Degrees of Darkness Read online

  Degrees Of Darkness

  Tony J Forder

  Copyright © 2017 Tony J Forder

  The right of Tony J Forder to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in 2017 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

  Contents

  Also by Tony J Forder

  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

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  A Note From Bloodhound Books

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Tony J Forder

  Bad To The Bone

  Praise for Tony J Forder

  ‘A classy thriller with great characters in the form of DI Bliss and DC Chandler’ – Maggie James, author of Guilty Innocence

  ‘Books like Bad to the Bone breathe new life into a sometimes stale genre.’ – NovelGossip

  ‘Tony has brought us a new Police Procedural Series, that has a powerful start and impressive characters.’ –Bookstormer

  ‘The pace is fast, the characterisation superb, and the storyline is full of twists and turns.’ – Anita Waller, author of Winterscroft

  ‘I enjoyed the story very much and kept me guessing to the end and didn’t see the ending coming!!!!’ – Breakaway Reviewers

  ‘This is a cracking police procedural extremely well researched.’ – Books From Dusk Till Dawn

  ‘Takes a lot to shock me. This one actually made me exclaim out loud.’ – Ross Greenwood, author of The Boy Inside

  ‘ Great descriptive writing that gets into the minds of the characters’ – Ali The Dragon Slayer

  ‘A highly enjoyable read and can’t wait for more in the series.’ – By The Letter Book Reviews

  ‘A pacey, invigorating read.’ – Mark Wilson, author of Ice Cold Alice

  ‘The combination of realistic police procedural combined with dark humour, intrigue and suspense literally had me up all night!’ – Feminisia Libros

  ‘Forder is clearly a writer who cares about words and getting them in the right order and using the right word in the right place. And he’s good at painting word pictures too.’ – Book Lovers’ Booklist

  This book is dedicated to Alan Garner, Stephen King, Charles Dickens and Michael Connelly. Garner for unlocking my imagination with The Weirdstone of Brisingamen, King for consistently showing us all how it should be done, Dickens for the ability to add colour to minutiae and Connelly for being the guv’nor of crime fiction.

  To my wife and daughter again – always.

  1

  The two-storey detached house was impressive, generously proportioned. Built in smooth red brick and finished with stained dark wood, its gardens were large and lush, lawns neatly manicured. A magnificent willow crouched by the tall wooden fence in the back garden, behind which ran a driveway that serviced all six houses in the row. This was an affluent neighbourhood and its inhabitants were cocooned in a blanket of self-assured security. The quiet street was dark and silent shortly before midnight on that third Sunday in July.

  When Janet Rogers switched off the downstairs lights and went up to bed that night, she first checked on both her son and daughter as they lay sleeping in their separate rooms. Gary was a motionless mound buried beneath the covers. Laura lay on her side, both hands clasped as if in prayer beneath her cheek. Janet blew kisses at her children before making her way along the landing to her own bedroom. As she pulled back the lightweight duvet and slipped between the sheets, she paused, one foot still resting on the floor. Her toes gripped the carpet pile as she considered what she had done. It had been several years since she’d felt the need to be assured of her sleeping children’s health and safety in that way, so why tonight? From where had such an impetus come?

  A moment of consternation threatened to overwhelm her, but it passed swiftly and she felt a little foolish. Nevertheless, Janet rose from the bed and padded across to the door. She opened it a few inches, and immediately began to relax. Irrational, yet comforting. She glanced across at the motionless form on the other side of the bed, glad he hadn’t been awake to mock her. She would not have been able to explain her actions. He would not have been able to understand them.

  She lay awake longer than usual, face turned towards the bedroom door, wondering how that tiny gap between the edge and its frame could be so reassuring. What is wrong with you? she chided herself. They’re not babies anymore. The days of listening to monitors, heart skipping beats and pulse racing every time a child’s breath was snatched away, were long gone. Go to sleep, you stupid woman. The kids are safe and well, and will be their usual zombie-like selves in the morning. Her lips curled upwards at the thought, and she nuzzled into her pillow. That’s better. Nothing to fear after all. Janet’s eyelids began to flicker, the first stages of sleep starting to weigh them down. Her mind repeated the mantra until conscious thought was lost: Nothing to fear after all. Nothing to fear after all.

  When she awoke three hours later and saw the figure standing above her, she realised for the first time in her life what fear actually was.

  In the third bedroom now, and here was his prize. What had gone before was merely a precursor. This was the reason he had come.

  Naked, save for the plastic covers taped around his feet, and white cotton gloves pulled snug on large hands, he paced the room like a caged animal. He felt good, so loose and alive, a busy night’s work behind him, the best part yet to come. As he moved he kept his face turned towards the sleeping girl, his eyes as unb
linking and glassy as those of a reptile. His tongue snaked out to moisten thin lips.

  He stopped pacing and stood quite still for a few moments, allowing himself to focus. Sweat slid from his body as though his flesh were made of glass. After running a hand across his forehead, he smiled crookedly and moved among the shadows towards the girl’s bed, feet hissing on thick carpet. She was quite beautiful, strawberry-blonde hair draped around her oval head like a silken halo, lips parted as if preparing for a kiss. Moonlight bleeding through her bedroom window cut a pale slash across her arm. He stared at her exposed flesh, and what he saw there took his breath away. For although the room was warm, her skin had erupted in a rash of goosebumps.

  She had felt the chill of his approach.

  The girl was dreaming, eyes flickering just as her mother’s had an hour so earlier. The rapid eye movement fascinated him. Softly he called her name. His smooth voice whispered like a gently flowing stream. Twelve-year-old Laura Rogers stirred in her sleep but did not awaken.

  ‘Laura?’

  The voice like a sigh came again. This time he gently shook her warm body. The touch was electric, his long thin fingers jerking reflexively, prompting an explosion of images in the darker regions of his mind. His hand maintained the contact longer than was necessary. Only the thickness of the thin cotton gloves separated them. It was still almost too much to bear.

  The girl began to emerge from her slumber. She blinked the fog of sleep away, drank him in with widening eyes, yet said nothing. Fear had eroded her capacity for speech.

  The intruder’s hand reached out toward her. ‘You have to come with me,’ he said. ‘Right now.’

  Terrified, Laura Rogers shook her head. There was a cry of horror within her, but it was buried deep down and she could not find a way to it. Her mouth flapped open uselessly, and a white-gloved hand clamped over her parted lips. A gleaming, bone-handled knife appeared before her eyes as if from nowhere.

  The intruder lowered his head close to hers and his eyes became dead black pools.

  ‘Don’t cry out,’ he warned. ‘When I remove my hand from your mouth, you must not scream. If you do, your family will suffer unimaginable pain. Do you understand me?’

  She gave a single nod. He withdrew his hand.

  ‘Good. Now then, pay attention. I want you to come with me, and you will. Whether you come walking by my side, or gagged and trussed over my shoulder, I really don’t care. But you will come with me.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Laura managed to ask in a tiny voice that was scarcely more than a whisper.

  He smiled terribly. It was intended to be disarming, but was merely predatory. ‘Are you afraid of the dark, Laura?’ As he asked the question the man waggled the knife back and forth. His voice remained easy and light.

  She nodded, mute once more.

  His smile broadened. He touched the knife to the tender flesh of her cheek, sweeping the long steel blade along its smooth curve with delicate strokes.

  ‘That’s good, Laura. That’s very good. Because I am the dark, and you should fear me. Do you hear me? Do you understand? I am the dark, Laura.’

  A low, whimpering sound filled Laura’s ears. At first, she thought that someone – or something – else had entered the room, before realising that the pitiful moans were escaping from her own lips. If this man truly was the dark then she would live in fear of it for the rest of her life.

  Suddenly her scattered thoughts reassembled themselves, a jigsaw completed in a flurry. ‘What about my …?’

  ‘Your family will be safe provided you come with me. Provided you don’t cry out or give me any problems. If you don’t do exactly as I say, I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them all. I’ll make you watch as I do it, and then I’ll kill you, too. But believe me, Laura, I will take my time about it.’

  Laura saw she had no choice. She found it hard to believe this was not a dream, some terrible nightmare from which she would soon awaken, sweating and scared, yet dripping with relief. A small voice inside her head told her to run, to fight, to scream loud enough to wake the dead. Another reminded her of his warning. With great reluctance and enormous resolve, Laura pushed back the sheets and twisted around. She wore only a thin sleeveless nightdress, and felt naked before his unswerving gaze. He smiled and nodded.

  ‘That’s a good girl,’ he said. ‘I knew you’d understand me, Laura. I just knew you would. I can see we’re going to get along just fine.’

  ‘What do you want with me? Why are you doing this?’

  ‘All in good time, Laura. For now, you only have to focus on doing as you’re told.’

  She stood, swaying unsteadily for a moment, betrayed by her legs as she reached for her dressing gown, but the man yanked on her arm and pulled her away. He leaned forward, eyes fixed upon hers. ‘Did I say you could have your robe? Did I ask you to get it, did I give you permission to put it on?’

  Laura shook her head stiffly. ‘No, but I …’

  ‘But nothing. Do only as you are told. Now, come with me.’

  By the hand he led her along the landing, down the stairs and into the kitchen. As they moved beyond the breakfast bar, Laura peered down at a strange dark shape on the quarry-tiled floor. It took her fully twenty seconds to recognise what remained of her cat. Her eyes flew open and she glared at the man through a welling of tears.

  ‘Why did you have to kill Simba?’ Her voice was small, shocked by the brutality.

  The man grinned, shrugged and replied, ‘Why not?’

  As they left the house through the back door, he stopped to pull on a cotton tracksuit, before stepping into a pair of soft canvas shoes. The bags that had been on his feet disappeared inside a small holdall. He did not wash first, and it wasn’t until they were outside in the sultry night air that Laura fully realised what had been smeared across the man’s face and naked body.

  Blood. Dark and slick. Too much blood for one tiny cat.

  In that instant, she knew the truth. But by then it was too late. ‘You told me you hadn’t hurt them!’ Laura cried.

  He slapped a hand over her mouth once more. ‘I know,’ he said, leaning in. ‘I lied.’

  2

  The morning sky was blue and bright and impossible to look at without squinting. Not a single cloud worthy of the name could be found anywhere. The sun had been up for just a few hours, yet already its heat was fierce. Across the land, people were going to skip work and head out to the coast, fields were going to be scorched, tarmac was going to melt, and flesh was going to toast. The day held all the promise of greater glories yet to come. Summertime. But the living was far from easy for Frank Rogers.

  He stood gazing out of his first-floor office window, peering down at the nose-to-tail stream of traffic trickling by, the air rippled slightly by choking exhaust fumes. Like the spine of some fossilised creature, the line of vehicles curved away into the distance and out of sight beyond a bend. An occasional horn punctuated the din made by growling engines and squealing brakes. Every year it seemed to take longer to get nowhere, Frank thought. He shook his head and took a sip of coffee from a chipped mug bearing the legend ‘World’s Greatest Dad’.

  ‘What a day to be cooped up,’ he said, turning to his young administrator seated at the office’s only desk. ‘There has to be more to life than this.’ He gave a curt laugh and glanced back out of the window. ‘Or that.’

  Zoe Thomsett, nineteen years old and gloriously single, leaned back in her chair and nodded. ‘Give me the day off and I’ll find out if there’s more to offer,’ she said, flashing a wide, toothy grin.

  ‘The Alpha Debt Collecting Agency not exciting enough for you, Zoe?’ Frank asked, grinning. ‘I’ll have you know I’ve put my heart and soul into this business.’

  ‘You’re the one who started going off on one about there being more to life,’ Zoe complained.

  ‘True. But I’m the boss. I may come here every Monday morning to do all those mundane chores like make calls, plan my schedule, write up my diary and disc
uss the business with you, but I don’t have to. On a beautiful day like today I can do as I damn well please.’ He shrugged. ‘So how stupid am I?’

  ‘As you pointed out, you’re the boss, so it might hurt my career prospects if I answer that. Anyway, what would you rather be seeing out of that window right now?’

  ‘An ocean,’ he said without pause, turning his head once more. ‘Any ocean. Waves crashing in to the shore. And the window I’m looking out of is in a bar where I’ve just been sold an ice-cold beer in a frosted glass.’

  The young woman blew out her cheeks. ‘Bloody hell, Frank. Take me with you, will you? It sounds lovely.’

  ‘Believe me it is. I sat on the outside deck of a bar overlooking Malibu beach one time. I’ve never felt so at peace. The sunset that night was just about the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’ Frank could see it still when he closed his eyes.