One Deadly Night: A British Murder Mystery (The Wild Fens Murder Mystery Series Book 10)

ONE DEADLY NIGHT A British Murder Mystery THE WILD FENS MURDER MYSTERY SERIES JACK CARTWRIGHT CONTENTS One Deadly Night 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 Her Dying Mind - Chapter One Also by Jack Cartwright VIP Reader Club A note from the author Afterword Copyright ONE DEADLY NIGHT PROLOGUE The cool evening breeze stirred a carpet of pimples across her bare shoulders and a glaze of tears in her unblinking eyes. The fire burned there briefly, then it vanished in a blink. She pulled her sweater around her, clutching it with her arms crossed over her chest as she made her way towards the little bonfire and sat down amongst the only people in this world she could call friends. Beyond the field, Horncastle twinkled in the late summer night. In a few hours, the darkness would shroud the entire town, but for the time being at least, the west-facing rooftops shone with the dying, distant sun, like seedlings craning towards the light. Years before, they had called a little den in the forest not far from the field their own. But with their adolescence came the desire for space, for freedom, and the field, being just a half mile from town, offered just that. It was Pete who spoke first, while Jake and Tony listened from where they lay in the grass. “You okay?” he asked, to which she had no reply. None that would make sense anyway. It was all she could do to meet his gaze, smile weakly, and then look away into the fire, that endless source of distraction. “Rosie?” he said softly, as he slid a friendly arm around her. “Rosie, talk to me. What’s happened?” Tony and Jake both looked up from their stupors, intrigued by his concerned tone. She said nothing again and felt nothing but the numbness of a hatred so pure she questioned her own sanity from the scenarios her imagination conjured. A log in the fire cracked and popped. She stared at it, feeling the heat of the flames on her face. “The wood’s wet,” she said, then met his stare. “It’s been raining,” he replied. “Of course it’s wet.” “Michael says you shouldn’t burn wet wood.” “Well, he’s an idiot, then,” Pete said, removing his arm from her waist. “All the wood is wet. It rained last night.” She stretched her legs out from beneath her, then flexed her feet against the flames. “I have something to tell you,” she said, changing the subject and gesturing for Jake to pass the bottle of beer he was sipping. She took a long swig and then handed it back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Have you finally signed up to that Russian brides website?” Tony asked, laying his head back on the dewy grass and smiling at his own joke. “That’s not even funny,” she replied. “You do realise there are people suffering from that kind of thing every day?” “Yeah, the men they marry,” he replied, to which only he laughed. “Shut up, Tony,” Pete said, and he lobbed his cigarette butt at him, causing a sudden disturbance in the vibe. The cigarette whizzed past Tony’s face like a rogue firework and he glared at Pete. “You bloody idiot. You could have burned my eye out,” he said, getting to his knees to pat out the embers. But Pete ignored him and focused on Rosie. “I’m leaving,” she said, and those three faces she adored saddened. “Where are you going to go?” Pete said, always the first to voice his opinion. “I don’t know. London maybe. I have a cousin down there in Essex.” “What happened?” he asked. “Is it your mum?” “No,” she said, avoiding his concerned stare, finding solace in the mesmerising coals. She knew the field like she knew her mother’s house. She could find her way around it with her eyes closed. Under that tree, with the little forest behind them and the views out to the Wolds before them, she might as well have been at home. The tree had been a hideout, a camp, and a den when they had been young. It had been a refuge, and place to smoke their first cigarettes when they hit their teens. And it had been the place where, on separate occasions, she had shared intimate moments with all three of them, not through lust or desire, but adolescent curiosity. They were equals, the three of them. Best friends. “It’s him, isn’t it?” Tony said, and the breeze that had raised tears in her eyes lulled. “It’s Michael. I bloody know it is.” “Tony–” “Right,” Pete said. “I’m not having this.” “Pete, no–” But it was too late. He was the largest of the three boys, across his shoulders and in height. He jumped to his feet, snatching his bottle of stolen beer from the grass. “Where is he?” “Pete, just leave it, will you?” she said. But Jake and Tony were also standing now, and the three of them in the firelight, the three boys she had grown up beside, were now men. “It’s Friday night,” Tony said. “He’ll be in the boozer.” “Boys, don’t,” Rosie pleaded. “I’ll deal with it. I’ll tell my mum. I just need some time–” “And then what?” Tony said. “He’ll knock her about again when you’re gone?”