hastily destroyed.
Walking up the wooden stairs to the kitchen, she called Hendricks on her iPhone.
‘Bill, ask around. Is there anyone on the search good at jigsaw puzzles?’
110
7.00 am
‘Wren,’ said Detective Constable Barney Cole. ‘We’ve given you a lot of time to process the information you were given in your last interview with DCI Clay. You spoke with your dad and Mr Robson?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re ready?’
‘Yes.’
‘You heard what Edgar McKee said about you?’
‘Yes.’
Wren looked through Cole and it was impossible to tell what was going on in his mind.
‘What do you think of Edgar McKee?’
‘Edgar McKee is a very bad man who has lied to me by saying he was my mate but was calling me a curse behind my back. And coming here to say he was rescuing me. Lies! All lies!’
Cole could tell that Wren’s dad’s words and the advice given by Mr Robson had sunk in as Wren spent the night stewing in his cell.
‘Tell me what actually happened on Wednesday afternoon when Edgar McKee drove you home from the abattoir. Don’t leave anything out,’ said Cole.
Wren nodded.
‘We know you were in Edgar’s white van and that he drove to the footpath. What we don’t know is what happened when you were on the footpath. Did you ask him why he’d driven you there?’
‘Ours is not to reason why. Ours is but to do or die. That’s what he said. He said those were Captain Cyclone’s words.’
‘What else did he say?’