Dead Tide (DCI Jack Hawksworth)

About the Book‘I have the bodies to prove just how wrong things have gone.’Newly promoted Detective Superintendent Jack Hawksworth has headed up three major serial operations in England and in each of these cases he has lost a part of himself. While on sabbatical as guest lecturer in a London university, one of his female students dies under highly suspicious circumstances, and he finds himself drawn into a chilling new case that reaches across the world.Jack’s investigations lead him to Adelaide where he identifies a cynical international crime consortium that preys on the anguish of childless couples and vulnerable women. Together with local major crime officers, he follows his leads to the windswept Yorke Peninsula, and becomes caught up in an intoxicating private drama. With his personal and professional business entangled once again, Jack must put his own life on the line to bring justice to those who are grieving.From the bestselling author of Mirror Man comes a thrilling new novel of greed and corruption that questions the price people are willing to pay for a human life. ContentsCoverAbout the BookTitle PageDedicationChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 18Chapter 19Chapter 20Chapter 21Chapter 22Chapter 23Chapter 24Chapter 25Chapter 26Chapter 27Chapter 28Chapter 29Chapter 30Chapter 31Chapter 32Chapter 33Chapter 34AcknowledgementsBook Club NotesAbout the AuthorOther Books by Fiona McIntoshImprintRead More at Penguin Books Australia For the three McIntosh boys, reunited in Adelaide. Great to have you home, Will, Jack and Jason. 1LONDON, APRIL 2008When would it stop? They’d said nothing about lingering pain, but these cramps forced her to hold her breath and count through them when they came; they were like something too big trying to squeeze through a small hole. Agonising while they lasted . . . and they were lasting increasingly longer, becoming more frequent.Had they left something behind? Had they torn something?The cramps were invisible. But the bloating . . . Amelia hoped she could somehow wing an excuse for wearing her raincoat indoors. She pretended to fuss inside her satchel, feigning distraction with files and notebooks so Mads wouldn’t ask what was wrong, but she knew it was futile. Mads missed nothing and the bright toothpaste white of her spanking new A-line waterproof rain jacket was like a beacon, demanding the question be asked.The lecturer cast a glance out across his small class, who were studying crime and its definitions this semester. ‘Ah, Miss Peters. I see you’ve decided to rejoin us.’ From any of the other lecturers, the words may have cut deep enough to wound. But coming from Detective Superintendent Jack Hawksworth, with his warm tone and ghosting smile, it felt like a welcome. He followed it up – ‘Feeling better?’ – confirming to Amelia why he was her favourite tutor . . . probably everyone’s favourite this semester. Pity he wasn’t here permanently.She blushed. ‘Bit of a sniffle,’ she lied. ‘I didn’t want to pass it around.’‘For which we’re all grateful to you,’ Jack Hawksworth said, pulling files from a briefcase and placing them on the desk in a short stack. His grin widened. ‘You’re back just in time for the gruesome stuff. So I promised you all a summary of what a day in the life of a detective attending a post-mortem feels like.’This won some murmured cheers of approval.Her friend Madeleine – Mads – slid her an approving look, murmuring, ‘I like your raincoat.’‘Not too clinical?’ Amelia replied quickly, hoping to joke her way through the oddity of still being dressed for outdoors.Mads grinned. ‘No. It’s rather spectacular, actually. I’d like one in every colour.’‘You can afford to,’ Amelia quipped.‘Aren’t you warm?’Amelia feigned a shiver as she felt the low but reaching tendrils of another cramp warning her of its impending arrival. ‘No. I think I’ve caught something.’‘I thought you’d call,’ Mads whispered as Hawksworth turned his back to write something on the whiteboard.‘I only got back yesterday morning,’ Amelia said under her breath, looking away from the handsome lecturer’s back.‘And?’‘Fine,’ she murmured, lying again. ‘Well, I am feeling a bit yuck, but that’s to be expected, apparently. I didn’t dare take any more time away from lectures, especially not his,’ she said, returning her gaze to the very senior detective, who had taken a sabbatical to teach this short course for university students.‘In the UK we call this forensic pathology a post-mortem, while in America it’s known as an autopsy. It’s an identical process. The pathologist is establishing what exactly killed the person who is lying on their table, but out of that study will come a host of other valuable information that can add enormous assistance to the investigating team if the death is suspicious.’Hawksworth wrote some bullet points on the whiteboard, his felt marker squeaking on the plastic surface.‘Let me give you a good example of how a death that appeared rather straightforward turned out to be a lot more complicated and resulted in a conviction of murder . . .’Mads persisted. ‘So when are you going to tell me how it all went down? Or is it still a big secret?’‘No.’ Amelia frowned. ‘After class we can—’‘Er, Miss Rundle?’Both their gazes snapped to Hawksworth as he turned from the board to look directly at Mads. ‘Call me a narcissist, but I hate competing for attention. Both you and Miss Peters might benefit from tuning in to this if you plan to pass this semester.’They murmured apologies in unified embarrassment.Something about his amused expression told Amelia that in another setting, Hawksworth might have winked. He didn’t. Instead, he returned to his anecdote about a day when he was still a young detective constable and had attended his first ‘PM’, as he called it, and passed out in the city mortuary, banging his chin on one of the tables and requiring stitches. That soon had the whole class, including the two girls, smiling.‘It’s true, and the least auspicious start I could have made, being sneered at by Dr Blood, as we knew him