Dying Truth Read online

  Dying Truth

  A completely gripping crime thriller

  Angela Marsons

  Also by Angela Marsons

  Detective Kim Stone series

  1. SILENT SCREAM

  2. EVIL GAMES

  3. LOST GIRLS

  4. PLAY DEAD

  5. BLOOD LINES

  6. DEAD SOULS

  7. BROKEN BONES

  8. DYING TRUTH

  Other Books

  1. DEAR MOTHER

  2. THE FORGOTTEN WOMAN

  Contents

  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

  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

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Chapter 101

  Chapter 102

  Chapter 103

  Chapter 104

  Chapter 105

  Chapter 106

  Chapter 107

  Chapter 108

  Chapter 109

  Chapter 110

  Epilogue

  Angela’s Email Sign-Up

  Also by Angela Marsons

  A Letter from Angela

  SILENT SCREAM

  EVIL GAMES

  LOST GIRLS

  PLAY DEAD

  BLOOD LINES

  DEAD SOULS

  BROKEN BONES

  DEAR MOTHER

  THE FORGOTTEN WOMAN

  Acknowledgements

  This book is dedicated to all the victims of the Grenfell Tower tragedy.

  May this never be allowed to happen again.

  Prologue

  Kim knew that her left leg was broken.

  She pulled herself along the path on her hands as the stone bit into her palms, shards of gravel embedding beneath her fingernails.

  A cry escaped her lips as her ankle turned and pain shot around her body.

  Sweat beads were forming on her forehead as the agony intensified.

  Finally, she saw the light from the building as three familiar shapes hurtled out of the doorway.

  All three of them headed towards the bell tower.

  ‘Nooo…’ she cried, as loudly as she could.

  No one turned.

  Don’t go up there, she willed silently, trying to pull herself towards them.

  ‘Stop,’ she shouted out as they entered the metal doorway at the base of the tower.

  Kim tried to still the panic as they disappeared from view.

  ‘Damn it,’ she screamed with frustration, unable to reach them in time.

  She gathered all her strength and pushed herself up to a standing position, trying to drag her broken leg behind her as though it didn’t exist.

  Two steps forward and the pain radiated through her body like a tidal wave and brought her back down to the ground. She gagged as the nausea rose from her stomach and her head began to swim.

  She shouted again but the figures had disappeared from view and were now in the belly of the tower, behind solid brick, mounting the stone steps to the top.

  ‘Please, someone help,’ she screamed, but there was no one to hear. She was a good eighty metres away from the school, and she had never felt so helpless in her life.

  She glanced at her wrist and saw that it was three minutes to eight.

  The bell was due to be rung bang on the hour.

  The fear started in the pit of her stomach and grew like a cloud to fill her entire body.

  She struggled forward another agonising step, dragging her useless leg behind her.

  Torchlight illuminated the top of the tower.

  Damn it, they were already there.

  ‘Stop,’ she cried again, praying that one of them would hear her even though she knew her voice wouldn’t carry that distance.

  The shafts of light moved furtively around the tower balcony ninety feet up in the air.

  She saw a fourth figure amongst the three that were familiar to her.

  The watch on her wrist vibrated the top of the hour. The bell didn’t ring.

  Please God, let them get down.

  Her prayer was cut off as she heard a loud scream.

  Two people were hanging from the bell rope, swinging back and forth, in and out of the torchlight that darted around the small space.

  Kim squinted, trying to identify the two silhouettes, but they were too far away.

  She tried to regulate her breathing in order to shout again, even though she knew no kind of warning would help them now.

  Her worst fears had been realised.

  ‘Please, please…’ Kim whispered as she saw the bell rope swing back and forth once more.

  One figure was snatched from the bell rope as the second continued to swing.

  ‘No,’ Kim screamed, trying to carry herself forward towards them.

  The fear inside had turned ice cold, freezing her solid.

  For a few seconds time stood still. The saliva in her mouth had gone leaving her unable to speak or shout.

  Kim felt the ache that started in her heart when the remaining figure and the swinging bell rope disappeared from view.

  Her ears suddenly filled with a blood-curdling, tortured scream.

  But no one else was around.

  The scream came from her.

  One

  Six days
earlier

  Sadie Winters ducked around the side of the kitchen entrance, dropped her backpack to the ground and took the single cigarette from her jacket pocket. Once used as the servants’ entrance it was a spot on the campus that she’d discovered two months ago. Not one school classroom faced the west side of the catering wing.

  Just a minute, she thought, as she tried to straighten the slight curve of the cigarette that had bent in her pocket. A few moments of peace were all she wanted before she hurtled towards her next lesson apologising for her lateness. Just a rest from the chaos in her head.

  She shielded the lighter from the late March wind and vowed it would be the last cigarette she smoked. She’d overheard one of the older girls in the dinner line saying she couldn’t face the thought of maths class until she’d had a smoke. Said it relaxed her. So, a few days ago Sadie had pinched one from the girl’s school bag and tried it for herself. She knew it didn’t really relax her. She knew that she was inhaling carbon monoxide which decreased the amount of blood being delivered to her muscles. But for a brief time it felt like relaxation.

  She drew heavily on the cigarette allowing the smoke to fill her thirteen-year-old lungs, remembering her first attempt and the coughing fit that had followed. She pictured it swirling around like fog in a clean jar. She didn’t want to smoke. She didn’t want to be dependent on cigarettes or anything, but the tablets were no longer having any effect. At first, they had numbed her, deadened her and quietened the destructive thoughts. The shards of anger had been softened as though covered in bubble wrap. Still there but less harmful. But not any more. The sharp edges were piercing the fog and the blackness had returned worse than ever.

  And now being forced to sit in a room and talk to a bloody counsellor about her ‘problems’ because her parents thought that would be a good idea. They wanted to hope she didn’t suddenly unburden herself to someone outside the family. She’d listened to his soft, sympathetic voice assuring her of his discretion. His repeated instruction that she could tell him anything. Like that was ever going to happen. Especially once he’d produced the piece of paper that had shown her she could trust no one.

  Damn it, she thought, throwing the cigarette to the ground. She would not let them do this to her. It had been bottled up inside her for far too long.

  She knew she wasn’t supposed to know what had happened. She wasn’t supposed to know anything. They thought they’d hidden it, but they hadn’t. Another mile added to the distance that separated her from her family. Something else they all knew that she didn’t. Another exhibit in the catalogue of proof that she didn’t belong with the rest of them.

  She had always felt it, known it. She was nothing like her sister; bright, adorable, pretty Saffie whose light shone into rooms like an angelic glow. She did not have her effortless grace or winning smile. And of course Saffie would always be perfect, always be the favourite, no matter what she did wrong.

  Sadie swiped at the angry tears that had formed in her eyes. She would not cry. She would not give them the satisfaction. She would do what she always did. Retract her head into her hardened outer shell and pretend she didn’t care.

  They hadn’t come to her aid. She had begged and pleaded with them to remove her from Heathcrest and allow her to attend a school closer to home. She hated the stuffy elitism and tradition that frowned upon individuality, stifled creativity and personal expression and promoted conformity. The place was a prison. But no, they had refused her request. No child of theirs would attend the local comprehensive. Heathcrest would build her character. She would form connections that would serve her for the rest of her life. Allies on whom she would be able to rely. But she didn’t want connections and allies. She wanted friends. Normal friends.

  The injustice of them both jumping to the aid of Saffie bit deeply into her soul. Her parents always managed to find new ways to make her feel inferior and oftentimes they didn’t even know it.

  Well, no more, she thought with determination. Tonight she would phone them, and she would make sure she was heard. And she had just the right weapon to use in her favour. Knowledge was power.

  She stepped around the brick wall as a familiar shape appeared before her.

  She frowned. ‘What are you doing—?’

  The words were cut off as a fist crashed into her left temple. Her vision blurred as she felt herself falling to the ground.

  What was happening? What had she done?

  There was no reason.

  A second blow landed to the back of her head but this came from a foot. More blows continued to land along the left side of her body as she tried to shield herself. Her stunned brain tried to connect dots in her head as a blow to her kidney sent explosions of pain surging around her body. She tried to defend herself as her mind tried to hang on to a question. There had to be some kind of mistake, her brain screamed, as the blows continued to land.

  She tried to turn on the ground but another kick to her left side brought a metallic taste into her mouth. She spat out the liquid that threatened to slide back down her throat. A small pool of red landed an inch away.

  Her vision was beginning to fade on the left side.

  Fear coursed through her as fists and feet continued to pummel at her flesh and the agony spread so that her entire body was on fire. All confusion had disappeared leaving only the terror and pain.

  She cried out as the agony in her stomach turned into knives, hacking and slicing at her organs, white hot bolts of pain that took away her breath. The vision in her left eye had completely gone and darkness was coming at her from the right.

  ‘Pl-please…’ she begged, trying to hang on to the light.

  A final blow to the head and the world disappeared from her view.

  Two

  ‘Bryant, are you having a giraffe?’ Kim asked, incredulously, as she turned to him in the driver’s seat. They had just finished interviewing a woman who had changed her mind about testifying in court against her abusive husband. To Kim’s dismay, no amount of cajoling could persuade her to change her mind back again.

  They’d spent weeks reassuring her that she was doing the right thing; that her evidence would put the bastard away, but one visit from his mother had undone all their hard work.

  Her husband would be returned to her within a few hours, and Kim was betting Mrs Worley would be counting new bruises before the night was out. Thankfully there were no children involved or Kim wouldn’t have hesitated in contacting Child Services. As it was she could do nothing more than register as urgent any future calls of disturbances to the address.

  She knew she had done everything within her power and yet still she wanted to drive back to the end terrace and try again. Damn, the ones that got away.

  ‘I’m assuming you mean laugh, and no, I’m not.’

  ‘We may be the closest but I’m not sure we’re—’

  ‘Look, guv, there’s a thirteen-year-old girl on top of the school building threatening to jump. Pretty sure they just want someone on the scene as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Yeah, but have they met me?’ she asked, increasing her speed towards Hagley.

  Heathcrest Academy was a co-ed private school responsible for shaping the hearts and minds of the wealthy, privileged kids from the Black Country and surrounding areas from the age of five right through to university.

  Lodged between the dormitory village of West Hagley and the Clent Hills the school was placed at the picturesque edge of the urban conurbation of Stourbridge.

  Kim had never met anyone schooled at the boarding facility. Graduates of Heathcrest didn’t seem to filter into the police force.

  If she took the dual carriageway along Manor Way and turned off Hagley Wood Lane she guessed that she could make it in just a few minutes. What exactly she’d say when she got there was another matter entirely. Not renowned for her tact, diplomacy or sensitivity she realised that dispatch really must be desperate.

  On a scale of suitability for the task trained negotiators s
at right at the top. Then there were people training to be negotiators. Below that were kids who aspired to the role. There were counsellors, there were normal people and somewhere way below that line was her.

  ‘I’ll hold your handbag while you go and talk to her,’ she said, crossing the black and white sign into freedom of speed.

  She crunched the gears into submission as she bullied the car up to sixty in three seconds.