Thomas & Mercer (June 15, 2017)
Synopsis:
It was the happiest day of her life. Little did she know it was also the last. When a woman’s body is found in the grounds of a ruined priory, Detective Imogen Evans realises she is dealing with a serial killer—a killer whose victims appear to die in a state of bliss, eyes open, smiles forever frozen on their faces. A few miles away, single dad Ben Hofland believes his fortunes are changing at last. Forced to move back to the sleepy village where he grew up following the breakdown of his marriage, Ben finally finds work. What’s more, the bullies who have been terrorising his son, Ollie, disappear. For the first time in months, Ben feels lucky. But he is unaware that someone is watching him and Ollie. Someone who wants nothing but happiness for Ben. Happiness…and death. The Lucky Ones is the terrifying new thriller from the #1 Kindle bestselling author of Follow You Home and The Devil’s Work.
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Excerpt
from The Lucky Ones
Even though it was a
secluded spot and rain seemed unlikely, a tent had been erected over the
corpse. Treading carefully on the stepping plates put down to preserve any
important evidence, Imogen entered the tent, with just Emma behind her.
The woman was lying
on her back, arms by her side, legs together, as if she were already in her
coffin. As Pete had said, her eyes gazed sightlessly at the canvas overhead.
Scene of Crime
Officers moved around the victim, taking pictures.
Imogen crouched
beside the body. As with the others, there was no blood, no marks on the
throat, no obvious signs of violence. The woman was in her late forties or
early fifties, white, with mid-length brown hair that looked like it had been
recently highlighted. Average weight, about five foot seven. Lightly made up,
though the mascara around her eyes had smeared. She was a good-looking woman,
well-groomed and wearing casual but expensive clothes: a pair of designer jeans
and a light cashmere sweater. She wore white pumps on her feet. And Pete was
right: she appeared to be smiling, her lips curled upwards at each corner.
Just like the
others.
She wished she could
roll up the woman's sleeve to check for what she was sure would be there, but
she didn't want to risk incurring the wrath of Karen Lamb or do anything that
would jeopardise this investigation.
She got to her feet,
taking another look at the body and the grass around her.
'No drag marks,' she
said. 'She was carried here. And no sign of a syringe of any other drugs
paraphernalia. Just like the others.'
She left the tent,
Emma at her heels, and turned slowly in a circle, scanning the perimeter. To
the west and north, open countryside stretched as far as the eye could see. To
the east, Imogen could see the town, and to the south, the streets where most
of Much Wenlock's inhabitants lived, the houses a mix of new and old. Could the
killer live there, within spitting distance of this place? It seemed unlikely.
The three victims had been found at spots spread out across the country. There
was nothing to suggest he was leaving them in his own backyard.
'He can't have
carried her too far, not unless he's incredibly strong,' Imogen said. 'He must
have parked somewhere nearby before entering the site.'
She closed her eyes
and tried to picture it: the man she'd spent so many hours thinking about over
the past few months, carrying this woman - like a groom carrying his bride over
the threshold? Or over his shoulder? So far, they hadn't found signs of entry
at any of the three scenes. It was as if he'd swooped down from the sky and
placed his victims gently on the ground before taking off again.
Her phone rang. She
took the call, then turned back to Emma.
'That was the
station. A guy in Ludlow's reported his wife missing. Five seven, brown hair
with blonde highlights. He described her jewelry, too. It matches. Her name's
Fiona Redbridge.'
She stepped back
through the opening of the tent, hoping Karen would get here quickly so they
could at least close the poor woman's eyes. Once more, she crouched beside the
body, wishing again that she could roll up the sleeve of that blouse and check
for the needle mark she was certain would be there.
Rising and leaving
the tent, Imogen stopped as a movement in the middle distance caught her eye.
Someone was standing in the field, just beyond the perimeter of the Priory. A
man, dressed in black, too far away to make out his features. When she took a
few steps towards him, he turned and began hurriedly walking away. Imogen
approached one of the younger officers with orders to pursue him, but before
she'd even finished speaking the man had vanished, as if he'd melted into thin
air.
Text copyright © 2017 by
Mark Edwards
Reprinted with permission from
Thomas & Mercer
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Author Bio:
I write psychological thrillers. My influences include writers such as Stephen King, Ira Levin, Ruth Rendell, Ian McEwan, Val McDermid and Donna Tartt and movies like Rosemary's Baby, Single White Female, Fatal Attraction and anything in which scary things happen to ordinary people.