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
She looked at the winding side streets leading to the maze of semi-detached roads on the blind side of Aigburth Road and, wondering how knowledgeable The Ghoul was of the surveillance cameras in the neighbourhood, concluded that he knew them like the knuckles of each of his fists.
‘I’m going to say it for you, Eve, because your scepticism’s going to make you sound mean-minded. The journey from the body drop-off at old Allerton Road to Gateacre and the van’s disappearance into the rectangular grid that I’ve identified could be twenty-four-carat bullshit, a ruse on The Ghoul’s part to waste our time.’
‘No. I wasn’t going to say that. I wasn’t even thinking that. This is sharp deductive work, Barney. Double-check again the surveillance cameras leading out from the grid you’ve drawn. Look for all white vans heading away from the grid. Let’s bomb-proof your theory.’
45
1.35 pm
The Ghoul was growing hungrier by the hour for female company.
Three women had winked on Pebbles On The Beach in the space of one hour. The Ghoul settled back to check their profiles, to find a suitable woman to share the space next door.
Hungry. Hungry. Hungry. For love. The hunger for more sharpened with each passing minute. One or two women were somehow too many but The Ghoul knew a million bitches would never be enough.
Checking the profile of the first woman, who’d winked forty-seven minutes ago, it was obvious at a glance that she was no good. A red-headed cow in her thirties. Wrong-coloured hair and old as the fucking ocean.
The second woman was no better. Forty-plus with the face of a goat, even on a profile picture that was meant to flatter her.
‘Let it be number three.’
Number three.
‘Fuck you, bitch!’
A black woman in her forties.
The urge to throw the laptop against the wall was reined in by a simple thought. No laptop. No woman.
Walking to the cell door and turning the lock, The Ghoul opened it and looked inside at the empty mattresses.
Lying down where Annie Boyd had been, caressing the chains that had bound her, something tender broke inside The Ghoul, marbling the mounting hunger, the void within.
Gripping the chain tightly, The Ghoul felt the swell of loneliness, and it wasn’t good.
Next time, tonight.
No more loneliness.
There would always be someone in the cell.
As one went, another would arrive.
The Ghoul dropped the chain and headed back next door, the light from the laptop glowing in the red light from the bare bulb in the ceiling above.
On the laptop, another woman had just winked on Pebbles On The Beach.
Blonde. Pretty. Mid twenties. Sally Haydn.
The Ghoul winked back at her.
‘Look at me… Look at me… Lurammeeeee…’