Dead Alone

Chapter 86 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 87 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 88 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 89 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

PROLOGUE (#ulink_d2a788d7-66b8-5dae-9162-c7fb450f9521)

Jessie Driver had her thighs clamped round the leg of a man she hadn’t been introduced to. Hanging upside down, she could feel the sweat running through her short spiky hair. From the corner of her eye she watched two men shake hands. The small envelope of folded lottery paper passed from one palm to another. Jessie was pulled back up and spun around. It was time to leave this club. Local boys from the nearby estate were eclipsing the dance aficionados and the atmosphere was becoming increasingly hostile. Jessie couldn’t relax any more. She ran her hand down the perfectly smooth biceps of the man she’d been dancing with, squeezed his hand reluctantly and left. Her flatmate, Maggie Hall, was signing a flurry of autographs by the bar. All men, Jessie mused as she approached.

‘Jesus, you’re soaking,’ said Maggie, looking at Jessie in disgust.

‘Properly purged.’ Jessie leant closer. ‘Can we go?’

Maggie nodded, flashed an ‘if only’ smile to the admirer she would instantly forget and walked with Jessie to the coat check. Maggie was a presenter; with ruthless ambition she had come up through the highly competitive ranks to become a household name. It was strange watching an old friend gain in fame. Of course, at thirty, it hadn’t come soon enough for Maggie. People asked Jessie whether Maggie had changed. The answer was no. She’d always been ambitious.

They had reached the motorbike bay when Jessie heard the sound of a van backfiring. Twice. In quick succession. She turned abruptly towards the noise. Like a solitary clap in a crowded room, the sound silenced the world around them. For a second. And then people started to scream. A man ran across the road and climbed into a waiting car. From the narrow doorway and two fire-exits people spilled out into the street. Jessie threw her helmet at Maggie.

‘No, Jessie!’ shouted Maggie. But Jessie didn’t hear her. She ran straight into the sea of oncoming frightened faces. Ducking, side-stepping, shouldering against the outpour. She battled against the tide down the narrow staircase. At the bottom, a young man lay on the ground. He’d been shot. Twice. Two girls stood next to him screaming and jumping up and down intermittently. She threw her phone at one of them.

‘Call the police and ambulance service,’ barked Jessie. Her commanding voice silenced them as swiftly as the gunshot had set them off. ‘And someone turn that music off!’

Only the man made a noise now. He wasn’t dead. But he was bleeding profusely.

‘What’s your name?’ asked Jessie.

‘Carl,’ he whimpered.

‘Carl,’ she said, ‘the ambulance is on the way. Meantime, I’ve got to try and stop this bleeding. You stay focused, concentrate on me.’

Jessie ripped his trousers and T-shirt and examined the singed, bloody holes.

‘Perhaps you should think about a change of career,’ said Jessie. ‘Small-time dealing on someone else’s patch is a sure-fire way to get yourself killed.’ She smiled at him. ‘And I think that would be a waste. Good-looking boy like you.’ One bullet had embedded itself in his right thigh. The other had passed through his left flank. Jessie guessed he must have spun round from the impact of the first bullet and been hit by the second in the leg. Better aim and the boy would have died instantly.

‘Well, Carl, seems it was your lucky day,’ said Jessie.

The boy continued to blink at her, mesmerised. The girls stepped forward to get a better look. Jessie pulled a couple of super-sized tampons from her bag, ripped the plastic off with her teeth, and inserted one gently into the bullet wound in the boy’s leg. It was soon plump with blood. Carl clenched his jaw and shuddered. Jessie inserted the second into the boy’s fleshy side.

‘Carl,’ said Jessie, ‘you still with me?’

‘Man,’ said one of the girls, ‘she just stuck a Lil-let in your leg.’

Carl groaned and passed out.

The sight of two uniformed officers careering down the stairs made the girls jump.

‘Step away from the body,’ shouted one of the officers.

‘Show your hands, slowly,’ shouted the other.

Jessie turned around. ‘Everyone calm down. Where is the ambulance?’

‘Move aside,’ ordered the police officer.

Jessie did.

They stared down at the gunshot wounds. ‘What the hell is this?’

‘Don’t worry, they’re sterile. Thought it best, given the length of time ambulances take to get to shootings in this part of town.’

The coppers didn’t appreciate the snide comment. ‘And who are you – Florence Nightingale?’

Jessie reached into the back pocket of her tight blue jeans and held up a leather wallet. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Driver from West End Central CID, and if you want to know who shot this man, he is five foot eight, medium build, mixed race, wearing a red Polo running top. He left in a dark blue Audi 80, number plate T33 X9R.’ Jessie looked over to the girls. ‘Sound familiar?’ she asked.

Neither of them spoke.

‘Thought so,’ said Jessie, standing up.

Two paramedics arrived. Jessie stepped away. The uniformed officers stared at her as she began to mount the stairs.

‘You know where to find me,’ she said to their fixed expressions.

The paramedic looked up at her. ‘Thanks for bridging the gap,’ he said, folding out a stretcher.

‘My pleasure,’ said Jessie, and left.

Out on the street, Maggie stood holding both helmets. She smiled at Jessie.

‘All right, Mad Max. You done with your lifesaving antics?’

‘Yes thank you, Anne Robinson, I am.’

‘Sure? No burning buildings to run into? No pile-ups to attend?’