Dying Truth: completely gripping crime thriller (Detective Kim Stone) (Volume 8)
Angela Marsons
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.