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
Clay and Riley positioned themselves either side of Francesca and moved her to the open door at the back of the van.
‘Drop your legs, Francesca. Give your circulation a boost.’
Francesca’s feet touched the tarmac.
Clay moved back into the van, lifted the cloth that hung on the washing line and inspected the eyeless faces and scalps of the dead women. She felt as if she’d been hit in the core by an iron fist as, one by one, images of their scalped and faceless corpses prepared to haunt her.
A cocktail of formaldehyde, glutaraldehyde and phenol rose from the soft skins under Clay’s nose and she worked out that Maguire and McKee had used the chemicals to preserve and soften the stolen flesh of their victims.
Inside her head, she counted, one, two, three, and the names Sandra O’Day, Annie Boyd and Amanda Winton screamed through her mind.
‘Are you looking at the masks, DCI Clay?’ asked Francesca.
‘Yes.’
‘The Ghoul used to come down to see me wearing the masks. The Ghoul preferred Annie Boyd over the other two. I recognised Annie from her picture in the paper. The light wasn’t great in the basement but I’m thinking about the shape of The Ghoul, from the neck down. I thought it was a man but I was wrong. The Ghoul was Norma Maguire.’
‘Francesca, I’m dialling your mother on my iPhone. Talk to her.’
Clay handed her iPhone to Francesca.
‘It’s ringing out, Francesca.’
‘Mum, it’s me. I’m OK. DCI Clay and DS Riley have rescued me.’
Clay heard Margaret Christie cry out in joy.
Margaret spoke and Francesca replied, ‘I’ve got some bumps and bruises but I’m OK. I’m OK! Don’t worry…’
Clay lifted the cover off the washing line, hung it near the faces and scalps, and took pictures on her iPhone.
‘Mum, I’ll be home as soon as I can.’
She recognised the three women from photographs she had seen and her mind went spinning into Annie Boyd’s home and imagined the agony her parents were living through.
‘And, Mum, I love you. And I’m so, so sorry for what I’ve put you through. I’m OK, I swear. See you soon. Love you too.’
She handed the iPhone back to Clay.
‘Margaret,’ said Clay, but the line was dead.
‘She was going to kill me, wasn’t she?’
‘Yes.’
‘And scalp me?’
‘Yes.’
‘The feeling’s coming back into my legs,’ said Francesca.
The sea lapped against the shore and an ambulance turned the corner on to Oxford Drive.
‘Don’t move, Francesca,’ said Clay. ‘The paramedics are here.’
Francesca turned her head.
‘Don’t look back, Francesca!’
She turned her head, eyed the things in the back of the van, half-lit by the sodium street lights.
‘Look away, Francesca!’
She looked away and took a deep breath.