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
‘In my view, it’s definitely her, DCI Clay.’
‘How long will you be working on Annie, Doctor Lamb?’ asked Clay.
Harper resumed his torchlit inspection of the surface of Annie Boyd’s skin.
‘I estimate eight hours,’ replied Doctor Lamb. ‘But I’ll flag up anything significant that comes to light directly to you.’
Clay looked around the autopsy suite, saw that there had been changes to the specimen jars. A human brain darkened by syphilis had been replaced by a twenty-week-old foetus floating eternally in formaldehyde. Gone were the lungs lined with asbestos and in was a damaged heart, swollen and diseased by decades of cigarettes.
Babies and lonely hearts, thought Clay. Life and loneliness, as she headed for the dressing room to remove her blue scrubs and white rubber boots.
‘Eve!’
Clay stopped at the door leading into the dressing room, turned and looked at Doctor Lamb.
‘Good luck,’ said Doctor Lamb.
Clay felt a cold electricity down her spine, as if someone were standing on the spot where she would one day be buried.
8
10.45 am
In the staff restaurant of the Stanley Abattoir, Edgar McKee watched Wren as he opened his Captain Cyclone lunch box. Across the table from his new charge, Edgar drank coffee from a disposable cup and weighed Wren up.
There was no visible emotion in the teenager’s face, no change in colour from the moment they had met and in the hours they had worked together, showing him what to do and what not to do, explaining the hygiene issues and the correct working techniques.
‘Captain Cyclone?’ asked Edgar. ‘That’s one superhero I’ve never heard of.’
‘Why should you have heard of him? He only exists here.’ Wren touched the side of his head.
‘You made him up?’
Wren nodded.
‘And painted the lunch box?’ The artwork looked professional and polished. ‘You’re a great artist, Wren.’
Edgar looked into the lunch box and saw two double-finger Kit-Kats sitting neatly in line with two Cheese Straws with two small white triangular ham sandwiches, without crusts, next to two Petits Filous yogurts.
Wren picked out one of the ham sandwiches and, lifting it close to his nose, sniffed it and plunged it whole into his mouth.
‘Won’t you get hungry this afternoon if you eat your packed lunch now?’
‘No,’ replied Wren, chewing slowly, the food packed into the left-hand side of his mouth. He swallowed, looked directly at Edgar and then back into his lunch box. Taking the second ham sandwich from the box, Wren sniffed it and stuck it into his mouth, eating on the right-hand side of his mouth. ‘I always eat my lunch at a quarter to eleven in the morning.’
‘Two of everything, Wren?’
‘Pairs. Even numbers. Don’t like odd.’
‘Fair enough. What you’ve been learning from me hasn’t put you off your food?’
‘No. Why should it?’
‘You didn’t look a bit bothered.’