Deadly Lies Read online

  Deadly Lies

  Ann Girdharry

  Copyright © 2021 Ann Girdharry

  The right of Ann Girdharry to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance to the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in 2021 by Bloodhound Books.

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  www.bloodhoundbooks.com

  Print ISBN 978-1-913942-45-8

  Contents

  Love crime, thriller and mystery books?

  Also by Ann Girdharry

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  A note from Ann Girdharry

  A note from the publisher

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  Also by Ann Girdharry

  Detective David Grant & Ruby Silver Series

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  Deadly Secrets - Book 2

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  London Noir

  The Beauty Killers

  1

  ‘Wake up, Ronnie. There’s someone in the house.’

  The terror in his wife’s voice woke Ronnie like a drench of water. He jerked upright so fast he pulled a muscle in his lower back. Ronnie’s automatic instinct was to reassure Joan it was probably nothing and he was about to do just that and to tell her he’d check it out when they both heard a noise coming from downstairs. It was a dragging sound. Something about it made Ronnie go cold.

  His mind flew to the grandchildren. They were asleep in the room down the hallway.

  ‘It could be Lisa or Emily,’ he whispered.

  Joan violently shook her head. ‘They don’t get up on their own. They would have called if they needed the bathroom.’

  Ronnie glanced at the clock. It was 2am. She was right and the sound downstairs wasn’t child-sized.

  ‘Lock yourself in the en suite and call the police,’ he hissed. ‘I’ll check it out.’

  Joan grabbed Ronnie’s arm. He pushed her away gently but firmly.

  ‘I know the girls are the priority, I promise I’ll get them first.’

  As he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, Ronnie felt a stab of pain in his back. Sure, he was out of shape and since retirement several years earlier he’d been steadily putting on weight. Back in the day he’d been an amateur boxer, and he’d be damned if he was going to be frightened in his own house by some bloody intruder. Perhaps one of the grandchildren really had wandered downstairs. Maybe it was nothing. But that wasn’t what his instincts were telling him.

  Ronnie padded to the door. He stopped and listened, straining every nerve.

  It had been his wife’s idea to have the grandchildren sleep over every other weekend. At first Ronnie had been reluctant. He’d never devoted much time to being a father, and being a grandfather felt awkward. Then as time wore on, Ronnie realised Joan was right – the grandchildren were fun. For sure he’d never get to like children’s films but there was something special about cuddling up on the sofa with a bowl of treats and two excited little girls. At some point, Ronnie had started looking forward to the grandchildren’s visits. He used to be a hard-nosed businessman. Now he browsed children’s videos and bought kids’ games – things he’d never done for his own daughter. He even got Emily and Lisa’s bedroom decorated exactly the way they wanted it – with matching pink bedspreads and a pink plush carpet and a lilac monstrosity of a dresser.

  Standing in the gloom, Ronnie couldn’t hear a thing. He tiptoed along the landing to the grandchildren’s room. A couple of night lights glowed at floor level. He’d put them in because Lisa, the youngest one, was scared of the dark. Scanning the beds where their shapes should be, his heart pounded. Ronnie ran to Emily’s bed, flinging back the duvet, desperately hoping she was snuggled inside. Nothing. He scattered pillows and the cover of Lisa’s bed, smelling the children’s sweet scent from their nightly bubble bath. Empty.

  Ronnie shouted and ran along the hallway. He almost fell down the stairs and had to grab at the banister. At the bottom, he flipped on the lights. The downstairs hallway was flooded in yellow, just in time to see a person in black heading out the door, with one child bundled under his arm and the other being dragged behind.

  Ronnie bellowed with rage and charged towards the front door. ‘You fucking bastard!’

  ‘Emily!’ Joan shouted.

  She hurled a vase and it smashed against the wall. Joan, thought Ronnie, she didn’t hide in the bathroom, she’s right behind me.

  Blood pumped in Ronnie’s ears drowning out his jagged breaths. Now he was in the night air and the security lighting outside didn’t flash on. Ronnie jumped two steps to the ground, the gravel of the driveway digging into his feet. Outside the house, a vehicle stood with doors open. He saw the intruder toss Lisa onto the back seat and Emily was fighting against being pushed in.

  ‘Granddad!’

  The sound which came out of Ronnie’s mouth was raw with fury. He yanked at the passenger door and as the man turned to face him Ronnie swung out his signature right hook. There was a satisfying crunch as it clipped the intruder on the side of the head. Ronnie followed up with his left hand and felt his fist impact the man’s belly. Air gushed out and the man doubled over.

  ‘You bastard!’ Ronnie screamed.

  And that’s when Ronnie felt a pain so intense he was paralysed. It shot across Ronnie’s chest and down his left arm. Trying to draw back for another strike, instead R
onnie’s limbs were powerless and the intruder slipped from his fingers. Ronnie landed on his knees and the man kicked him in the stomach.

  As the pain tightened across his chest, Ronnie watched through a mist of red. Joan was at the vehicle, trying to drag Emily out. Then his wife screamed. Ronnie was on the ground and he did his best to crawl back to help. Move – he commanded himself, but the pain in his chest was too intense. All he could do was clutch at his own body and struggle to draw breath.

  The back tyres spun, scattering stones in his direction. There came the roar of the engine as the car, and his grandchildren, disappeared out the driveway. Ronnie landed on his face in the gravel.

  2

  Detective Chief Inspector David Grant didn’t usually respond to Superintendent Fox within seconds. In fact, he made it his business to wait a good few moments before answering her calls simply on the principle DCS Fox wanted everything done yesterday. Then again, Superintendent Angela Fox’s calls rarely came at three o’clock in the morning. The two of them had a prickly professional relationship though they never let it get in the way of the real work.

  ‘It’s a child abduction, David,’ was the first thing Fox said.

  Hot sparks like electricity skittered across Grant’s back. It snapped him awake. A child abduction. The case most senior officers dreaded because the stakes were so high. Grant excelled at tough cases and this one sounded like one of the toughest.

  ‘I want you to handle it. I need my best on this one and it’s going to take at least three hours for me to get back from this damn conference I was dragged to,’ Fox said. ‘And in those three hours… well, you know…’

  Yes he did – anything and everything could happen. With an abduction, the minutes after the event were vital. It would be up to him to allocate resources properly. He must prioritise actions on the go. He would have to be razor sharp and pinpoint the perpetrator’s weaknesses because the likelihood of finding victims declined rapidly, starting from the time of a kidnap.

  Grant grabbed his clothes.

  ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t mess it up,’ Fox snapped.

  One minute she was hinting he was one of her best and the next Fox was biting his head off, it was typical of the Detective Chief Superintendent. Grant rolled his eyes.

  He didn’t waste a second. When his wife stirred, he shushed her. Grant had been a top detective for over twenty years and his wife was a true copper’s wife. Likely she’d be back asleep within minutes.

  Speeding across town the roads were deserted and Grant jumped the lights. Street lamps picked out dark houses and damp, deserted streets. Three o’clock in the morning was the graveyard hour – when drunks had gone home.

  Fifteen minutes later, DCI David Grant arrived at a suburban street in the expensive end of town. Here, the houses were set back from the road, with front entrances big enough for several cars. He noted how most properties had burglar alarms and security features.

  Slowing the car, Grant approached a uniformed officer. Crime scene tape blocked the entrance to the driveway and the police patrolman directed Grant into a next-door neighbour’s entrance.

  ‘The crime scene is next door, sir,’ the officer said. ‘Two children have been taken from the house. We’ve cordoned off the whole of the front. If you’d like to speak to the children’s grandmother, Joan Hardman, she’s waiting in the squad car. This is the grandparents’ place and she was here at the time of the abduction. Her husband collapsed and he’s been taken to hospital.’

  It was a crisp update and better than most Grant got. ‘Good work, officer.’

  ‘One other thing, sir – the man who was taken to hospital, Ronnie Hardman – the paramedics said his condition was serious. They suspect a heart attack. His wife didn’t want to go with him until she’s spoken to whoever is in charge.’

  ‘I’ll get to her as soon as I can.’

  A group of Scene of Crime Officers, which everyone called SOCOs, were getting suited up in the back of their van. Grant jogged over to them. ‘What do you know so far? Can you give me a rundown?’

  The Crime Scene Manager stepped forward. ‘I don’t know much yet,’ she said. ‘Patrol did a good job keeping the drive contamination-free. It seems there were two grandchildren in the house and they were taken in a vehicle. There was a tussle outside the property between the abductor and the grandfather. We’re just about to go in.’

  ‘Keep me updated.’

  From across the road, two of Grant’s detective sergeants, Diane Collins and Tom Delaney, arrived at a run. The Crime Scene Manager gave DS Tom Delaney the once over. It was the reaction of most women when they came across Tom’s dark good looks and rugby-player physique. DS Delaney, on the other hand, gave the forensics manager a courteous nod. He had been dragged out of bed by Grant and yet he looked as fresh as if it was eight o’clock in the morning. Ah, the advantages of youth, Grant thought. But his fifty-seven years gave him one thing Delaney did not yet have – decades of experience on the job.

  ‘Sir,’ Diane said. ‘We got here as soon as we could.’

  DS Diane Collins had three teenage sons. An experienced member of Grant’s team, Diane had worked with him for over ten years. Her blonde hair was shoulder-length and neatly cut, and she wore a navy trouser suit. Delaney would have gone by her place to pick her up.

  ‘We need to get moving,’ Grant said. ‘Delaney, I want you to liaise with forensics and keep up to date with the scene as it unfolds. I’ll speak to the first witness. Oh yes, and we need to find out why the security alarm didn’t go off.’

  The ground squelched underneath Grant’s shoes as he walked across the grass and he made a mental note – with soft ground like this they might get lucky with tyre marks or footprints.

  ‘Get an officer to cordon off the area by the gate,’ Grant shouted. ‘Once they’ve finished inside the house, ask the SOCOs to check the ground for prints. From now on, I want all coming in or out to happen from the side. Got it?’

  A uniformed officer scuttled off to carry out Grant’s instructions.

  The drive was full of flashing police lights. By the fence, neighbours clustered together, dressed in coats draped over their nightwear.

  ‘Diane, speak to that lot and find out if they saw anything. I’ve been told this is the grandparents’ house, so track down the parents and get them here.’

  Ten minutes for the first responders to arrive, plus fifteen minutes for him to get here which meant the getaway vehicle could already be clear of the town. Grant hurried to speak to the grandmother.

  She was hunched in the back of a police car. Clutching her mobile phone, Joan Hardman was staring straight ahead at the headrest and Grant introduced himself and slid in beside her.

  She was slight and looked mid-sixties, and when she turned to face Grant, he could see she’d been crying.

  ‘My grandchildren have been taken,’ she said.

  ‘And it’s my job to find them. I need as much information as possible and as quickly as possible. Please tell me what happened.’

  The authority in his voice calmed her which was exactly what he needed it to do. Though she was shaking, she nodded.

  She told him she’d been woken by a noise. There were four of them in the house – Joan, her husband and the two grandchildren, Emily and Lisa, and it had sounded to her and her husband as if there was an intruder downstairs. Ronnie had gone to investigate. She had called the police and then crept onto the top landing where she heard Ronnie shouting. The intruder was already at the front door and he was dragging the children with him.

  ‘You say it was a man. Did you recognise him?’

  ‘He had something over his face and I couldn’t see properly.’

  ‘And then what happened, Mrs Hardman?’

  ‘Please c-call me Joan. There was a car outside. My husband chased after the kidnapper and Ronnie punched the man and then Ronnie suddenly collapsed and fell to the ground. It was dark. I grabbed hold of Emily‘s arm. There was a tussle
and I had hold of her one minute and the next I let go. I’ll never forgive myself. I just wasn’t strong enough.’

  Grant ticked off the details. One intruder and no accomplice present which, of course, didn’t mean one did not exist. The children did not seem to know their abductor. Joan and Ronnie appeared to have been taken by surprise though Grant knew from experience this could be an elaborate ploy because no one and nothing could be ruled out at this stage, not even an innocent-looking grandmother.

  ‘You tried to intervene, Mrs Hardman. This is not your fault. How old are your grandchildren?’

  ‘Emily is six, Lisa four. When I got there, Lisa had already been forced into the car.’

  Joan described the vehicle as a family estate and a dark colour – possibly black or dark grey. She’d done well to get the details and Grant jotted it down. When Emily was wrenched away from her, Joan had lost her balance and fallen backwards. Then she ran after the car.

  ‘I know it was stupid trying to catch it. It was only once the car got away that I went back to Ronnie. He could hardly speak. Please find them. Please find my grandchildren.’