“What, you think at this very moment some deputy US Marshal is organising a hard-target search of every henhouse, outhouse and doghouse between here and Islington?”
He knew she was trying to make light of it by paraphrasing The Fugitive but somehow that only made the situation seem more desperate.
Heedless of what happened the last time he grabbed her, Lytton closed in and gripped her upper arms, forced her to focus on his face.
“Kelly, please, this is serious. If you’re on the run I can help. I know a guy with a fast cruiser moored at Lymington. We can have you out of the country by tonight.”
She went very still. “You’d do that?” she said. “For me?”
“I won’t see you go back to prison for something you didn’t damn well do.”
She stepped in, looked up into his eyes. “They didn’t let me go, Matthew,” she said with gentle deliberation, “because they didn’t need to. I was never really on remand. Not this time.”
He tried for incisive. Instead all he managed was a stuttered, “W–what?”
“O’Neill asked for my help to catch the guys who set me up—just sit tight in solitary for a few weeks and let him get on with it,” she said. “Allardice did the dirty work, but it was Chief Superintendent Quinlan who Callum Perry was trying to blackmail. He was the one who decided to get rid of Perry and use me to take the blame.”
“And O’Neill can prove all this?” Lytton demanded.
“That’s what he’s been doing,” she said. “They’ve had forensic accountants tracing the money, including the funds Allardice transferred out to Spain to start his bar. O’Neill had to play along and wait until Quinlan took his retirement package and went out with a new payoff before he could arrange to have the pair of them grabbed.”
“Which he’s now done,” Lytton guessed, and heard the utter relief in his own voice.
“Which he’s now done,” Kelly echoed, satisfaction in hers. “I’ve been in Spain seeing this thing through. Got back this morning and came straight up here.” She nodded to the rucksack at her feet.
“Well I’m glad you did,” he said. “Am I supposed to ask why?”
She gave him a smile that was almost shy. “O’Neill told me you offered to post my bail. I wanted to . . . thank you. In person.”
He realised he was still grasping her upper arms and he loosened his grip, slipping his hands round onto her back and tracing the outline of her shoulder blades, the indentations of her spine, with his fingertips. He watched her face all the while, saw what he hoped to see and began to draw her closer.
At the last moment Kelly brought her hands up and wedged them against his chest.
“No,” she said, but when he would have released her with a muttered apology she added, “not here, that’s all. I mean, I want to, don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t sure if you did, but . . . I meant not right outside the church where you’ve just held your wife’s memorial service.”
“Where, then?” The question came out more starkly than he intended.
Another gust of wind whipped between the gravestones and she shivered. “Anywhere that isn’t so damned cold would be a good start.”
Matthew Lytton smiled.
“I hear the Bahamas is very nice this time of year . . .”
—END—
From the Author’s notebook
The whole idea behind THE BLOOD WHISPERER came about because I was playing around with the theme of trust. As a London crime-scene specialist Kelly Jacks trusted what the evidence she collected was telling her and she enjoyed the particular trust of her colleagues who nicknamed her The Blood Whisperer because of her affinity with the work she carried out.
Then that trust is betrayed. Everyone she’s ever known lets her down and turns away from her. And when she’s tried and convicted of a violent crime she even loses trust in herself over her own innocence or guilt.
So the story is also about the rebuilding of Kelly’s ability to trust—in the evidence, in herself, and both in the people she’s known for years and those she’s only just met. I was originally going to call the book THE CARRION CREW, a play on the name of Kelly’s mentor and boss of the crime-scene cleaning firm, Ray McCarron, but was worried it had too many horror overtones for a crime novel. Then my husband suggested THE BLOOD WHISPERER and that fitted just right.
Although I’ve been writing the Charlie Fox series for some years now, that doesn’t mean I’m not interested in exploring other characters and other situations. I hope, however, that fans of Charlie Fox will find much to like in another strong female protagonist—Kelly Jacks.
Acknowledgements
Getting this book to fruition seems to have been a long and tortuous path, and I’m eternally grateful to the various people who test-read it, either in small chunks or the whole thing, some of them several times: JT Ellison, Sarah Harrison, Kate Kinchen, Kirsty Long, Michelle Wilbye, Tim Winfield, and all the members of the Warehouse Writers Group in Kendal. You have the patience of a whole congregation of saints.
Further editorial input came initially from Stephanie Glencross, and latterly from Rhian Davies. Thank you both so much for your efforts.
Specific information on certain aspects of climbing was provided by Jo Roberts, and on forensics by Home Office Pathologist Bill Lawler. I am aware that the Government-run Forensic Science Service, based at Lambeth, was closed in March 2012, but you’ll just have to suspend your disbelief long enough to understand that the events of this book took place before that date, if you’d be so kind.
And finally, a big thank you to my talented designer, Jane Hudson at NuDesign, who came up with the stunning cover for this novel.
If you’ve enjoyed THE BLOOD WHISPERER, why not try Zoë Sharp’s Other Works:
the Charlie Fox crime thrillers
KILLER INSTINCT: book one
RIOT ACT: book two
HARD KNOCKS: book three
Books one, two and three are available as an e-boxed set:
A TRIPLE SHOT of Charlie Fox
FIRST DROP: book four
ROAD KILL: book five
SECOND SHOT: book six
Books four, five and six are available as an e-boxed set:
ANOTHER ROUND of Charlie Fox
THIRD STRIKE: book seven
FOURTH DAY: book eight
FIFTH VICTIM: book nine
DIE EASY: book ten
ABSENCE OF LIGHT: a Charlie Fox novella
Short stories
The Night Butterflies