Dead Wrong. Noelle Holten

Chapter Eighty-Four

       Chapter Eighty-Five

       Chapter Eighty-Six

       Chapter Eighty-Seven

       Chapter Eighty-Eight

       Chapter Eighty-Nine

       Chapter Ninety

       Chapter Ninety-One

       Chapter Ninety-Two: One Week Later

       Chapter Ninety-Three

       Chapter Ninety-Four

       Acknowledgements

       A Note from Noelle

       About the Author

       Also by Noelle Holten

       About the Publisher

       CHAPTER ONE

       Lorraine

      ‘So – are you dangerous?’ Lorraine danced around the hall playfully. He frowned; to her he looked unsure whether she was serious or flirting. The party had been epic, and she was still buzzing from all the cocaine in her system.

      ‘Nice place you have here.’ She ran a finger along the hall mirror and smiled at her reflection. The house had an old-fashioned feel to it – wooden floors covered with well-worn rugs, cream-coloured walls and a strange-looking bookshelf that seemed out of place in a hall.

      Tilting his head, he stared directly into her eyes. ‘Do I look dangerous?’ He caressed her arm; the goose bumps rose on her skin and she wondered whether he was toying with her. Her body shivered with excitement.

      ‘You seem OK to me. Can’t be too safe these days though.’

      ‘’Course not, sweetheart. But I’m a pussy cat. Can’t you tell?’ He placed his hand on her elbow and began directing her towards the stairs. He smelled of one of those nice deodorant sprays, not as pungent as cologne.

      A knock on the front door made them stop.

      ‘Are you expecting company?’ She pouted her lips, hoping that he would get rid of whoever it was quickly.

      ‘Only you, love. Have a seat through there,’ he pointed to the living room, ‘and make yourself comfortable. I’ll take care of this.’

      She watched him as he made his way to the front door.

      He looked through the peep hole, his hands clenching into fists, his body stiffening. ‘What the fuck?’ He muttered and stepped outside. Although she heard raised voices, she couldn’t make out what was being said or whether the mystery visitor was a man or a woman.

      Wonder what that’s about? She didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping, and when she entered the living room and saw the bag of white powder on the table, she knew what she would prefer to do. Lorraine walked over to the couch, sat down and made herself comfortable.

      Within ten minutes, he returned to the room.

      ‘Everything OK?’ She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

      ‘Yeah, fine. Shall we get this party started?’ He sat down beside her and caressed her leg.

      She reached across him, picked up the plastic bag of white powder and shook it. ‘Can we have a bit of this first?’

      ‘Oh babe, I have something better in mind for you. A little something special …’ He bent over, opened the small drawer at the front of the coffee table and took out a needle filled with what she assumed was heroin.

      ‘Hmmm. Not so sure about that, hun. I prefer a bit of sniff these days if I’m honest. Gear doesn’t sit well with me anymore.’ She rubbed her forearms.

      ‘C’mon babe, don’t be like that. I thought you trusted me. I promise, this stuff is out of this world – it’ll make you feel sooooo good.’

      She thought for a moment, imagined the needle piercing her arm and a warm glow consuming her. ‘Fuck it, you only live once!’

      He smiled as he wrapped the tourniquet around her arm, choosing a vein, tapping the needle twice before inserting it into her arm. ‘That’s right, babe. You only live once …’

      The world shut down around her. She lay back on the couch and let the gear take over.

      Closing her eyes, she smiled and whispered to herself. ‘Sooooo good.’

      When she finally came around she was tied to a bed, her eyes and mouth covered with some form of material bag. The stink of urine and sweat filled her nose and the low, gut-wrenching moan she heard echoing off the walls told her she wasn’t alone.

       CHAPTER TWO

      Maggie had thought her nightmares were over when serial killer Bill Raven, ‘The Chopper’, had been convicted just over two years previously. Having returned to her team at Stafford Police Station following a secondment in the Domestic Abuse and Homicide team, she believed she had left that particular case well and truly closed. Although the remains of Raven’s victims were never found, he confessed willingly to abducting, dismembering and then disposing of three females whom he named. Forensics at the time corroborated his account.

      Then, a few weeks ago, she had received a message from DI Rutherford, her boss at the Major and Organised Crime Department in Stafford. Maggie had been attending an event where Lucy Sherwood, a Probation Officer from the Domestic Abuse and Homicide Unit, was speaking. It was a message she would never forget.

       Your secondment is over at the DAHU. Raven has appealed his sentence, claimed he’s innocent. Timely I’d say as there has been another murder. Either a copycat or the real killer picking up where they left off. Get your arse in here.

      She had seen the news – body parts had been found in a bin – and sweat had begun to trickle down her spine. Forensic details had not been released to the public, but when Maggie had returned the call to her DI and learned that the body parts had belonged to Lorraine Rugman, the first victim that Raven had named in his confession, Maggie’s world had begun to fall apart.

       No! No! No! This cannot be happening. This is not real …

      And then the anger had come. And the questions.

       Is the wrong person in prison? Is Raven toying with the police?

      Now three weeks had passed since Maggie had returned to her team and the nightmare had only got worse. She couldn’t get him out of her mind. The greasy hair, the stubbled, ragged face. His lanky frame hollowed out by years of drug use. And the smell – the pungent smell that oozed from his pores, burning her nostrils. But the worst thing was his voice. That arrogant smooth voice that made her skin crawl.

      She threw off her blankets and went to find coffee.

      Ugh. It was in her head now, his voice.

      It was like he was in the room with her … no wait.

      The voice was coming from downstairs.

       CHAPTER THREE

       ‘You must see it now. I couldn’t be guilty of the murder of Lorraine Rugman, or those other women. They may still be alive. My solicitor has launched an appeal with the Criminal Case Review Commission, so as much as I would like to tell you all the details, I can’t. My thoughts are with the victims’ families at this moment in time. I can’t be selfish and just think about how all