No Safe Home: the gripping new crime thriller everybody is talking about Read online

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  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

  EPILOGUE

  No Safe Home

  Tara Lyons

  Copyright © 2017 Tara Lyons

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

  First published in 2016 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

  ISBN: 978-0-9956926-6-4

  For my mum – a real life Wonder Woman and a true inspiration

  PROLOGUE

  The creaky floorboards, at the entrance of her bedroom door, yanked her from sleep. If it wasn’t such a regular occurrence, she’d have been annoyed by the rude awakening. Gone were the days of sleeping soundly; now she could hear a quiet sneeze from down the hallway, even with the doors closed. She supressed a small, internal grudge and forced her eyes open.

  “Mummy, can I sleep in your bed tonight?” her son stuttered, more like a drunken person than a toddler.

  She peered over his shoulder at the digital clock. The red, square numbers glared eleven forty-five p.m. – too early to give in to him, especially at his first attempt to crawl into her bed.

  “No, sweetie. Come on, let’s get you back to your room.”

  As much as she wanted to cuddle her five-year-old son, to pull him into bed with her and encourage some semblance of a good night’s sleep, she knew it couldn’t happen. Robotically, and in the vain hope of banishing the habit, she climbed out of bed, took his hand in hers and they stumbled together into the darkness. Their eyes half-open, they tread down the hall to the little boy’s bedroom.

  Thinking back to her childless nights when she would have stayed up until the early hours reading, or binge-watching an episode on Netflix, she groaned at the carefree time she had so readily taken for granted.

  “But there’s someone in my room, Mummy,” he said, and stopped outside his bedroom door. “I heard something.”

  “It’s just you and me, kiddo. You know that,” she soothed, ruffling his soft hair. Gently, she edged him into the room. “Don’t be scared of the dark. It’s lovely sleepy time.”

  “But why can’t I have my night light on?” he moaned.

  “I told you earlier, the bulb popped. I’ll buy another one tomorrow. Now shh, into bed, sweetie, and no more talking.”

  She narrowed her eyes against the gloom, watching her son’s shadowy figure finally hop back into his bed. Kneeling down beside him, she hummed a lullaby and stroked his soft cheek. The sound of his deep breathing quickly filled the room, and her own tiredness hit home like a hammer. Gingerly, she tiptoed out of his room, avoiding the creaks like a trained ninja.

  Quietly pulling the bedroom door shut, she turned around and collided with a stocky, dark figure. A balaclava covered his face. She opened her mouth, but only a small squeak escaped. Her thumping heart urged her to move, to shout for help, to attack him, to do something. She considered scrambling back into her son’s room and closing the door before the intruder made an advance. But stunned, she stood frozen in the dark hallway.

  The stranger moved his head slowly from side to side; black eyes stared back at her from the two small holes in the thick material.

  Her stomach clenched at the sound of his leather jacket crunching. Raising a gloved hand, he placed his index finger against his unseen lips. Thinking only of her son, she attempted to nod and pledge her silence, but her head barely moved. He snatched her arm, dragged her back to the main bedroom and slammed the door behind them.

  In a blind panic, she scanned the room looking for something to grab, anything to use as a weapon, but could see nothing except her own tears. Fear gripped her again as the intruder spun her around, forcing their bodies within inches of each other. He panted loudly. His nicotine breath seeped through the balaclava and snaked up her nostrils.

  He pushed her back onto the bed and took a knife from his back pocket. She closed her eyes to the sounds of a clink from the blade being lowered to the bedside table and a zip unfastening. He tugged her pyjama bottoms until her legs were fully exposed. She covered her face, grinding her palms into the sockets of her eyes. The bed dipped as he climbed on, and she felt his hot, wet penis glide intrusively along her naked thigh. She whimpered. But he continued to bring himself further up on top of her until his leathered fingers wrapped persuasively around her neck.

  Just do what he wants, and then he’ll leave.

  The mantra repeated over and over again in her mind.

  Just do what he wants, and then he’ll leave; then my child will be safe…

  CHAPTER ONE

  Katy Royal spun around the bar pulling pints. Although she hadn’t worked there for very long, she knew it was far too busy for a Friday night. The Tavern was a local, a ‘regulars only’ type of pub, where strangers barely ventured; it had been one of the factors which had attracted her to apply for the job. Her boss, Craig, had allowed a family in mourning to hold a wake there that evening and, although there were only thirty more people than usual, it was twenty-six too many for her.

  Despite the sombre occasion, a couple of the men had made a move on her, attempting to flirt and buy her a drink. Thankfully, John, who had always sat at the end of the bar during the shifts Katy had worked over the past month, was quick to step in and save her. She hated the attention, and was grateful for his sympathetic nature, and his ability to swiftly move the drunken men away. It was John’s salt and pepper hair and weather-beaten skin that made her guess he was in his late fifties. But for all that, he was a quiet man, uninterested in conversation, so she knew nothing about him, and didn’t like to ask. Katy checked her watch, desperate for the last hour of her shift to hurry by. She despised working with people under the influence of alcohol, but it was the only job that suited her lifestyle.

  “Will
you work an extra hour tonight, Katy?” Craig called from across the bar.

  Her boss shadowed her with his tall, athletic build. His sapphire blue eyes mesmerised her, and were complimented by the frame of greying hair on his head and face. Katy detected a Northern accent, but couldn’t place its origin. She’d once asked where he was from, but Craig swore he’d been born and raised in Hertfordshire. And she had to admit, he definitely seemed to know everyone in the area.

  “No. And you know better than to ask me that.”

  He marched towards her and bent down to her ear, whispering, “This lot are definitely going to want a lock-in. I’ll sort you out some extra cash if you help.”

  She frowned, and looked him square in the eyes. “Craig, you know I have to be home by twelve-thirty, those were my conditions when I—”

  “Okay, okay. I’m well aware of the conditions, but you can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  He continued to serve the patrons, and Katy grabbed the metal bucket bin and left the bar to clear away the rubbish and collect empty glasses. The pub stood on the corner of a residential street, but there were a few tables outside, creating a makeshift smoking area. It was a quaint area and the neighbours never fussed, providing it was kept tidy and trouble-free.

  Regardless of the crowd inside, Katy found herself alone outside, in the dark. She strolled between the tables emptying the ashtrays into the bucket. A hushed scream from the side alley caught her attention and she held her breath, straining to hear. Nothing. She lifted an empty pint glass and slowly walked in the direction of the noise, halting just before the entrance to the alley. A young woman twisted and turned under the force of a man, one of his hands covering her mouth and the other under her skirt.

  “Get off her,” Katy yelled.

  He glared over his shoulder briefly, before roaring, “Piss off, bitch! This doesn’t concern you.”

  “Neil! Neil, is that you? I’ll tell your father if you don’t leave that girl alone right now!”

  The man released his hands and walked over towards Katy. The young woman took the opportunity to adjust her skirt and ran past them into the dark street, and out of sight. Katy edged backwards towards the tables.

  “See what you done,” Neil growled.

  “When a woman is squirming under you, take it as a no.”

  “Or what, you’ll run and tell my big, bad dad? As if he’d believe a bitch like you,” he laughed, shoving his face into hers.

  “No means no.” Katy’s voice remained determined, but she stepped back further again.

  “For Christ’s sake! What are you two doing out here?” Craig interrupted, his face peering around the pub door. “Katy, I need you back behind the bar, now!”

  “I was just helping her with the glasses, dad,” Neil replied, as he tugged the glass from Katy’s hand and followed Craig back inside.

  She exhaled a large puff of air and re-collected the metal bin bucket, her hands shaking, but not from the cold. When she entered the pub, Craig and Neil were nowhere to be seen, but thirsty punters all clambered for her attention. Swiftly, she jumped back into her role as The Tavern’s best pint puller and got to work.

  When Katy’s shift was over, Pete was outside waiting. Her apartment was only a twenty-minute walk from the pub; a journey she was happy to take alone in such a quiet neighbourhood, but Craig had insisted from the outset he’d order a taxi when she finished the night shifts. New to the bar trade, Katy assumed the landlords of public houses would be bossy and selfish, but in reality, Craig was kind and considerate. The same taxi company was always used and Katy asked for the same driver. Thankfully, there hadn’t yet been a night when Pete wasn’t working. In her eyes, the fewer people who knew her address the better and, if she had to take a cab home every night, she preferred a driver who didn’t want any chit-chat.

  Within ten minutes, Katy was home. She climbed the stairs to her third-floor flat, paid Samantha for her time and flicked the kettle on. Samantha lived across the street and, although she was only eighteen, seemed more than happy to spend her nights babysitting. The young girl had done so most evenings since Katy started working in The Tavern just over a month before. She thought Samantha a very savvy girl; busy with college assignments and saving up to buy a car. It was more than Katy had been doing at that age, and she regretted not having been so focused when she was younger. However, it meant Samantha was a great fit for her, and therefore a great fit for Frankie.

  Once alone, Katy peered into her son’s bedroom and watched him lying peacefully for a few moments. His blonde hair was dishevelled on the Avengers pillowcase due to his fidgety way of sleeping. Regardless of his twitchiness, for a five-year-old, Frankie was a great sleeper. Every evening he was in bed between seven or eight p.m. and slept through the night until seven in the morning. His calming nature was a blessing to her. She crept in, tucked the blanket closer around his tiny frame and kissed him lightly on the head. Before leaving the room, she tugged on the window handles and readjusted the curtains so they sat flush together. Katy pulled the door, leaving it ajar, and then crossed the small hallway to the bathroom.

  The reflection that greeted her was that of a stranger’s. Make-up free, sunken cheeks and a wavy, blonde bob. She ran a hand through her hair and, not for the first time, wished for the return of her long, brunette locks and flawless complexion. Lifeless, blue eyes stared back at her. She quickly splashed cold water on her face, and vowed to spend more time on her appearance, just as she used to do.

  Katy stepped back out into the hallway and twisted the key clockwise in the front door. Confident she had locked it straight after Samantha left, she continued turning it another three times regardless. She cursed the lack of internal wall space that prevented a chain guard being fitted, before finally sliding the double lock down and up again. It had become her routine.

  In the kitchen, she peered out between the open blinds at the private garages below; there were six garages and a few disused cars parked in the bays in front of them. A small river ran behind, unseen, for the forest standing proudly in front, but the swish of water could be heard on a still night. The trees grew wild and ungoverned along the wooden fences and far into the private country common at the rear. Katy hated it. She didn’t know who owned the garages, and people came and went at all times during the day and night to access them. The side entrance was a blind spot from her kitchen window and there was only one lamp post shining any light into the area. Tugging the handle to ensure the window was locked, she pulled the blinds closed and ran her fingers down them so they fell smartly into place. She removed an empty glass bottle from under the sink and carefully placed it against the back door. There was no need for the key to remain in this door because she had never used it. It led onto a small balcony she shared with her adjacent neighbour, and doubled up as a communal fire-escape back into the main building. The space had become a dwelling for unwanted footballs and furniture, overlooking the rusty vehicles below. The thought of engaging in small talk sent a shiver down Katy’s spine, and therefore she never ventured out there.

  Tiredness began to overtake Katy but she ignored it, choosing instead to make herself a milky cup of hot chocolate. As she entered her bedroom and switched on the lamp, she checked all the windows were closed and the cream curtains neatly met. Once she’d changed into a pair of jogging bottoms and a T-shirt, she slipped into bed. Smoothing the covers straight around her, Katy reached for her Kindle and sipped her warm drink, all the time carefully listening for anything out of place.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sitting at a corner table of The Duke and Duchess public house, Denis and his team raised their glasses in the air.

  “Sharon, it has been an honour working with you for the past couple of years,” he said. “Our loss is most definitely the Vice Squad’s gain.”

  “Can’t believe you’re actually leaving MIT for that lot,” Lewis mocked.

  Sharon jabbed him in the ribs. “Oi! Shut it, you. And thanks, boss, I’ve love
d working with you all, but it’s time for something new for me.”

  “Even better, when your replacement finally arrives, I won’t be the new kid on the block anymore,” Kerry beamed.

  “Hey, you’ve contributed to some tough arrests in the past few months. You’re certainly not the new girl now.”

  “Girl? Lewis, she’s well into her thirties. Surely you can’t call her that?” said Les, joining in with the banter.

  “Excuse me! I’m not even thirty yet, can’t you tell by my youthful looks,” she said, framing her face with her hands.

  Lewis and Les side-glanced each other and roared with laughter before draining their pints. Denis shook his head at their juvenile ways and retrieved the vibrating work phone from his inside pocket.

  “You lot, excuse me for a moment.” He made his way through the pub and out onto the cold street. “Detective Inspector Denis Hamilton,” he quickly answered, before the call was directed to voicemail.

  As his team were not officially on call, he frowned at the sound of Detective Chief Inspector Allen’s rough tone barking orders into his ear. His stomach clenched as he absorbed the information, wishing he had sunk a few pints with the team and therefore be unfit for duty.

  “I understand, sir. I’ll be there in twenty.”

  With no time to gather his thoughts, and unprepared to face them right now either, he marched back into the pub. He scanned the table of drinks and realised his partner, Lewis Clarke, would not be joining him tonight. Apart from himself, Kerry was the only sergeant who hadn’t indulged in an alcoholic beverage. Formalities dropped, Hamilton filled them in.

  “Look, I’m sorry to have to ruin your farewell evening, but we’re needed on a case. Fraser, you’ll accompany me to the crime scene.”

  Morris waved her hand, dismissing the apology, while Fraser grabbed her coat and bag. Tolerance was key in this job; it wasn’t the first time any of them had to leave a pub, family occasion or the comfort of their warm beds. They all understood, when a team is called in for a major investigation, it’s time to make a move, no questions asked.