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Back The Bad Place
Chapters (72)
  1. Cover
  2. THE BAD PLACE
  3. Contents
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. Acknowledgements
  71. About the author
  72. An Invitation from the Publisher

In many ways, it was a shame that things had turned out the way they had. Simon was still seriously ill in hospital, although Michelle had heard he was on the mend, and Paul was in big trouble with the police, as well he should be, the disgusting toad. And Lydia was… Lydia was gone.

Karin had a man in her life, some businessman from out of town – wonders never ceased! – and it occurred to Michelle that she had always really looked forward to the evenings they all reunited. The truth was that, despite all her success, she was lonely and she had known those people – Karin, Simon, Paul, Lydia – for many, many years. She supposed the survivors of the Bad Place would all finally be forced to go their own way now, and the knowledge hit her hard.

But she was kidding herself that things could possibly remain the same – she heard her assistant, Jenny, talking to the officers outside – because she knew everything was about to fall apart. Michelle didn’t know when she would get to see Sammi again; her latest marriage was disintegrating, her husband had lawyered up and was making threatening noises about her fortune; but all that was small potatoes compared to what was about to happen.

Michelle opened a drawer, took out a bottle of vodka and poured more into the mug, just as DI Sasha Dawson came into the room with the handsome black detective whose name she couldn’t remember. The criss-cross of cuts and bruises on his face only made him even more attractive.

She stood. ‘DI Dawson.’

‘This is Detective Constable Power,’ said Sasha.

‘If only I were a few years younger,’ Michelle murmured as she shook his hand.

‘Excuse me?’ said Sasha.

‘I said, of course, it’s Detective Constable Power. Please, sit, both of you.’

As DI Dawson made herself comfortable, she looked around the plush office, clearly admiring the way it was decorated in bright pastel colours. Pleased, Michelle sipped from the mug.

‘I know why you’re here.’ She was conscious that she was slurring. It was possible that she was actually quite drunk and it was only – her eyes lifted to the clock on the wall – eleven in the morning. What with everything that was happening, it was probably best to ease up on the vodka. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to come for some time, actually. I don’t think any of us want to make a big song and dance about it, so I’ll just say I’m so very sorry about what happened to Lydia.’

Sasha Dawson gave her that infuriating smile, the one that made you want to confess everything immediately. ‘Can you tell us what happened?’