Don't Turn Around: A dark, thrilling, page-turner of a crime novel (Detective Jennifer Knight Crime Thriller Series Book 1) by Caroline Mitchell Page A
Authors: Caroline Mitchell
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hand on her shoulder.
M aude’s words rang in her ears when the coroner’s report came back. M. Osborne. Male died of asphyxiation. Secondary injuries consisted of a broken nose and fractured wrist. The injuries may have been obtained prior to his death and due to body decomposition it was impossible to tell if foul play was involved.
An open verdict was called. Elizabeth stared at the paperwork, the far-reaching consequences of Osborne’s demise beyond her comprehension.
12 Chapter Twelve
D espite the assault on her senses, Jennifer fell into a fitful night’s sleep. Her first thoughts were about Charlie, and she wondered how she could attempt to solve the mystery unravelling around her. Just who had spoken to her during her phone conversation in the car, and was it the same entity that had spoken to her in the confines of the cell? The conversations with both Johnny and Charlie were vague and rambling, but interconnected in ways she did not yet understand.
Rifling through her wardrobe, she pulled out a knee length black skirt, which she offset with a mink top. She dragged a brush through her damp hair, vowing to check their custody records when she went into work that afternoon. Such records could be accessed on the force computer long after the prisoner had left, and they held all sorts of useful information, such as what they ate, what they said, and any medical examinations. She wound her hair into a bun. If anyone asked, she would say she was checking to see if her contact with the prisoners had been recorded. It wasn’t as if she was lying.
T he office bustled with people and a sense of excitement filled the air. Steph approached her with a look of determination. ‘Jennifer, can I see you for a minute in the inspector’s office? Something’s come up.’
‘Never a dull moment,’ Jennifer mumbled under her breath as she followed Steph, whose swift waddle was causing her trousers to strain at the seams.
Jennifer took up a spare swivel chair next to the expansive wooden desk. Despite being a sergeant, Steph was not granted an office of her own, and she shared the DI’s space when private matters needed to be discussed. The fluorescent strips overhead cast a gloomy light. A battered filing cabinet in the corner housed personnel records and, it was rumoured, a bottle of scotch in the bottom drawer. It was more for posterity than anything else, a throwback to the time when a drink and a cigarette after a long day’s work was accepted. Jennifer sat back, wondering why DI Allison never displayed any family photos on his desk.
‘Have I done something wrong?’ she asked Steph, who was looking through the blinds to the adjoining CID office.
‘Apart from being a shit magnet, no. I’ve been trying to ring you all morning. Don’t you answer your phone?’
Jennifer reddened. She had switched off her phone the previous night to stop the ever increasing silent calls. ‘Sorry, I forgot to turn it on, she said. ‘What’s wrong?’
I hear you were one of the last people to talk to Charlie Taylor in custody.’
Immediately Jennifer’s heart began to pound a little faster. Judging by the tone of Steph’s voice, either she was in trouble or Charlie was in danger. ‘Yes I was, why?’
Steph sighed. ‘I’m afraid he was found dead in the early hours of this morning.’
‘No. He can’t be ...’ Jennifer swallowed back the lump in her throat. It felt substantial, as if her anxiety had formed into a hard ball and wedged in her neck, ready to choke the life out of her.
‘Sorry Jennifer, I didn’t think you knew him that well.’
Charlie’s death was a shock – another broken link from the past. Jennifer reached for a tissue as her tears welled in her eyes. ‘He was my teacher in school. My parents used to invite him around for dinner parties. After my mum died, he stayed friends with my dad. Well, when I say friends, more like drinking buddies.’
‘God, I would have broken it to you gently if
M aude’s words rang in her ears when the coroner’s report came back. M. Osborne. Male died of asphyxiation. Secondary injuries consisted of a broken nose and fractured wrist. The injuries may have been obtained prior to his death and due to body decomposition it was impossible to tell if foul play was involved.
An open verdict was called. Elizabeth stared at the paperwork, the far-reaching consequences of Osborne’s demise beyond her comprehension.
12 Chapter Twelve
D espite the assault on her senses, Jennifer fell into a fitful night’s sleep. Her first thoughts were about Charlie, and she wondered how she could attempt to solve the mystery unravelling around her. Just who had spoken to her during her phone conversation in the car, and was it the same entity that had spoken to her in the confines of the cell? The conversations with both Johnny and Charlie were vague and rambling, but interconnected in ways she did not yet understand.
Rifling through her wardrobe, she pulled out a knee length black skirt, which she offset with a mink top. She dragged a brush through her damp hair, vowing to check their custody records when she went into work that afternoon. Such records could be accessed on the force computer long after the prisoner had left, and they held all sorts of useful information, such as what they ate, what they said, and any medical examinations. She wound her hair into a bun. If anyone asked, she would say she was checking to see if her contact with the prisoners had been recorded. It wasn’t as if she was lying.
T he office bustled with people and a sense of excitement filled the air. Steph approached her with a look of determination. ‘Jennifer, can I see you for a minute in the inspector’s office? Something’s come up.’
‘Never a dull moment,’ Jennifer mumbled under her breath as she followed Steph, whose swift waddle was causing her trousers to strain at the seams.
Jennifer took up a spare swivel chair next to the expansive wooden desk. Despite being a sergeant, Steph was not granted an office of her own, and she shared the DI’s space when private matters needed to be discussed. The fluorescent strips overhead cast a gloomy light. A battered filing cabinet in the corner housed personnel records and, it was rumoured, a bottle of scotch in the bottom drawer. It was more for posterity than anything else, a throwback to the time when a drink and a cigarette after a long day’s work was accepted. Jennifer sat back, wondering why DI Allison never displayed any family photos on his desk.
‘Have I done something wrong?’ she asked Steph, who was looking through the blinds to the adjoining CID office.
‘Apart from being a shit magnet, no. I’ve been trying to ring you all morning. Don’t you answer your phone?’
Jennifer reddened. She had switched off her phone the previous night to stop the ever increasing silent calls. ‘Sorry, I forgot to turn it on, she said. ‘What’s wrong?’
I hear you were one of the last people to talk to Charlie Taylor in custody.’
Immediately Jennifer’s heart began to pound a little faster. Judging by the tone of Steph’s voice, either she was in trouble or Charlie was in danger. ‘Yes I was, why?’
Steph sighed. ‘I’m afraid he was found dead in the early hours of this morning.’
‘No. He can’t be ...’ Jennifer swallowed back the lump in her throat. It felt substantial, as if her anxiety had formed into a hard ball and wedged in her neck, ready to choke the life out of her.
‘Sorry Jennifer, I didn’t think you knew him that well.’
Charlie’s death was a shock – another broken link from the past. Jennifer reached for a tissue as her tears welled in her eyes. ‘He was my teacher in school. My parents used to invite him around for dinner parties. After my mum died, he stayed friends with my dad. Well, when I say friends, more like drinking buddies.’
‘God, I would have broken it to you gently if
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