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
He pointed down the path. ‘On the other side of the tape. Jesus, I’ve never seen anything like it.’
As Clay hurried down the public footpath, past the sandstone wall to her left and mature shrubs to her right that sheltered the claustrophobic space, rain bounced up from the ground.
Senses raised and razor-sharp, she heard a pair of doors slam on the dual carriageway and recognised a familiar sound: the front doors of the Scientific Support van used by Detective Sergeant Terry Marsh and Sergeant Paul Price.
Twenty metres down the footpath, she saw a pair of feet and lower legs, feminine and slender, resting on the rough ground.
Where’s the rest of the body? thought Clay, as she passed a gaping, waterlogged pothole at the side of the path. She looked up, saw rain dripping into the hole from a series of thick branches that acted as a black canopy.
As she passed the next hole in the footpath, Clay slowed down, stopped and tuned in to the piece of her brain that processed her senses and turned their data into hard memory.
‘Are you filming this, Terry?’ she called to Mason, whose rapid breath she could hear coming up behind her.
‘Pricey’s doing it, Eve.’
‘Sergeant Price, come here alongside me, please.’
Clay focused her whole attention metres away from herself on the knees, legs and feet and the sinkhole in which the rest of the body was hidden.
Two seconds ticked down and she felt the young officer’s presence at her side.
‘Wait, please, Sergeant Price. PC Woodrow!’
PC Woodrow looked over the scene-of-crime tape. The woman on the other side with him had her back turned on the horror she had uncovered. Dog lead in hand, her black Westie lay on the earth like a discarded puppet, its eyes brimming with sorrow.
‘DCI Clay,’ said PC Woodrow. ‘When we arrived the top half of her body was floating. It sank under two minutes ago.’
‘Please take this lady back down the path.’ She pointed in the direction of Menlove Avenue. ‘Out of sight and sound and away from the scene. Put her in your car and out of the rain. Thank you, madam. I’ll need to talk to you very soon.’
The woman turned and looked directly at the victim’s feet and lower limbs. She turned back around suddenly and was violently sick on the path.
‘Come with me,’ said PC Woodrow.
‘I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…’ she said, free hand acting as a blinker at the side of her face as PC Woodrow led her away from the scene.