And Then She Came Back

And Then She Came Back A Detective Inspector Benedict Paige Novel: Book 1 Joshua Black © 2023 Joshua Black R Rathbone Publishing All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission from the author except for the use of quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or deceased), or actual events is purely coincidental. Chapter 1: Benedict Camden, North London, February 2023 Eleven at night, Detective Inspector Benedict Paige was pleased to be driving home on what was a blustery but mild evening in late February. It’d been a long, rather tedious day of paperwork, writing reports and reading memos. At least, he’d been able to put the Cameron burglary case to bed, and the Criminal Prosecution Service had given the go-ahead to take the case to court. Stephanie Cameron claimed her shop had been burgled. It didn’t take long to establish that it had been an inside job, instigated by Cameron herself. He felt sorry for her in many ways. With the cost-of-living spiralling, the shop, a boutique aimed at women, was failing and she’d acted out of desperation. He only hoped the court would take pity on her, another victim of the diabolical economic situation so many were victim of now. He’d finished by eight and, after a hastily consumed sandwich, joined a couple of old colleagues turned friends for a drink. He never really relished remaining sober while those around him rapidly became inebriated. But he enjoyed their company as they reminisced on old cases and old faces, colleagues long gone, retired or dead, often bitter, invariably cynical but, if asked, wouldn’t have changed a thing about their life’s trajectory. Now, driving slowly in his rather ancient Vauxhall Corsa through the residential streets of Camden Town, he switched on the radio and sang along to the old Elton John and Kiki Dee hit, Don’t Go Breaking My Heart. He’d always enjoyed a sing-a-long but, his voice being so lacking, Sonia had effectively banned him from singing in the house. He was looking forward to getting home, seeing Sonia, and settling down to a good night’s sleep. Another busy day tomorrow and an important one – he was expecting his new Detective Sergeant, a woman he interviewed, transferring down from Manchester, young, keen and sharp as a pin. He swung right onto Hatherley Avenue, a long, quiet street lined by trees. And up ahead he could see the flashing blue lights – both police and an ambulance. He considered reversing and heading down an alternative route but no, slowing down, he inched forward until a uniformed policewoman in a hi-vis jacket, standing in front of a blue and white police tape, ordered him to stop. He stepped out of his car, buttoning up his coat. ‘You’ll need to turn around and find a different route, sir,’ said the woman. He flashed his ID card. ‘Anything I can help with?’ ‘Oh, sir, sorry, didn’t recognise you. Looks like a hit and run.’ He stepped under the tape and approached. One of the uniformed officers greeted him. ‘You alright, constable? How’s it going? Injury or…?’ ‘Yes, sir. Teenage girl. Not looking good though.’ Another uniform stood guard while two paramedics were carefully lifting the groaning girl onto a stretcher. The fact she was making a noise at all was probably a good thing. It was too dark and her face too obscured by her hair to see her face, beyond the fact that she was white, but he spied a pair of white ear buds loose around her head. ‘How is she?’ he asked. ‘Not good,’ said the male paramedic as he and his colleague lifted the stretcher. Benedict followed them as they hurried towards the open doors of the ambulance. ‘Heavily concussed,’ said the male medic. ‘A few broken bones and some blood loss.’ ‘We reckon the bastard was driving far too fast,’ said his female colleague. ‘It’s a twenty zone here. No way she was hit at twenty, not with these injuries.’ They hoisted the stretcher into the ambulance. ‘Good evening, sir,’ said another police officer, Police Constable Stevens, snapping his notebook closed. ‘Parents have been informed. They’re on the way to the hospital as we speak.’ ‘St Cuthbert’s?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Do we know who she is?’ ‘Yeah, she had the provisional on her.’ PC Stevens consulted his notes. ‘Zoe Wright, recently turned eighteen, lives three streets along. I reckon she was walking back from the pub, probably the Red Lion.’ The ambulance speeded off, its siren blaring. ‘Witnesses?’ Stevens shook his head. ‘Only the guy who found her. He was keen to help but he didn’t witness the actual collision. I’ve taken a statement. Thirty-year-old walking home from his girlfriend’s further down the street.’ ‘Was he the one who phoned 999?’ ‘No, sir, that’s the thing. It seems it was Zoe herself.’ ‘She was able to phone 999, in her state?’ ‘That’s the thing, sir, she didn’t call 999, she texted it.’ ‘She texted? Sounds implausible, surely.’ ‘One would have thought so.’ Benedict paced around, focussing on the tarmac. ‘Doesn’t appear to be any skid marks or glass but we’ll double check when it’s light. I’m guessing there won’t be CCTV on a street like this.’ ‘Nope, sadly not.’ ‘And looking at the size of these front gardens, I doubt any door cameras will reach far enough, and that’s assuming there are any at this precise point. Still worth checking tomorrow though. Might get lucky.’ ‘That was the plan, sir.’ ‘Yeah, of course. Well, let’s hope the driver comes forward. They have twenty-four hours to report it otherwise…’ He left the sentence hanging. ‘I know, sir.’ ‘Right. Good.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘‘Follow them to the hospital, would you?’ ‘Yes, sir.’