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Back Stalker Save as PDF
Chapters (66)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. EPILOGUE
  63. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  64. MORE FROM GEMMA ROGERS
  65. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  66. ABOUT BOLDWOOD BOOKS

‘Glad I caught you. More results just in: blood splatter and initial crime scene DNA.’

36

SUNDAY 14 JANUARY 2018

Ian sent a text on Sunday afternoon, to see if I was okay. I didn’t go to the gym, I couldn’t face it, instead I managed a four mile run, a personal best for me as it was the furthest I’d ever done. It helped clear my head. Listening to the sound of my feet pounding the concrete, I let my mind drift. I did all my best planning whilst running, going through scenarios in my head, exhausting endless possibilities. On the way back, I stopped in to see Susie at Baristas, excusing my sweaty mess. I was the only customer, so I needn’t have fretted.

‘Don’t worry about it, love. Fancy a pastry? I’ll only have to eat them myself, won’t be fresh tomorrow. Free to you.’

I hesitated but then accepted, I hadn’t had any breakfast. I put a couple of quid in the tip jar and paid for my latte. I devoured the cinnamon roll, flaky pastry covering me like a blanket.

‘All right, big tits! Americano please,’ boomed a voice behind me, an accent which sounded like they were from the East End. They were a long way from home.

My head snapped round, even though I knew it was not directed at me. My décolletage could never be described as big.

‘Coming up,’ Susie replied in her usual chirpy manner. Turning her back to us, she seemed unfazed as the machine churned the coffee.

I threw a filthy look in the direction of the man who had spoken. He was dressed casually, a long-sleeved polo shirt over a bulging belly, jeans and trainers. Unshaven and carrying car keys, a large gold watch adorned his wrist. He gave me a toothy grin, oblivious to the offence he had caused.

‘I only come in here because of her tits, you know. She’s got a lovely pair.’ As if I wasn’t in on the joke.

‘Tosser,’ I muttered, turning back to my pastry.

‘What’s your problem? You a dyke?’ He spat on the floor of the coffee shop and I stood up, mouth gaping.

‘You’re a pig,’ I said, temper flaring. I felt the vein bulge in my neck.

Susie rushed to pass the man his coffee in a takeaway cup.

‘Go fuck yourself, pipsqueak.’ He launched forward, arm pulled back, like he was going to punch me and fell about laughing as I recoiled. My face steamed but he sauntered out of the shop, whistling to himself.

‘What a wanker,’ I growled, taking a napkin from the counter and bending to wipe the spittle.

‘I know, he’s in most days, Bob the cabbie, always the same.’