Shirley Wells - Into the Shadows: Introducing Forensic Psychologist Jill Kennedy and DCI Max Trentham

INTO THE SHADOWS

by

Shirley Wells

Jill Kennedy is a forensic psychologist who has recently moved to the village of Kelton, in northern England. She has decided on a new career of writing, no longer able to work with the police after her profile of a serial killer led to the wrong man being arrested and tried. She is enjoying life in the village, meeting a set of standard characters - lord and lady of the manor, estate agent, vicar and his wife and teenage son, builder, post-office lady, headmaster and his wife, local historian and her ailing husband - in the opening chapters. The idyll is soon shattered, however, by two events: the serial killer is still at large and is now stalking Jill; and the vicars wife is found brutally murdered, apparently by her son.

Jill, herself a widow, has previously had a relationship with widower DCI Max Trentham. Max was in charge of the serial killer case, but was taken off it when the wrong man was arrested. He and Jill have broken up, but Max is still keen on Jill and tries to regain her affections as well as to protect her from the stalker. Jill is attracted to him but is wary of rekindling their relationship after Max betrayed her by having a brief affair. However, she misses his two sons and his mother-in-law, and cannot seem to get very enthusiastic about any of the relatively large field of available males (read: suspects) in the vicinity.

Constable London

For Nick,

may our steps always rhyme

and with grateful thanks to all those who have helped along the way

Bertrams

Constable & Robinson Ltd

3 The Lanchesters

162 Fulham Palace Road

London W6 9ER

www.constablerobinson.com

First published in the UK by Constable,

an imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd 2007

Copyright S Shirley Wells 2007

The right of Shirley Wells to be identified as the author of this work has been identified by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library.

ISBN: 978-1-84529-527-1

Printed and bound in the EU

The stupid bitch thought she was God, all knowing and all seeing. Conceited cow.

He assumed she had driven to Burnley, as she had the last two Friday mornings. Hed followed her then, and he guessed he had at least a couple of hours before she returned.

Her bedroom was soft and frilly, all pastel blues and yellows, and a vase of flowers, huge yellow daisies, sat on the windowsill.

He hated to see flowers in bedrooms. It reminded him of hospitals where dozens of sick bodies competed for air with garish blooms.

He peered around blue and yellow curtains and gazed at the brooding Pennines. It was easy to picture her standing here and admiring her view, so different to the one of office blocks and houses shed had in Preston. She would admire it as it changed with the seasons - the hills lush and green in the summer months, wearing their snowy mantle in winter, or hazy in the mist of a November morning, as they were now.

A cat ambled into the room, saw him, spat at him and raced out again.

He liked cats; hed had one once, a tabby kitten that hed called Tiger. Hed been six years old at the time.

Very slowly and carefully, he inched open a drawer, the top drawer of a set of four in what pretended to be antique pine.

Inside were scraps of material that made his breath catch. A silk bra in black - no, it was dark blue - caught his attention, then a tiny thong in the same soft silk.

He pulled off a glove, and allowed his fingers the luxury of running over the scanty silk.

Deciding to keep a souvenir, he shoved the thong into the pocket of his trousers, put on his glove again and slid the drawer back into place.

Her bed had been neatly made and he pulled back the quilt, inhaling deeply. Her scent was on the pillow.

Tonight, hed smell her in the flesh, God willing. They would be at the same bonfire party, in the same house, talking to the same people, and although they probably wouldnt speak, he would make sure he got close enough to smell her.

It was tempting to leave the photograph on the pillow where, later, her pretty head would rest, but it was too soon for that. He would put it in an envelope and drop it through her letterbox.

After one last look at her bedroom, he left as quietly as hed entered.

Jill walked up the drive to Kelton Manor and wished with all her heart that she didnt have to be here. At the best of times, she wasnt a party person and today, despite the fact that Manor Girl had seen off the favourite and romped home at 22-1, wasnt the best of times.

There had been three brown envelopes on her doormat when shed returned from Burnley that morning - a reminder that her TV licence was due, a reminder that the cats inoculations were due and a photograph complete with newspaper clipping.

Nothing had been written on the photograph. Even the envelope, plain manila and self-seal, hadnt seen a printer or a pen. The piece cut from the newspaper was simply a large headline that read: Serial killer arrested.

She knew the photograph well. It had been taken a year ago when, flushed with success, shed been snapped by the local press. Due in part to the profile shed prepared, a serial killer who had been terrorizing the north-west for four years had finally been arrested. Oh yes, shed been smiling for the cameras that day.

That was before Rodney Hill committed suicide. Before they realized theyd got the wrong man.

A rocket exploded into thousands of silver and gold stars that lit the overhead sky. Very pretty, but it did nothing to improve her mood. She hoped her three cats would be all right. They should be. There was unlikely to be much activity along her lane, and shed locked the cat flap so they couldnt get out.

It was the dressing up she hated most about parties.

Happier in jeans and jumpers, she resented occasions that required effort. She wasnt in the mood for being polite to complete strangers, either. Not tonight.

She pushed a heavy finger at the doorbell, a round brass affair set in the stonework, and pinned in place the brightest smile she could manage.

The door swung open and a babble of conversation and polite laughter drifted out.

Jill! Mary Lee-Smith, her hostess, air-kissed Jills cheeks. Thank you so much for coming, my dear.

Thank you for inviting me. The sound of talk and laughter from within cheered Jill slightly. It was a month since shed moved into the Lancashire village of Kelton Bridge, and it was high time she met some of her new neighbours. This way, shed meet a lot in one go. Its very kind of you, she added.

From what shed heard, Gordon Lee-Smiths family had lived at Kelton Manor, a gorgeous square building set in immaculate grounds that sat in the middle of Kelton Bridge, for generations. Although Marys heart was in the right place, it was said she thought this gave them - well, her really, as Gordon worked in London during the week - the right to organize the other residents.

That, of course, was simply hearsay, something Olive Prendergast from the post office had told her. Olive, who struggled to find a kind word for anyone, was coming up to retirement and her heart was no longer in the job.

Apparently, since losing her husband a couple of years ago, Olives main purpose in life was to spread local gossip.

For all that, Jill could believe that Mary was a natural organizer, despite her small stature.