Death Warning: Who killed the killer?

Death WarningWho Killed the Killer Andrew BarrettThe Ink Foundry © Copyright 2023The rights of Andrew Barrett to be identified as the author of this work have been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the copyright holder.Published in the United Kingdom by The Ink Foundry. For all rights and copyright enquiries, please contact: [email protected] This book is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, companies, organizations, places, events, locales, and incidents are fictional or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Contents Preface Dedication Prologue DAY 1 Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 DAY 2 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Day 3 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 DAY 4 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 DAY 5 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 DAY 6 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 Epilogue Acknowledgments About the Author Also by Andrew Barrett Reader's Club PrefaceProud to swear in British English There is no animal cruelty featured in my novels Death Warningis dedicated to Anita Newman PrologueIN A PLACE CALLED Beeston on the south side of Leeds, there are people and places that are well worth avoiding. You needed to be tough just to survive around there; only moss and the bad boys thrived. Sheltering in a doorway to keep out of the wind was a waif who huddled into a puffer coat she’d stolen earlier that day. Despite being used to living outdoors for the most part, she was cold and wet, but was annoyed by a temptation to spend the night inside somewhere. She was considering where might be the easiest place to doss in when she caught sight of a young blonde-haired lass who looked not badly off; her clothes were reasonably tidy, her hair was tied up, she had a good coat and trainers, and she had a phone too. Positively rich. The waif smiled and got ready to jump out.The blonde-haired lass stopped half a dozen paces short. “Libby,” she whispered.The waif stood up and stepped out of the darkness. “Didn’t know it wa’ you.”“Are you hungry?”Libby nodded.“Want a bath?”Libby shook her head.Daisy, the blonde-haired lass, dipped into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled twenty. “I stole it from Vince,” she winked, and handed it over. “Why don’t you come inside for a bit and warm up. I’ll fix you some—”“Daisy!”The blonde looked up sharply and didn’t say another word, just turned and hurried away towards the man and her house.“Be safe, girl,” Libby whispered. DAY 1 Chapter 1UP AHEAD, THE LIGHTS were out again. Rain pattered against her hood, and trickled down the apartment windows to her left, and her hurried footfalls echoed off the wet bricks, lonely tonight. The black river flowed almost silently to her right, a gentle lapping at the pilings beneath the path she trod. Shadows of a killer kept her company, flitting in and out of her vision like a hallucination, always just out of reach, never revealing itself. On the journey home this evening, she’d promised to stop scaring herself, to stop looking for trouble, and just relax, and let her stupid imagination sink into the river and drown.And that would have been fine if all this nonsense was just her imagination scaring her, but it wasn’t. He was back.Why the hell was he doing this again? She thought he’d stopped, grown up, or found some other person to victimise. She tensed, turned a blind corner, expecting him to be there, and breathed out again when he wasn’t. Silly, ineffective up-lighters looked pretty but cast barely enough light to see by. Her jaw ached from clamping her mouth shut against chattering teeth as the final corner came into view. She tensed again, anger daring to make its first appearance in this little production her mind had conjured up, seemingly for its own entertainment.The last corner was here. Her diminishing bravery pushed her around it, tiptoeing, looking back all the time. And when she looked forward again, there was only emptiness between her and sanctuary. With the cold wind for company, she hurried across the courtyard to her front door, chest heaving, hands trembling. Anger cowering in the shadows of her mind.Wait. Could she hear them? Footsteps.The keys rattled as loud as church bells in a library.She tried so hard not to sob out loud, but there was a pressure in her chest that forced it out. It echoed around the courtyard. Once inside, she slammed the door and locked it; Mia’s breath shuddered out of her body, and she dared to climb down from terrified to scared shitless. Anger made a brave resurgence and then passed out.It turned out the footsteps were real. They came to a halt outside the door and a shadow fell across the frosted glass. She almost squealed, and when the handle turned, she nearly threw up. It felt like being in every horror film she’d ever seen where the victim was alone on the verge of passing out when the murderer appeared at her door. Any moment now an axe would split the door in two.No one in those films had a phone, or if they did, there was never any signal.Mia tore her bag open and ripped the phone out just as the handle flipped