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Copyright
Published by AVON
A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019
Copyright © Mel Sherratt 2019
Cover design © Henry Steadman 2019
Cover photographs © Henry Steadman 2019
Mel Sherratt asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008271077
Ebook Edition © May 2019 ISBN: 9780008271084
Version: 2019-04-24
Praise for Mel Sherratt:
‘An absolute masterpiece. Twisty, turny and full of surprises!’
Angela Marsons
‘Mel Sherratt’s books are as smart and edgy as her heroines’
Cara Hunter
‘Mel Sherratt is the new queen of gritty police procedurals’
C.L. Taylor
‘Twists and turns and delivers a satisfying shot of tension’
Rachel Abbott
‘Heart-stoppingly tense. I love Mel Sherratt’s writing’
Angela Clarke
‘Gripped me from the first page and didn’t let go until the heart-stopping conclusion!’
Robert Bryndza
‘A writer to watch out for’
Mandasue Heller
‘[Allendale] is a welcome addition to the fast-growing band of impressive women detectives entering crime fiction’
The Times
‘On a thriller cocktail list, Hush Hush would be a Bloody Mary with a perfect twist’
Fiona Barton
‘I love all Mel Sherratt’s books’
Ian Rankin
‘Mel Sherratt is a unique voice in detective fiction’
Mail on Sunday
Contents
Cover
Title page
Copyright
Praise for Mel Sherratt
2014
Chapter One: Five Years Later
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Chapter Eighty
Chapter Eighty-One
Author Note
A Letter From Mel
Acknowledgements
Keep Reading …
About the Author
The Grace Allendale Series
About the Publisher
2014
Melissa Wyatt ran along the lane, down towards the field she would cut across for the next part of her journey. She was in training for the London Marathon, only a few days away now. It was her first attempt, the furthest she’d ever run, but she knew she had the strength inside her to complete it.
She was now a firm believer that she could do anything once she put her mind to it. Even two years ago when she’d become a mum at thirty-one, she would never have thought it possible that she could run three miles, let alone twenty-six.
She’d started off slowly, a ruse to lose the baby fat. At first every session had been torture, but eventually her puffing and panting had ceased, and she’d begun to get into an even rhythm. It had only taken three months before she’d been hooked. Now there was no stopping her, because as well as keeping her fit, it had given her a new lease of life. It had lowered her stress levels, giving her a sense of peace.
When she was running, her mind could switch off from all the daily hassles. She could be herself again. Her son Joshua wouldn’t be throwing a tantrum because his TV programme had finished and there wasn’t time to watch another. Her husband Lloyd wouldn’t nag her because he couldn’t find something that he’d lost after putting it down somewhere ‘safe’. She wasn’t at the beck and call of staff and clients ready to interrupt her in a flash, unlike her day-to-day life as a customer services manager at the local building society. She was plain and simply Melissa.
At the bottom of the lane, she climbed over the stile at the side of the gate and ran into a small wooded area. She loved going through here. It was dark and somewhat eerie at this time in the morning.
As she clambered up the man-made steps and out into the open field, she wondered what to cook for tea. Maybe shepherd’s pie, if she remembered to get some mince out of the freezer. There would be no time to nip into the butcher’s to buy some fresh. It was going to be a late evening because she had staff training for an hour once the branch closed at five.
She was now coming into a hilly field, empty except for her. It was early; most people were still asleep. Melissa much preferred to run in the mornings than the evenings. There were fewer people about, and fewer cars too, which was good because the lanes were narrow. A creature of habit, she covered the same route for a few months before switching up to ensure her body became challenged.
At the top of the hill, she took a moment to catch her breath. Up here, she could see for miles. High-rise flats, factories intermingled with the odd strip of green, but mostly built up row upon row of houses. Manchester was a place she’d always call home.
After a minute’s rest, she began to run again. With a bit of luck, she’d be home before anyone in her household was awake. Oh, to have a coffee in peace before Josh was out of bed.
She was nearly at the other side of the field when she heard someone. Turning slightly as she ran, she saw a man running behind her. She slowed and stepped to one side to let him pass, and he drew level on the worn-down grass pathway.
When he threw a punch at her, she was taken by surprise. She gasped as he hit her again, stumbling backwards with the force and landing heavily on the ground.
Almost immediately the man was straddling her and his hands were around her neck.
She tried to push him off, but he was too strong.
She scratched at his hands, but he only squeezed harder. Struggling was useless, but she had to try. He seemed possessed, his face creased with rage.
As the light began to fade from the world, she wondered why she’d been singled out. What had she done to deserve death? Because he was killing her, wasn’t he? And she could do nothing about it.
ONE
Five Years Later
Tuesday
‘What makes you think he likes you?’ Courtney Piggott asked her friend Lauren Ansell as they walked across the field behind their school. ‘Just because he looked at you a certain way doesn’t mean anything.’
‘Of course it does!’ Lauren replied. ‘And I’ve fancied him for ages, so that look means he’s mine for the taking.’
‘You’re so weird,’ Courtney’s twin sister, Caitlin, said. ‘If you believe that, then—’
‘Girls!’
The three of them froze as they heard their PE teacher, Mr Carmichael, shouting to them.
‘I wish you’d exercise your feet as much as your mouths,’ he continued. ‘Hurry up now. Get a move on!’
The girls picked up their pace, jogging a few feet across the field until the teacher turned away from them again.
‘I hate cross-country.’ Caitlin came to a halt with a groan. ‘There should be laws against making us do this. It’s not cool – at all.’
Lauren tripped over her shoelace as they walked, almost falling but managing to right herself in time. ‘I’ll catch you up in a minute,’ she said, shooing her friends away before bending down to tie the laces again.
The twins continued through the gap in the hedge and out onto the lane.
‘I wish there was a short cut back to the school,’ Caitlin said as they walked.
In front of them were the rest of the class, in twos and threes, only the odd pupil running alone. They were the last of the group by a good minute or so, but neither of them was bothered about hurrying to catch up. Instead, they dawdled as they waited for Lauren.
‘Or a magic portal. If there was, we could sneak back and watch everyone else coming in.’ Courtney laughed.
‘Or Doctor Who’s TARDIS!’ Caitlin laughed back.
In front of them, their teacher beckoned them to hurry up as he disappeared around a corner, but still they went at their own pace. They had run this lane many times during their five years at Dunwood Academy. There was nothing to see but a high hedge either side, a space for one car to drive past at a time, which was why it was safe for students to run down, as not many drivers used it.
Ahead of them the twins could see the roof of the school buildings, the railings around it coming into view opposite a row of council bungalows for the elderly.
‘Where’s Lauren?’ Courtney shivered as a gust of wind came up the lane. ‘We’ll be in trouble if we’re not back soon.’
‘I thought she was behind us.’ Caitlin swivelled round, but they were on their own.
‘She can’t have got very far, Cait,’ Courtney told her sister. ‘I bet she’s found a quicker way back and has left us.’
‘She’d better let us in on it if she has.’
They carried on for a few more steps and then Courtney stopped again.
‘We should go back for her.’
‘But we’ll get into trouble if we don’t finish soon.’
‘She should have caught up by now. It will only take a minute.’
With a heavy sigh, Caitlin followed her sister. They ran towards where they’d last seen Lauren, across the field and around the corner of trees.
Not noticing that her sister had stopped, Caitlin almost bumped into the back of her.
Courtney was pointing at a figure lying in the grass. ‘There’s something wrong.’
‘What do you mean?’
Caitlin followed behind her as they ran to their friend. The wind picking up across the open ground was the only thing they could hear. They drew level, their eyes widening with fear. Lauren was lying on her back, her blonde hair fanned out around her head.
‘She’s having us on, isn’t she?’ Caitlin said.
‘I don’t know,’ Courtney whispered. ‘Lauren?’
She prodded Lauren’s leg gently with her toes. Maybe that would make Lauren giggle if she was winding them up. But she didn’t move.
‘Lauren?’ Caitlin dropped to her knees. ‘Are you okay?’
It was then she noticed the glazed look in her friend’s eyes.
TWO
Leaving her home in Manchester hadn’t been as gut-wrenching as DS Grace Allendale had thought it was going to be. It had been more of a relief as she’d closed the door for the final time and handed the keys in at the estate agent’s. The house had begun to depress her. It never seemed to remind her of what she’d had, only of what she had lost. Starting afresh was what she’d needed.
Moving back to her hometown of Stoke-on-Trent had turned out in her favour, too. Despite her first case being personal, she’d settled into life at Bethesda Police Station. She was getting to know everyone eight months on, as well as the good and the bad of the area.
Stoke-on-Trent was a city of two halves in every meaning of the term. There were beautiful areas of vast countryside alongside barren inner-city areas that had been set for regeneration and then forgotten about. Abandoned factories of years gone by close to others that flourished, staying in the game by welcoming visitors and embracing social media coverage. It had several large housing estates owned by the city council and lanes with affluent property owners, their gardens stretching to acres. Empty shops in local towns sat next to family firms that had been in business for decades. Rough alongside smooth: wealth alongside poverty.
Grace never went with the adage that the wealthy were any better than the ones scraping around for pennies. She firmly believed there were shades of polite and ugly in every level of society. She’d seen compassion from a drug user at the lowest ebb of his life; she’d seen injuries of domestic abuse caused by a high-ranking politician. So much went on behind closed doors regardless of class.
Arriving back from a meeting with Allie Shenton, a colleague who oversaw six local community intelligence teams, she felt a buzz of activity as soon as she opened the door to the office where her team was located. Her phone went off and she slipped a hand inside her jacket pocket to retrieve it. It was her boss, DI Nick Carter.
Grace could see him sitting in his office. She raised her hand to show him she was here as she walked across to him. Something must have come in while she’d been out. Adrenaline began to pump through her, as had become natural.
‘We’ve had a call of a suspicious death at Dunwood Academy, over in Norton,’ Nick told her. ‘Female, sixteen years of age. Out on a cross-country run, got left behind. First thoughts were she’d had some kind of seizure. Two pupils found her; one ran to get help. By the time their teacher got to her, bruising had started to appear around her neck.’
Grace pulled a face. ‘Do they suspect foul play from anyone there? The teachers, or the pupils?’
‘I’m not sure. Can you task someone with getting everything ready here and then we can go in five?’
‘Will do.’ She headed back to her desk.
Perry Wright, one of two detective constables on her team, was sitting opposite her.
‘I’ve grabbed a pool car, Sarge,’ he said as she approached.
Grace nodded her appreciation. ‘Sam, are you okay setting up the incident room for us, please?’
‘Sure thing.’ DC Sam Markham nodded.
Since she’d first arrived at the station, Grace had learned that the staff in her team had jobs they preferred. Wanting to be in the thick of it all, it was usually Perry who came out to the enquiries with her. Grace liked that she had someone solid by her side. Although, while Perry was fit and bulky to Sam’s small and nimble, Sam could still pull a suspect down in a rugby tackle whenever necessary. At thirty-eight, she was two years older than Grace, and she came into her own as office manager: sorting things out, getting the details down, doing the minute things that could make or break a case. It worked, and Grace hadn’t felt a need to change things.
‘Tell me about the school,’ Grace said to Perry as he drove them north to the scene of the crime. She relied on her team for their local knowledge, even though she was learning the different patches and area.
‘Dunwood Academy? A bit of a dive before government intervention. Certain kids were always getting into trouble and the school was underperforming on grades. But it’s doing much better at the moment. Plus, it’s on the edge of the Bennett Estate.’
‘Ah.’ Grace nodded. Perry didn’t need to say any more.
The Bennett Estate was the second largest estate in Stoke-on-Trent. Like a lot of social housing, it had a reputation for trouble and unruly tenants but, more often than not, Grace found that rumours were just that. This area, however, did live up to its status as a sink estate. She wasn’t being unkind when she reckoned 90 per cent of its residents didn’t work, 70 per cent were single parents and most of them were probably bringing up the next generation of crooks.
The school was on the edge of the city, meaning that it backed onto a considerable amount of countryside. But driving up to the block itself, you wouldn’t have reason to believe that. It was a deftly overpopulated area with homes on every available piece of land. Built in the mid-1940s, the estate was past its sell-by date in terms of today’s standards. Cars were parked everywhere owing to lack of space, on already narrow roads, which were a rat run for car chases.
Grace and Perry pulled into the already crowded car park. As they stepped out of the vehicle, there seemed to be orderly chaos everywhere Grace looked. Teachers were herding pupils into a main hallway. Parents had started to turn up, no doubt having been rung by frantic children wondering what was going on.
They passed a woman she assumed to be a member of staff trying to explain to a man that he needed to wait until his child’s name was crossed off her list and then someone would go and fetch him; Grace presumed this was to ensure they had a record of who was on the premises. Another woman was trying to stop a worried parent from barging through.
A uniformed officer was marking down names of people who were going into the school as part of their investigation. Grace knew they could contain the crime scene as it was away from the school site, but it would be handy in the days to come to show who had been where and doing what here as well.
Nick caught up with Grace and Perry after parking next to them.
‘I think we’ll go and see her first,’ he said. ‘Then we can speak to the girls who found her, the teachers who took the class and the headmaster. Eyes are on us.’
Grace nodded. A small crowd was gathering across the road from the entrance gate, a row of bungalows behind them. Already, there were a few people either speaking into or tapping away at their phones.
Nick pointed to a lane at the side of the school. It had been blocked by a marked vehicle parked horizontally across the tarmac, its lights flashing.
‘She’s a five-minute walk from here,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
