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 scr
eam.
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 sat 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.