Nine Lives
Nine Lives
Anita Waller
Copyright © 2021 Anita Waller
The right of Anita Waller 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 978-1-913942-40-3
Contents
Love crime, thriller and mystery books?
Also by Anita Waller
Foreword
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
A note from the publisher
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Also by Anita Waller
Psychological thrillers
Beautiful
Angel
34 Days
Strategy
Captor
Game Players
Malignant
Liars (co-written with Patricia Dixon)
Gamble
Epitaph
Supernatural
Winterscroft
Kat and Mouse series
Murder Undeniable (Book 1)
Murder Unexpected (Book 2)
Murder Unearthed (Book 3)
Murder Untimely (Book 4)
Murder Unjoyful (Book 5)
For my awesome beta-reading team: Sarah Hodgson,
Alyson Read, Marnie Harrison, Tina Jackson and Denise Cutler.
My eternally grateful thanks, ladies.
The punches are never pulled…
The last of the flooding, the last of the rain,
The start of the anguish, the start of the pain.
Calmness remains now where once torrents flowed,
Hearts were sore broken, the night of the flood.
Anita Waller, Aftermath, 1963
Foreword
Sheffield has five rivers: the Don, the Sheaf, the Loxley, the Rivelin and the Porter. This book is about the Porter, the smallest and possibly the prettiest of all five rivers, and a worthy character in its own right for this story.
The city is built on seven hills, and the Porter descends over one thousand feet from its source among the sedge grass on Burbage Moor at Clough Hollow, near the village of Ringinglow on the outskirts of Sheffield. It takes its name from its brackish colour, which is similar to the colour of Porter, a brown discoloration obtained as it passes over iron ore deposits on the way from its source.
It flows eastward through the Mayfield Valley to the first of the remaining mill dams. Beyond Forge Dam the Porter is defined as a main river. It drops down into Sheffield city centre, where it meets the River Sheaf under platform five of Sheffield’s Midland Station. They continue on to meet up with the mighty River Don which then flows onwards until it reaches the North Sea.
To reach this point it passes under many culverts, and in summer is a gentle river. In winter, in heavy rain conditions, it changes…
Prologue
27 July 2014
The body was staged carefully under a tree in Ecclesall Woods, positioned so that an early-morning dog walker would find it easily. The thrill was in the kill, and having the work admired; it wasn’t in hiding the bodies away and hoping they would never be found. In the moonlight, and with her blonde hair spread out around her, this one looked spectacular. Her small but perfectly formed breasts were framed by her arms as they crossed over her stomach, fingers interlinked, and her long slender legs led the eye to the light brown triangle of hair at the apex of her thighs.
The hope was that as it was almost midnight, late-night dog walkers wouldn’t venture into the woods to disturb the scene; it wouldn’t look so good in the dark. This was all about cause and effect, the beautiful symmetry of the girl who had said her name was Lilith. The double-barrelled surname was irrelevant; it was all about the Christian name. Lilith, indeed a beautiful one, and for a moment Lilith’s killer wondered what such a pretty name meant. Something to explore later when the whole thing was relived in the early hours when sleep wouldn’t come.
With the body of the young girl in place, the black-clad figure stepped back in admiration. A sight for tired eyes; time to leave it, after the final act.
Crouching down, clutching a sharp craft knife, the roman numerals IV were carved with precision into Lilith’s right palm. Number four, and the thought in the killer’s mind was full of confidence that the police didn’t seem to have any idea who had killed the first three.
Snipping off the tip of the little finger on the same hand was easy, and the fingers were once more interlinked. Silently the killer stopped for a moment to fill the backpack with Lilith’s clothes and to survey the scene, before moving swiftly out of the woods and back to the entrance. A glance around and the killer morphed into a jogger, running up the road to the posh houses where the car had been hidden in plain sight, false number plates an additional protection.
Fifteen minutes later the evening’s entertainment was over, the fingertip had joined three others in the freezer, the cat had been given some milk, and all was right in a murderer’s world.
1
Sunday evening, 27th October 2019
Katie Davids held up a hand and waved as she saw Rebecca Charlesworth walk into the pub.
‘Over here,’ she called, more in hope than belief that Becky would hear her.
Becky clearly didn’t as she did a full three hundred and sixty-degree turn before spotting the frantically waving arm of her friend.
Katie watched as she fought her way through the noisy groups of students, and grinned as Becky made it to their table.
Becky ran her hands through her long dark hair and screwed it into a fresh ponytail. ‘I’m ready for this. The essay’s done, emailed in, and I want to get drunk now. Is this mine?’ She held up the glass of Coke.
‘It is. It’s Coke, with maybe a drop or two of vodka in it.’ Katie patted her backpack. ‘If there isn’t enough, help yourself. I brought a big bottle.’
Becky tasted it, briefly c
losed her eyes in appreciation and smiled. ‘Perfect. So what are we doing?’
‘Do you want to go into the city centre or stay in this area so we don’t have to fork out for taxis?’
‘Stay here, I think. It won’t be a late night, I’m knackered. Don’t let me do that again, leave something till the last minute.’
Katie laughed. ‘I’ve been nagging you for at least two weeks to get it done. Forget it now, it’s over. Susie and Clare said they might look in later, after Macbeth finishes.’ She took out a small hairbrush and quickly ran it through her drying blonde-streaked hair. She blessed the day she’d cut it short, so much easier to handle when there was rain as torrential as it had been for at least a week. And she felt it emphasised her elfin features instead of hiding them; the other girls had been so supportive of her decision to chop most of it off.
Susanna Roebuck and Clare Vincent shared accommodation with Katie and Becky, and all four had hit it off from day one, respecting each other’s privacy, yet enjoying the friendship created by living in such close proximity. Number forty-three Crookesvale Gardens was happy student accommodation, as far as the four girls were concerned. Even their parents felt relief that their daughters had hit on what they would have wanted for them.
There was a flurry of activity as yet more people pushed their way into the pub. ‘Looks as though the Drama Studio is out. We’d best watch out for Susie and Clare, they’ll never see us tucked away in this corner.’
Katie and Becky sipped at their drinks and waited for their friends to put in an appearance. It was half an hour before they saw Clare, who stood in the doorway, searching.
‘I’ll go and get her.’ Becky stood and pushed through the throng of people, reaching Clare who hadn’t moved from the doorway. ‘Clare, follow me!’
A hand was lifted in acknowledgement, and the pretty girl with curly blonde hair, blue eyes and a slight frown on her face followed Becky through the crowd. Clare sat on the stool they had been hiding under the table awaiting their arrival, and turned towards the bar. ‘Susie not here then?’
‘No, we thought you were coming together.’
‘We were. Macbeth finished, but I needed a wee, so I went to the loo and said I would see her outside, then we’d walk down here together. When I got outside she was nowhere to be seen. I hung around for ages thinking she might have decided to go to the ladies and I’d missed her, but she didn’t appear. I tried ringing her phone but we had to turn them off in the theatre, so I’m guessing she’s not put it back on yet because it’s going straight to voicemail.’
‘Was she okay? Not feeling ill or anything?’ They were all aware of Susie’s type-one diabetes issues, and her checking of her blood sugar levels; Katie sounded anxious as she asked the question.
‘She was fine. She didn’t say she felt off, and she always does if she needs some medication boost or a quick Mars bar. In fact she had a Mars in her coat pocket just in case, because we had a laugh about not sitting on our coats in the theatre. It’s strange…’
‘Let me go and get you a Coke, and I suggest you add something from inside Katie’s bag,’ Becky said and stood to go to the bar. Her five feet eight height gave her a decided advantage as she elbowed her way through to the front.
She kept checking back at the table all the time she was waiting to be served; she didn’t want to have to come and queue again for one drink. She ordered three Cokes eventually, and carried them carefully back.
It wasn’t easy pouring vodka out of a litre bottle under the table but they managed amidst giggles. For a minute or so it took their minds off the missing Susie. All three of them, without it ever having been a formal discussion, watched out for health signs in Susie, and they felt concern.
‘When I’ve finished this,’ Clare said, ‘I’m going home. It’s where she’ll be, but I don’t want her to be there and needing medical help.’
‘We’ll all go. I’m knackered anyway,’ Becky said.
‘You’ve finished your essay?’
‘I have. Don’t sound so surprised. It’s a masterpiece.’
All three laughed. They guessed masterpiece was a hyperbole on Becky’s part, but fully understood the relief evident in her voice that her ‘masterpiece’ was off her mind, and with her tutor.
They finished their drinks, and fought their way out of the pub, turning right and heading up the hill towards the house they called home, instead of the places they had lived in for all of their lives up to that point.
Home was a Victorian house that had been converted into four student flats. Each of them had a large bedroom with an en suite, and on the ground floor was a communal kitchen and a lounge. Clare unlocked the door and called her friend’s name as soon as they entered the impressive hallway. Susie didn’t respond, so Clare ran upstairs.
She knocked on Susie’s door, and turned the handle, but it was locked. Clare knocked louder, but there was nothing, no answering call, no movement. The worry for Susie’s safety turned to fear.
For what seemed like the millionth time Clare pulled out her mobile phone and rang Susie. Nothing.
‘Is she okay?’ Katie’s anxious voice sounded up the stairs.
‘I don’t think she’s here.’
Clare reached the bottom of the stairs and headed towards the kitchen where she could hear the clatter of cups.
‘Not here? Then where the hell is she?’ There was worry still in Katie’s voice. ‘Should we tell the police?’
Becky laughed. ‘I don’t think so. They’d think we were crackers. Clare, who were you with in the theatre? Was there a crowd of you, or only you two?’
‘We sat with Jenna, the girl in the wheelchair. She’d parked herself at the end of our row, then there was Susie in the first seat, then me. Behind us was that lad from Birmingham on our course, Danny something or other, then Dom Andrews. Also behind us were the twins, Maria and Anya.’ Clare paused. ‘I can’t remember anybody else. The ones in front of us I didn’t know.’
‘Is she likely to have gone somewhere with any of them? Did she get chatting to somebody and assumed you’d guess where she was?’
‘She’s not like that.’ Clare shook her head as if to emphasise her words. ‘I’m worried, girls.’
‘So are we, but we can’t do anything at this stage. The police would laugh at us. We’re students, prone to doing odd things like disappearing for a couple of days on a whim. Because we know how out of character this is for Susie, doesn’t mean they’ll believe us.’ Katie’s sensible voice didn’t make them feel any better.
‘O…kay,’ Becky said slowly. ‘The first thing we need to do is check she isn’t in a diabetic coma in her room. We know she’s not downstairs, but if she came home because she felt ill, she’d be in bed.’
‘Her door’s locked,’ Clare said.
‘And am I the only one who can open a Yale lock with a credit card?’ Becky said.
Clare and Katie looked at each other. ‘How did you learn that?’ Clare asked.
‘I have two older brothers, Clare.’ Becky grinned.
The credit card slid down the sliver of a gap, and all three girls held their breath. It didn’t work the first time, but it did the second time, and Becky quietly pushed open the door.
The room was tidy, the bed made. Becky crossed the floor to check out the en suite but that was also empty. She smiled at the row of rubber ducks along the bathroom shelf.
‘Nothing,’ she said as she returned to see Clare and Katie sat on the edge of the bed.
‘So what do we do?’
‘Not a lot we can do. Don’t put your phones on silent tonight in case she’s in a situation where she needs help. Other than that, I hope we go to sleep and wake up in the morning to her in a drunken stupor and lying across her bed, with a hangover from hell.’ Becky hesitated, thinking please God, let that be the scenario.
‘She doesn’t drink,’ Clare reminded them. ‘She wouldn’t have had vodka in her Coke tonight, would she? I keep thinking that maybe she g
ot talked into going off with some of the others we were sat with in the theatre, to carry on the discussion about the play. That was why we were there, to make notes and stuff. I would never have had her down as being thoughtless. She’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, and I can’t get over that little nag that she would have let me know. She knew I was only nipping to the ladies.’
‘She didn’t go anywhere with the lads you mentioned,’ Becky said quietly.
‘She didn’t?’
‘No, they came into the pub a good twenty minutes before you did, in a big group, talking about Macbeth.’
‘Shit.’ Clare breathed out the word, almost as a hiss. ‘Then I give in. I don’t know what to think. In that five minutes I was in the ladies, she vanished. I tell you, if she’s not back by seven tomorrow morning, I’m ringing the police.’
2
Erica Cheetham considered staying in bed. For a mere second she considered it, then she put one foot out, quickly bringing it back in. Bloody cold, she thought. Why couldn’t I have been a librarian, or something else that’s a nice occupation?