eBook ISBN: 978-1-80520-056-7
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-80520-057-4
First Edition
Image Copyright: Dawid Glawdzin
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ABOUT THE BOOK
Every angel deserves their wings…
When flight attendant Angelica Whitaker is reported missing after a night out at one of the most popular nightclubs in Southend, the case is handed to DS Tomek Bowen for the first time in his career.
As soon as the investigation begins, the finger is pointed at the man she danced with at the club, but when her body is later found in a church, posed like an angel, the same fingers begin to point towards a calculated, composed, and sadistic killer.
But as the investigation progresses, and as Tomek delves deeper into the victim’s life, it becomes clear that there is no shortage of suspects, and everyone’s got their secrets — some more than others…
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CHAPTER ONE
Her body rippled and swayed in time with the music, her hips rotating elegantly, shoulders flowing freely, head lolling about as the chemicals and substances percolated through her bloodstream. She had her eyes closed so she could lose herself completely, let herself become one with the sound waves. She ran the fingers of one hand through her hair as the heavy bass shot through her core with every beat.
Around her, eyes still closed, she could hear the noise of people, dozens, hundreds of them, screaming, shouting into each other’s faces in an attempt to converse, flirt, and hopefully by the end of the night, if their luck was in, fuck.
She had been approached by a few already, drunk, alcohol steaming off their breath, the smell of their heavily applied aftershave lodging itself down her throat, all hoping to chance their luck. And there had been a few that she’d taken an interest in, spoken with for over thirty seconds before she’d inevitably turned her back on them and continued dancing. For those select few, their luck had been in. Half-luck, mind, as she had only gone so far as to hand out her number. If they wanted the full deal, they would have to put in more work, more effort than that. They had to earn it.
She continued dancing, swaying, her body and muscles relaxing, succumbing to the trance the music had put her into. All of this was a learnt sport, an art. In the past few months she had learnt to let herself really go, to free herself of the constraints and anxieties she placed on herself, to enter a different state, one that was ethereal and almost out of body.
Suddenly, in the middle of the dance floor, she became aware of the urge to drink, to replenish some of the fluid she was constantly peeing and sweating out, and with her cup firmly in hand, eyes still closed, she raised her arm to her mouth. It felt like an extension of her body, as though someone was doing the movement for her, and for a few moments, her lips searched for the straw, tongue poking out of her mouth like a turtle’s head breaching from its shell. A second later, she felt the straw being inserted into her mouth. She opened her eyes and saw a man standing immediately in front of her, guiding the straw with his fingers, a warm smile on his face. She half recognised him. James? Ashton? Percy? Or some other weird name? It was one of them. Coming back for round two. Putting in the hard yards, really trying to leave the club with more than her mobile number that would immediately block any number or call made to it twelve hours later.
The man leant closer to her, placing a hand on her waist. As he did so, she caught a whiff of freshly applied aftershave, thick, gagging, yet one of the more enjoyable, tolerable ones. Perhaps he had applied it in the bathroom and been charged a fortune for it by the toilet attendant. She wondered which one he’d gone for: Armani, Yves Saint Laurent, Dolce & Gabbana, Boss? She was familiar with them all, but this one was lost on her, yet the recognition of it lingered in the back of her mind.
‘Can I buy you another drink?’ he shouted, his words barely audible.
Before she was able to answer, she felt another hand on her. This time from her friend, Elodie, grabbing her arm and pulling her away. She was reunited with her trio of friends a moment later.
‘What’d you do that for?’ she asked, surprised to hear how slurred her words were.
‘He was trying to put something in your drink earlier,’ Elodie replied, leaning into her ear. ‘I told him to fuck off when he bought you the first one. I told the bar staff to replace it.’
She looked down at her drink, wondering if she would see any indication that it had been spiked, but then remembered what Elodie had just told her, that she was looking at the wrong cup.
‘I told you, you need to be more careful,’ Elodie lambasted as she placed a hand on her hips. ‘You need to be more vigilant, girl.’
She swatted away her friend’s hand dismissively, then turned her attention back to the man, who had been lingering sheepishly on the outskirts of the group, dancing, shuffling his feet together out of time to the music, pretending not to hear any of their conversation though his body language suggested he’d heard the whole thing. Then she shuffled towards him, her legs and knees faltering. She’d been standing in her heels for too long. Either that or it was the alcohol coursing through her veins. She didn’t know how much she’d had, but she was experienced enough to know that she was still in control of her body, still in control of her faculties. And as she approached the man, she passed him her drink to hold for a moment, then shimmied her skirt down her thighs till it was at a responsible level. Once she was happy with it, she took the drink, turned her back on him, and began dancing on him, gyrating, their bodies separated by less than an inch, gradually coming closer and closer into contact, until she felt his groin against her backside. She could feel the warmth and stench of his breath on the back of her neck. She also sensed hesitation, a brief pause as he waited to put his hands on her body. First, one on her waist, then the other wrapped around her chest, as though she was his possession, his trophy for the evening. He had claimed her, and she was happy to let him think he had.
Let him think that his luck was in.
As they danced, she began to feel his semi-erect penis pressing harder into her, prodding her like a child trying to wake a sleeping dog. He could prod and poke all he liked, but she’d decided this dog would remain asleep.
She made eye contact with her friends, enjoying the comfort and security of her new companion. Occasionally, he tried to kiss her neck, and even shoot his chance on the lips, but each time she would pull away, continuing to tease him. Revenge for trying to spike her drink. She knew what her friends would be thinking right now: that she was stupid, reckless, that she wasn’t in control and didn’t know what danger she was putting herself in. But she knew, all right. She’d experienced far worse than this. On the balance of things, dancing with a man in a nightclub was tame compared to what she’d seen, been through, experienced. Her friends weren’t ready to hear about that.
Maybe one day. But not now, not when her closest friend was eyeballing her every movement, trying to summon the courage to intervene.
She and her new companion stayed like that for the next ten minutes, their bodies locked together, each enjoying their time for very different reasons. Until, eventually, after seeing enough, Elodie told her it was time to go. They had an Uber waiting outside for them, and they didn’t want to miss it.
As she was pulled away, the man, who was now hungrier than ever, chased after her, followed her like a child, holding her hand towards the exit.
‘Leave her alone!’ Elodie yelled in the man’s face, trying to tear them apart.
‘Can I come with you?’ he asked.
The tone in his voice was beyond hopeful, almost to the point of begging.
‘Fuck off,’ Elodie replied.
‘What about you come back with me?’
Desperation laced his words. His last attempt at getting lucky.
She decided to dangle the carrot in front of him.
