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
‘Get out! Get out of my office now. Collect together any last pieces of personal tat that you have downstairs and get off the premises.’
‘I don’t keep personal belongings in that drawer. Someone started going into it and taking my personal items. Who could that be?’
Francesca Christie stopped at the door.
‘You want to watch your blood pressure, Norma.’ She turned and looked at her former boss. ‘Your face has gone purple and your eyes look like they’re about to explode out of your head. You’ll have to excuse me. I have to go to work.’
40
11.40 am
Clay stood in a maze of hundreds of graves next to the head gardener, who had taken her to what looked like the middle of a stone-studded nowhere.
She turned a full circle and asked, ‘Where does the plot begin and end?’
‘The grave you’re standing next to is the bottom right-hand corner of the grid, Springwood 66. Three graves in front of you from there is the top right-hand corner. Three to the left is the bottom left-hand corner. Four rows of four. A square of sixteen in all, DCI Clay. 66 Springwood Crematorium.’
Clay counted the sixteen headstones set out in a square and asked, ‘Is there anything significant about this plot?’
‘No. They were all born, they all lived, they all died. No poets or martyrs that I’m aware of. If you’re looking for their company, try plot 157.’ He laughed, wheezed like an old accordion and smelled of tobacco and earth.
‘Mind if I get some pictures?’
‘I’m sure none of the residents will object.’ Walking away, he pulled the collar of his coat together. ‘Death’s a demanding mistress. I’m a busy man. If you have any questions, you can contact me through the office.’
‘Karl?’ Clay looked at Stone. ‘Get pictures of each grave in plot 66, please.’
He walked to the bottom left-hand corner of the plot and asked, ‘You want me to check them out with the crematorium office?’
‘Please.’
Clay walked forward, read the headstone of a very old man who had died decades earlier and who had probably not been spared a second thought after his death. She paused at the grave ahead of it and saw three tired red silk flowers in an urn and noted that the person had died before she was born.
As Stone took multiple shots of each headstone, Clay walked to the white marble angel, the standout headstone on the plot. The angel’s head was inclined to the left, her eyes downcast on the grave beneath her feet.
Clay read the headstone.
CATRIONA WEST
WIFE AND MOTHER
STOLEN IN AN INSTANT
1940–2001
Behind a glass oval in the marble was a picture of a mature and attractive woman, a moment snatched in time. Remember me this way.
‘Karl. Lots of shots of this one, please.’