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Back The Midnight Man Save as PDF
Chapters (70)
  1. Title Page
  2. Contents
  3. Copyright
  4. Praise for Caroline Mitchell
  5. Also by Caroline Mitchell
  6. Dedication
  7. Epigraph
  8. Prologue
  9. 1
  10. 2
  11. 3
  12. 4
  13. 5
  14. 6
  15. 7
  16. 8
  17. 9
  18. 10
  19. 11
  20. 12
  21. 13
  22. 14
  23. 15
  24. 16
  25. 17
  26. 18
  27. 19
  28. 20
  29. 21
  30. 22
  31. 23
  32. 24
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. 37
  46. 38
  47. 39
  48. 40
  49. 41
  50. 42
  51. 43
  52. 44
  53. 45
  54. 46
  55. 47
  56. 48
  57. 49
  58. 50
  59. 51
  60. 52
  61. 53
  62. 54
  63. 55
  64. 56
  65. 57
  66. 58
  67. Epilogue
  68. Acknowledgements
  69. About Caroline Mitchell
  70. About Embla Books

I watched Mr Palmer shout at a skateboarder, swinging his crutch around like a fucking bayonet. Palmer was the Neighbourhood Watch coordinator, ergo self-appointed town sheriff. As always, his face was set in its usual grimace. I had done him a favour, bringing purpose to his pathetic life. My gaze switched to old Mrs Peterson as she strode purposefully up the path. Another pent-up pensioner with a bee in her bonnet. Then there were the families employed by Irving Industries, in their plush new homes and top-of-the-range cars. Jahmelia’s parents crossed the road, a papoose wrapped around the woman’s body. I knew them all and I had shaken the foundations of their privileged worlds. Fifteen-year-old Angelica was lying in a morgue freezer, as disposable as the empty Coke can in the footwell of my car. I could have waited to take Libby if I hadn’t been ready. In time, they would forget what had happened. The grip on their children’s hands would ease, they would stop glaring at each other with suspicion in their eyes.

My hands tightened around the steering wheel as I watched the locals file in, two by two. The crooked businessmen and councillors who were trying to turn Slayton into something it was not. It would always be the home of Blackhall Manor, a cursed place on cursed land. A place where even the dead could resurrect. Sarah ‘loser’ Middleton. She was the real reason I had driven here. A vein throbbed in my forehead as I waited for a sighting. She should have died that day. How was she still alive? The woman was a fucking rubber ball. Enjoy it while you can, bitch, I muttered beneath my breath. The buzz from taking Libby was being replaced by rage as thoughts of Sarah tormented my mind. Who did she think she was, coming back after all these years? She didn’t care about other people. All she thought about was herself. It wouldn’t surprise me if she was the first to hide when her father got his gun. She could have tried to save her family, but she was only ever interested in looking after number one. Every day since she returned it was all I could think about. Finish what was started. Finish her. I stared out at the streets, feeling the dull throb of a headache. Slipping my hand into my pocket, I pulled out a strip of tablets and popped two from the foil. I swallowed them dry, my thoughts stalled by movement in the boot of the car.

I caught the smell of something stringent. Vomit? Had Freckle Face puked into her gag? Or maybe it was the cleaning fluid I used to clean up after the blonde’s corpse. I turned over the engine. I had stayed far too long. Libby needed dealing with. The game would not play itself.

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