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
More from J. A. Baker
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by J. A. Baker
The Murder List
About Boldwood Books
1FEBRUARY 2018
It’s always the dog walkers and the early-morning joggers that find them, isn’t it? They begin their day full of hope, ready to greet the hours ahead with a smile as they step out into the crisp, morning air only to have those hopes dashed by their grisly find, their minds tarnished, the sight before them forever embedded deep within their brains.
The young woman stares down at the ground, realisation dawning. She thought initially that it was a stray shoe: a discarded trainer, one of many that litter this area, along with empty coffee cartons and crisp packets. She sees them all the time and wonders how they get there. Always one, never the pair. Babies’ dummies, empty aerosol cans, mouldy food wrappers – she has stumbled across them all while out on her morning run, but this is different. She doesn’t know how it’s different, or why. It just strikes her as an eerie find. A shoe would slide down the embankment. It wouldn’t just sit there, poking out from a pile of fallen leaves. It’s the angle that worries and intrigues her. It’s almost perpendicular. As if it’s attached to something. Her skin prickles, ice sliding beneath her flesh.
She stands, stares up at it, her breath hot and sour, misting the air in front of her face: perfectly formed vapour clouds that appear in a small, pulsing orb before vanishing into the atmosphere. The mornings are getting lighter. Winter seems to have gone on for a hundred years. She shivers, thinks about carrying on with her run. It won’t do her any good, standing here getting cold. She has to keep moving, keep the blood pumping through her veins, otherwise she will seize up, her muscles knotting, pain shrieking through her limbs when she tries to move. And yet there is something about that trainer – the angle of it perhaps – that doesn’t sit well with her.
Moving closer, scrambling on her hands and knees to clamber up the bank, she can see even from a distance that it isn’t a trainer at all. It’s proper shoe – cream leather with a short, square heel. Mud has almost disguised it beyond recognition, clumps of dirt and rotted leaves sticking to its surface. It’s an incongruous sight – the type of footwear somebody would wear to an office – smart, functional, not too glamorous. Not the sort of thing that gets lodged on a riverbank.
Her eyes are drawn to the steep, slippery incline above her, covered with moss and leaves and the general debris nature leaves behind after a cold, dark winter. Pressing on, she clambers up until the item is close to her face. She shivers and backs away a fraction, the thought of slipping never far from her mind. It’s a steep gradient, almost vertical, requiring her to use her hands and feet to make the ascent. Her foot is lodged against the base of a tree that, along with many others nearby, appear to defy gravity. Standing upright, their deep root systems probably help to knit together this bank, stopping any erosion or landslips.
She shuffles ever nearer, one hand resting against the rough bark of the tree to steady herself while the other reaches down and brushes away the twigs and leaves that surround the shoe. Her hand hits something solid, something cold that makes her recoil. She lets out a shriek, hoping it isn’t what she thinks it could be, yet knowing deep down that it probably is. This is a quiet, shaded area and yet she has never felt frightened or unsafe here. It’s next to the river, just two minutes from the nearest village, but the canopy of trees and its deep-set location make it feel a million miles away from everything. It’s peaceful, calming. And now this.
Her breathing is ragged, her skin flashing hot and cold simultaneously. She gives the soil and dirt and leaves one final push, sweeping it all aside to reveal a glimpse of dead flesh. It’s a leg, its texture grey and mottled. She fumbles in her pocket for her phone, praying to a God she doesn’t believe exists that she can get a signal.
Sweat rolls down her back. She is cold and clammy as she stares at the screen, panic biting at her. No bars. No signal. No way of getting any help.
Shit!
She clambers and crawls higher up the embankment on watery legs, her innards roiling, the image of the decaying limb burnt deep into her brain. By the time she reaches the top, her knees are scraped and bloody, her hands covered in leaf mulch. Strands of wet hair hang in her eyes. Sweat courses down her back.
Her phone springs to life. She cries out, her voice a loud echo. Relief blooms in her chest. She punches at the screen, calls 999, her voice a croak as she hears somebody speaking on the other end. A welcome voice. A helpful, soothing sound that eases the fear and helplessness that are currently slamming into her, violent blows that leave her winded and breathless.
‘Body,’ is all she can say before her legs give way and she collapses onto the wet grass. ‘I’ve found a dead body.’
Man Jailed for Murder of Local Teacher
Phillip Kennedy, 40, of Wainwright Court, York, has been found guilty of murdering a local teacher. Her bruised and battered body was found on the banks of the River Ouse by an early-morning jogger.
Sophia Saunders, 38, a teacher, suffered severe head injuries and her body was dragged down an embankment before being covered with leaves and branches. She was discovered by an unsuspecting jogger who alerted the police to the grisly find.
