COLD KILL. Neil White
was on the phone to Carson, updating him, when…
Chapter Forty-Three
As the sound of Adam’s car disappeared into the hills,…
Chapter Forty-Four
The streets of Whitcroft seemed quiet as Jack drove onto…
Chapter Forty-Five
Jack continued to drive around the estate, looking for something…
Chapter Forty-Six
Jack drove around the estate, feeling better about his article.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Jack held up the wine bottle to the light. Probably…
Chapter Forty-Eight
The morning had been a long time coming.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Jack woke up filled with determination, the emails fresh in…
Chapter Fifty
Laura leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes.
Chapter Fifty-One
Jack paced up and down outside the entrance to the…
Chapter Fifty-Two
Jack was still outside the police station, sitting in his…
Chapter Fifty-Three
Emma’s gate didn’t offer much security, Jack thought. Old wood,…
Chapter Fifty-Four
As Laura and Joe approached David Hoyle’s home, Laura shook…
Chapter Fifty-Five
Jack was spotted as soon as he approached Mike Corley’s…
Chapter Fifty-Six
When they arrived at the police station, Laura didn’t head…
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Jack ran into the Blackley Telegraph office, setting off the…
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Laura dropped Ida and her daughter at the rest home…
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Laura lifted her head off the floor and tried to…
Chapter Sixty
Jack was outside the bar that had once been called…
Chapter Sixty-One
Jack went for a drive.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Emma was sitting on her doorstep when Jack got there,…
Chapter Sixty-Three
Carson drove quickly away from the station.
Chapter Sixty-Four
‘Don Roberts has got him,’ Jack said, as he drove…
Chapter Sixty-Five
It was dark, almost pitch black, as Jack approached the…
Chapter Sixty-Six
Carson banged on Don’s door.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Strong hands gripped Jack’s shoulders and pushed him against the…
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Carson waited outside Don’s house, looking down the road. Laura…
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Carson had called up more marked cars and they were…
Chapter Seventy
Jack waited for the swing, for the drop, his nails…
Chapter Seventy-One
Laura ran for the front door. Carson and a uniformed…
Chapter Seventy-Two
The next few days seemed to pass in a blur…
Read on for In Conversation with Neil White
Dead Silent
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books by the Same Author
Chapter One
The evening was bright and warm, the sun dipping behind the trees that lined the small copse between the houses, so that the light was filtered, the strips of brightness catching the loop and dance of midges that flitted between the leaves.
He looked at his watch. Nearly time. He knew her routine. Saturday night. A walk to the bus stop on the main road and then into town. She always passed the copse on her route, her head down, rushing to start her evening.
He paced, just out of view, his breaths fast, his chest tight with excitement. Thoughts of her came to him like whispers, so quiet that he could hardly hear them, but with each night they got stronger, so that the whispers became louder, like white noise, a rush, pressing him on.
He fought the urges sometimes, when his drive was low, but those moments were rare, and it was the images of her that drove him. Her hair, blonde and over her shoulders, gleaming against her pale skin. Her small upturned nose. Teeth bright and straight. He smiled to himself when he thought of her skin. Soft skin. Taut. Now that it was time, the noises pulled back, as if they were watching from the wings, breaths held in anticipation.
He knew this one would be different. It would be the strongest buzz of all. No buried body. No burnt out car. No trips to the lake, bound up in chains. This was going to be the best, because he knew it had always been leading to this.
He could almost hear her. The flick of her hair in the breeze, the rustle of her clothes as she walked. Then he realised that the tap-taps he could hear were not the fast drums of his heartbeat or the hum of his pulse. They were the click of her heels, fast steps that seemed to echo along the quiet suburban street. His breaths became deeper through his nose, his chest rising and falling, and he felt himself grow hard. He checked his gloves. No rips. No tears. Nowhere for any trace evidence to escape. He thought about his movements one last time. He had thought of little else all week.
It was time.
He started walking as the clicks got louder, so that he would be on the same side of the street as her when she appeared. As she came into view, she gave him a nervous look, but then she noticed the polo shirt, the police crest on his breast, and the black-and-white ribbon around his cap, a black soft-top.
He smiled, a quick flash of his teeth, and stepped on to the road, so that she stayed on the pavement, the copse to her side. ‘Evening,’ he said, as she got closer. His words almost caught in his throat as her perfume drifted towards him. The scent of flowers, light on the breeze. He had to stop himself from reaching out to run a finger along her neck. Don’t go too soon.
She flickered a smile at him but then looked down again. He followed her gaze. Short black skirt. Legs shaved smooth, tapered into silver heels. He had to swallow, his heartbeat fast, his mouth dry.
His hands were on his belt, fingering for the release of his cuffs. He had practised the move until it was perfect. Speed was key. He had to cut down on the noise.
She was alongside him now. He looked quickly along the street. There was no one around. There were houses, but why would anyone be looking out? If he was quick, they wouldn’t suspect anything.
He ran at her, his shoulder ramming into hers, knocking her off balance. His hand clamped around her mouth and he kept his legs moving, pushing her along the path that ran between the trees, her feet pedalling in the air. He pulled his cuffs free and clicked one loop onto her left wrist, loving the click as it went