Cover

Also by Betsy Reavley

Carrion

The Quiet Ones

The Optician’s Wife

Frailty

Pressure

Murder At The Book Club

Praise for Betsy Reavley

"A deliciously Agatha Christie-style mystery that sucks you in from the first page." Sibel Hodge bestselling author of Look Behind You

“A good old Whodunnit from Ms Reavley that will keep readers guessing till the very end!” J.A. Baker Bestselling author of The Other Mother

"A deliciously devilish whodunit!" Robert Bryndza bestselling author of the Detective Erika Foster Series

“Holy freaking hell Betsy is back with a new psychological thriller and she is on fire!” Shell Baker - Chelle’s Book Reviews

“The plotting is excellent and the pacing spot-on. A deep sense of foreboding and growing peril permeates the entire novel.” Mark Wilson - Author

“PRESSURE by Betsy Reavley is a unique and utterly compelling thriller that will suck you in from the very beginning and drag you down into its murky depths along with its characters.” Linda Green - Books Of All Kinds

“A captivating, chilling, at times gruesome thriller by our own lady of suspense: Betsy Reavley!” Caroline Vincent - Bits About Books

“A super-fast paced thriller that I felt I had to read just as fast, as if my own reading-oxygen was in short supply.” Michelle Ryles - The Book Magnet

“This book is such a creepy thrill ride, I was just blown away from the very beginning.” Ashley Gillan - (e)Book Nerd Reviews

“Intense, toe curling, action packed, spine tingling, and absolutely brilliant.” Kaisha Holloway - The Writing Garnet

“The pacing of the story is really good especially if you prefer a character driven story with twists strategically placed to really catch you out.” Rachel Broughton - Rae Reads.”

“Bursting with suspense and intrigue, Pressure is an atmospheric thriller that’ll keep you glued to the pages and guessing right to the end.” Aileen Mckenzie - Feminisia Libros Reviews

“Pressure is the ultimate locked room mystery and I advise you put a few hours aside and read this in one seating just don’t forget to breathe!!” Ellen Devenport - Bibliophile Book Club

“Pressure is a fast paced thriller which is genuinely terrifying.”

Joanne Robertson - My Chestnut Reading Tree

“Betsy Reavley has gone and smashed it with her newest book Pressure, pure unadulterated tension which will intensify the fire within your imagination.” Diane Hogg - Sweet Little Book Blog

“This is a great, fast paced and claustrophobic story that will keep you on the edge of your seat.” Jessica Bronder - JBronder Book Reviews

“An addictive, compelling read that pushed me well out of my comfort zone - if you like disturbingly twisty plot lines and dark characters then this is definitely the read for you.” Lisa Hall, Author of the best selling psychological thriller Between You and Me

“The Optician’s Wife is a stylish, brilliantly crafted thriller which really delivers. A very real sense of creeping dread, combined with intelligent, finely drawn characters, had me turning the pages late into the night. This one will linger with you, long after the book is finished. Reavley has delivered a masterclass and deserves to be up there with the best in the business.” L J Ross - Bestselling author of The DCI Ryan books.

“I love discovering new authors especially one who can shock and surprise me like this as it doesn’t happen very often!” Joanne Robertson - My Chestnut Reading Tree

“Don’t you just love it when you pick up a book and it blows you away, well Betsy Reavley has managed to do just that with a book that’s absolutely filled with suspense and intrigue.” Lorraine Rugman - The Book Review Cafe

“This was a fantastic book and one I knew from the first chapter it was going to keep me enthralled reading it.” Leona - Goodreads Reviewer

“Wow! What a stunning book. Draws you in, spins you a line and boom! you’ve got it completely wrong. Loved it. So clever.” MetLineReader - Goodreads Reviewer

“This is a book that once you start reading it you won’t be able to stop. It is a story that grabs you right from the very beginning.” Joseph Calleja, Relax and Read book Reviews

“This is true stand-out in the domestic noir genre.” Caroline Matson, Confessions of a Reading Addict

“Betsy Reavley has reached new heights with this breathtaking book. Child abduction is always a difficult subject and she has totally embraced it in this outstanding book. It will leave you feeling emotionally drained and in awe of this author. Her best book yet, a literary masterpiece” Anita Waller, best-selling author of 34 Days, Angel and Beautiful

“Absolutely incredible book, cannot praise it enough. I think it’s my best read of 2016.” Emma De Oliveira, an ARC reviewer

Epigraph

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget

what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

Maya Angelou

“Bad people are to be found everywhere, but even among the worst

there may be something good.”

Dostoyevsky’s The House of the Dead

Minstrel Man: By Langston Hughes

Because my mouth

Is wide with laughter

And my throat

Is deep with song,

You did not think

I suffer after

I’ve held my pain

So long.

Because my mouth

Is wide with laughter

You do not hear

My inner cry:

Because my feet

Are gay with dancing

You do not know

I die.

Dedication

For my children.

Reach for the stars.

Prologue

1.34am Friday 13th December

The cold winter sunlight streamed in through the glass window, highlighting the polish on the brown leather shoes that were dangling in the air. Outside, the world was just going to sleep and the doors of Ashton’s Bookshop would remain closed until Matilda Edgely arrived to open them.

But while Matilda was at home, sleeping peacefully in her bed, she was blissfully unaware of the discovery she would make later that morning. Because inside Ashton’s, hanging from a rope that was attached to the rafters at the back of the shop, was the body of the shop owner, Dennis Wade.

And from a leather, high-back armchair the killer looked up at the victim, smiling.

Chapter 1

8.32am Friday 13th December

Matilda Edgely was doing her best to iron the creases out of her blue shirt, while keeping half an eye on the toaster, hoping that her breakfast wouldn’t burn. The cheap plastic clock on the wall of her basement flat ticked loudly, reminding her not to be late for work.

Matilda, or Tilly as her friends knew her, had worked at Ashton’s Bookshop for six months. As a university student at Jesus College in Cambridge, she was working part-time to fund her education.

Since she was very young, Tilly had known she wanted to become a vet and had worked extremely hard at school to achieve the results she needed to make it all the way from Devon to Cambridge University. Her parents, who were proud as punch, helped as best they could but were not in a financial situation to do very much. Tilly, who loved her mum and dad, was more than happy to knuckle down and do what needed to be done by herself. She had always been independent. Being born without a silver spoon in her mouth had taught her how to stand on her own two feet and fight for what she wanted.

Frustrated that despite her best efforts the creases were not coming out of her cotton shirt, Tilly unplugged the iron and sat down to eat her Marmite on toast, while watching the breakfast news show. That December morning felt no different to any other. The only noticeable thing was the light covering of snow on the ground outside. Tilly groaned when she realised it would be better to walk to work than cycle, like she normally did, on her trusty old red Raleigh.

Still in her dressing gown, Tilly picked up the still wrinkled shirt and took it into her small bedroom to get dressed. She shared the flat with one other student; a Chinese woman who was studying economics. They were friends but, in truth, Tilly found Yuki slightly irritating. Especially when she cooked Cantonese food that made the whole flat smell of shrimp paste. Yuki was also not so good at keeping the kitchen clean, and Tilly often found herself trying to scrub soy sauce marks off the kitchen surface.

After dressing, Tilly tidied away her breakfast things before reaching for her coat, bobble hat and gloves. It looked cold outside and the walk from her flat on Maids Causeway to the bookshop on Trinity Street would take her fifteen minutes.

She presumed Yuki was still asleep, since her door was shut, so Tilly closed the front door softly behind her. Then she set off to work, her breath leaving cloud trails as she walked briskly along the icy pavement, being careful not to slip.

On that Friday morning, Cambridge was quiet. A number of schools had closed because of the snow. The weatherman had warned of more to come. It would be all most people could talk about. The British loved discussing the weather.

Putting her headphones in, Tilly made her way along King Street towards the Market Square and listened to Florence and the Machine. She’d seen them play at Glastonbury once and had been an avid fan ever since.

Sinking her gloved hands into the pockets of her duffle coat, she felt the keys with her fingers knowing that at the same time next week, she would be at home in Devon with her parents, preparing to celebrate Christmas.

Although she liked Cambridge very much, it was a world away from Ilfracombe, the seaside town her family now lived in. She missed being by the sea and loved returning home. Tilly told herself that once she had become a vet, she would return to that part of the world and start a small practice of her own. It was the dream she’d had since she was eight years old and it had not lost its appeal over the last seventeen years.

As she turned onto Trinity Street, she stopped for a moment to look at the wintery scene. Large flakes were falling from the sky and the university buildings on her left looked glorious in the snow. It was as if time had stood still. Tilly could imagine students throughout the ages walking those same cobbled stones, on their way to classes. The thought filled her with warmth. She liked the idea of a simpler era, before smart phones and the Internet. It was one of the reasons she loved Ilfracombe so much: it was untouched by time.

Snapping out of her daydream Tilly hurried along the street to the shop, not wanting to be ticked off by her boss for being late. Although it was her job to open up the shop, she never arrived before Dennis, who was always sitting behind the counter when she got there, even if she was early.

But as she approached the door, she realised something felt different. Inside, the lights were off and as she went to open the door, she discovered it was already unlocked. The room was dark, and Tilly called out, ‘Dennis? Are you there? Sorry if I’m a few minutes late.’

She turned on the light switch and saw the body of her employer hanging from a rope. But Tilly didn’t scream. She turned the lights off and turned and walked out of the shop. With a shaking hand, she pulled off one of her gloves, removed her phone from her bag, called 999, and asked to be put through to the police.

‘Police, what’s your emergency?’

Tilly froze suddenly, unable to talk. What should she say?

‘Hello?’ The responder asked down the phone.

‘I…’ But the words wouldn’t come.

‘Miss?’

‘Trinity Street.’ She managed finally. ‘Ashton’s Bookshop. Come quick.’ It was all she could say before she felt her legs go from under her and she found herself sitting on the pavement in the snow.

Staring down at the phone she held in her hands, Tilly suddenly wondered if she was having some sort of episode and had imagined the whole thing. Had she? Was Dennis really inside? But she knew it wasn’t her imagination, and that what she had seen was very real, and the moment she let herself accept it tears began to stream down her cheeks.

It had never occurred to her to ask for an ambulance. It was as clear as day that Dennis Wade was dead. No living human had that skin colour.

She’d never seen the body of a dead person before. Her experience was limited to the corpses of animals as part of her course.

Still unable to stand, Tilly sat crying in the snow while the cold wetness soaked through her black trousers. Her whole body began to shake as the shock set in. Her mind was whirling, trying to process what she’d just seen. Her boss was dead. Her boss had killed himself. Her boss had left her to find his body.

In the distance, she could hear the sound of sirens approaching and although she hoped it would help her to feel better, the noise only represented dread.

Trinity Street, which was normally a pedestrian zone, soon emptied as the police car came screeching down the narrow street. Early morning shoppers dashed out of its path, stopping to watch the drama unfold.

The Mercedes hatchback stopped right in front of Ashton’s and two uniformed officers got out, both wearing high-vis jackets. The female officer, who was noticeably short, approached Tilly and bent down on her heels.

‘Are you the woman who called it in?’ she asked, her Peterborough accent recognisable to Tilly.

‘Yes,’ Tilly answered in a daze.

‘In there?’ The officer pointed. Tilly nodded. ‘Help her up…’ The female officer turned to her male colleague. ‘She’ll catch her death.’

The male officer, who was younger than his female counterpart, did as he was told and guided Tilly to the car, where he helped her into the back seat and got out a foil blanket.

Tilly watched as the woman removed a small torch from her belt and slowly opened the shop door.

Minutes later she reappeared looking pale and shook her head solemnly before reaching for her radio. ‘Deceased male at Ashton’s Bookshop. We need forensics and this building needs to be cordoned off,’ she spoke into the radio.

The male officer stood leaning against the car with his arms folded trying to retain some warmth.

‘Suicide is it?’ the male officer asked.

‘Don’t think so.’

‘Huh?’

‘Well, he’s strung up high and there’s no sign of how he got up there,’ the female said seriously. ‘Has she said anything?’ She signalled to Tilly.

‘Not a word. The girl’s in shock.’

‘An ambulance is on the way.’ The officer turned to look at the shop. ‘We need to keep the public away,’ she added, referring to the crowd of onlookers who had gathered nearby. ‘Bloody nosy parkers.’

The male officer, who had a neatly trimmed beard, went and stood in the bookshop doorway and again folded his arms. No one was getting past him unless he said so.

Tilly sat in the back of the car watching it all unfold. All she could think about was Dennis Wade’s wife. She’d never met the woman, but she’d often heard Dennis speaking fondly of her. Tilly was sure they had children too. The thought made her stomach churn.

As the passenger door opened, Tilly looked up to see the kind face of the officer.

‘Can you tell me how you know the deceased?’

‘I work in the shop. He is…’ Tilly paused, ‘…was, my boss.’

‘I see.’ The officer smiled sadly. ‘What’s your name?’

‘I’m Matilda Edgely. I was meant to open up but he was always here before me. He loved the shop.’ Tilly swallowed hard.

‘I need you to give me his name and address, please.’ She removed a small note pad from her luminous jacket pocket.

‘Dennis Wade. He lives in Balsham with his wife.’ Tears pricked her eyes. ‘I don’t know the address.’

‘That’s very useful information. Thank you.’ She closed the car door and returned to jotting on her notepad.

Watching passers-by looking at her sitting in the back of the police car, Tilly began to feel like a criminal. She sunk down into her seat and wished she were back in bed. The day had not started the way she had intended.

Chapter 2

10.01am Friday 13th December

Twenty-five minutes later, DCI Barrett and DI Palmer were at the scene. Barrett, who seemed strangely unaffected by the bitter cold, pulled on a pair of shoe protectors, while Palmer tried to hide his face in his tightly wound scarf.

‘Hello, sir,’ the short officer welcomed her boss.

‘What do we have here?’ Barrett said, stepping into the bookshop.

‘Dennis Wade. He is the owner. Matilda Edgely, who works here, discovered the body this morning.’

‘Right.’ Barrett stood looking up at the stiff body that hung from one of the old beams in the ceiling.

‘Who else has been in here?’ he asked, walking around in a circle to get a look at the body from all sides.

‘Only me, sir.’ The officer did everything she could to avoid looking at the corpse.

‘Good. Keep it that way.’ Barrett stopped and bent down to inspect the floor.

‘What is it, sir?’ Palmer asked, pulling the scarf down from over his mouth and nose.

‘Marks, look here.’ Barrett removed a pen from his grey suit jacket and pointed at the scuffs and a puddle on the ground. ‘Make sure SOCO get a picture of this,’ Barrett barked, standing upright and returning the pen to his inside pocket.

‘Yes, sir,’ the officer responded.

‘How did he get up there?’ Palmer asked, following the rope from its position around Wade’s neck, up to the rafters and then down the staircase on the left side of the room where it was tied.

‘Who put him up there, you mean,’ Barrett corrected his colleague. ‘Very good question.’ His face was the same shade of grey as his suit. ‘As soon as we have an address for the victim we’ll pay a visit to his wife.’ Barrett turned to Palmer who nodded gravely.

‘I’ll go and speak to the girl who found him.’ Palmer was keen to get away from the crime scene and the lifeless, hanging body.

The skin around the dead man’s neck was raw and the thick rope cut into it. Palmer could also see that the corpse had soiled himself. The scent of ammonia in the air was unmissable, as was the puddle on the floor beneath the body.

‘That’s no way to go,’ Palmer shook his head, muttering under his breath as he left the shop on his way to interview the woman who had made the discovery.

When Palmer opened the rear door on the passenger side of the car, he was surprised by the age of the woman he found. He’d been expecting someone older, someone dusty-looking, but Matilda Edgely was young and, under other circumstances, could be called attractive. Palmer had to admit he didn’t spend much time in bookshops but, if he had, he would have not been expecting to be served by her. The name Matilda he associated with an older woman.

‘DI Palmer. You’re Matilda, I gather?’ He bent down on his haunches and introduced himself to the frightened looking woman.

‘I can’t believe it.’ Her eyes were wide, and she appeared like a deer in the headlights.

Poor kid, Palmer found himself thinking, despite the fact he was only fifteen years her senior.

‘Can you tell me a bit about Mr Wade? I know it’s been a shock.’ Looking down at his feet he realised he was still wearing his shoe protectors in the snow. If it wasn’t such a serious situation, he might have chuckled.

‘He was a nice man. I didn’t spend time with him away from the shop, so I can’t tell you much, but he was always respectful. Never lost his temper or anything. People who came into the shop liked him. He made an effort to help local authors, and arranged meet-ups and signings. I can’t imagine why he would do this.’

That’s the difference between an officer and a citizen, Palmer told himself, the ability to spot when a crime had taken place.

‘What about his home life, Matilda?’ Palmer asked removing the shoe protectors. Her name did not sit easily on his tongue.

‘I don’t know much about that. Like I said, we worked together but that was it.’

‘How many other people work in the shop?’ Palmer stood up and rubbed his hands together in an attempt to escape the cold.

‘There are usually four of five of us at one time. It’s a large place.’ Her eyes darted over, and she stared helplessly at the front window.

‘Could you possibly give me a list of all the names of other employees?’ He reached into his coat pocket and removed a notepad.

‘Yes, of course.’ Matilda’s brow furrowed. ‘Well, there is Jane Campbell. She’s also my manager and she sometimes works on the till. And Aiden Gerrard: he works in the stock room. Myleene Little: she’s on the till upstairs, usually. And then Amber Wu: she’s part-time.’ Tilly paused, searching her memory for any more information that might help. But the shock had taken its toll on her.

‘It’s okay,’ Palmer soothed. ‘Take your time.’

Tilly closed her eyes and a large teardrop ran down her pale cheek.

‘Marcus Goldman. He does the accounts.’ Her eyes opened, and Palmer thought he saw something akin to fear cross her face for a moment. ‘And Steven Fisher, he works part-time, too.’

‘You’ve been very helpful, Matilda.’ Palmer finished scribbling the names down in his pad.

‘Matilda was my grandmother’s name. People usually call me Tilly.’

‘I see.’ It now made sense to Palmer. ‘Is there someone you’d like me to call for you?’

Tilly paused a moment and considered this. ‘No, there is no one.’

Fifteen minutes later, Barrett was informed that officers back at the station had tracked down an address for the deceased.

‘Come on, Joe,’ Barrett barked as he marched out of the shop. ‘You’re coming with me.’

Palmer jumped to attention and went scampering after his boss; a man who never minced his words and often forgot about common courtesy.

The Story Continues on BooksBarbecue!

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