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
It was a black dress. She recognised it from the framed photograph downstairs as the one Annie had worn for her prom. Riley looked at the silky fabric and the material was like a flag to blighted hope.
The drawers of the dressing table contained nothing other than underwear. Riley dug her hands beneath the knickers and bras and found nothing hidden there, only the flat base of the drawer. The surface of the dressing table was uncluttered, with only a Jean-Paul Gaultier fragrance and a few less expensive brands of perfume, a hairbrush and a jewellery box that was half-full with a collection of costume jewellery and inexpensive bracelets and necklaces.
She opened the bag on the dressing table and saw a range of mid-market make-up.
Riley picked up the hairbrush and took it to the bed where Annie’s other belongings were bagged.
Is Annie on the DNA database? she asked herself. Almost certainly, no.
As she bagged the brush for the blonde hairs trapped between the tiny forest of teeth, she reasoned, If he’s got your scalp, your whole head of hair, those hairs may appear on his clothes, in the place he lives or works. This simple hairbrush could be the bridge between you and the fucker who did this to you.
Riley sat on the stool and looked at herself in the mirror, imagined Annie sitting there and applying make-up as she prepared for a night out, her hopes rising as she wondered if this was going to be the night that she met a special man, the elusive Mr Right.
In the mirror, over her right shoulder, Riley caught the reflection of the pillow on Annie’s single bed, the intimate sleeping place of a lonely woman with romantic dreams.
She got up from the dressing table, sat on the mattress and ran the flat of her hand over the surface of the cotton pillowslip where Annie’s head had once reclined and felt nothing hidden beneath. She turned the pillow over and caressed the back. As her palm crossed the pillowslip, Riley felt a rectangle of paper.
Riley touched the edge of the rectangle and, pinching it as carefully as she could, pulled out a white envelope. She looked at the back of it, the seal carefully pressed down, a letter that had no doubt been another secret from her parents.
In the hall downstairs, the landline rang out and when the receiver was picked up, fresh silence thickened the stony atmosphere.
Riley turned the envelope over and read the name and address carefully printed on the front.
MS ANNIE BOYD
ST JEROME’S RC PRIMARY SCHOOL
DINGLE STREET
LIVERPOOL
L8 3XX
She explored the other information on the front of the envelope, saw the place of postage was Liverpool and the smudged date, 14.11.21.
Riley felt the envelope and the contents were thicker than paper, stiffer, but thinner than card.