The Death of Jessica Ripley Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  The Death of Jessica Ripley

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  DAY 7

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Chapter Eighty

  Chapter Eighty-One

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  Chapter Eighty-Seven

  Chapter Eighty-Eight

  Chapter Eighty-Nine

  Chapter Ninety

  Chapter Ninety-One

  Author’s Note

  Reader’s Club Download Offer

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  The Death of Jessica Ripley

  © Copyright 2019

  PRAISE FOR ANDREW BARRETT

  Andy Barrett, you know how to snatch the breath from a reader’s chest.

  The writing, as always, is crisp, immediate and loaded with sarcasm.

  This book is dark and ugly but has just enough humour dotted around to make you giggle when you know you really shouldn’t.

  This novella sucks you right in from the first page.

  Barrett is the master of tension with laugh out loud moments interspersed throughout.

  I had to remind myself to breathe. The Lock is graphic, imaginative, and brilliantly written. Truly breath-taking.

  I love how the tension escalates.

  Try to stop reading....you can’t!

  Andrew Barrett is a master of his game!

  “The Lock” by Andrew Barrett is a macabre little thriller of a novella.

  With the class of Alfred Hitchcock, a seriously disturbing black and white story that will keep you awake after you hit the sack.

  This is my favourite Eddie Collins CSI novella yet!

  I love the way Andrew Barrett adds the wit and humour into the story.

  Brilliant story, great humour and very scary! Loved It!

  This is the first Andrew Barrett short story since the phenomenal “The Note” It does not disappoint!

  This is a spine-tingling tale which will take you to a place you will never want to revisit.

  Chores did not get completed today but this book got read!

  Walk with Eddie as Andrew Barrett takes you on another exploration of the human condition armed with nothing more than Eddie’s dark wit.

  The suspense, humour and plot twists will keep you reading to the last page.

  I went from my heart feeling like it was going to come out of my chest due to the tense circumstances, to laughing very loudly at Eddie’s inappropriate wit.

  Andrew Barrett is fast becoming one of my favorite authors.

  The Death of Jessica Ripley

  Sometimes you can’t forgive and forget

  by

  Andrew Barrett

  Chapter One

  How it began.

  Freedom leaked unseen from her life as the smoke leaked out of the oven door. Thirty minutes, maybe less.

  Jessica Ripley stood at the sink, washing up the plates from yesterday so they could eat off them today. Her mind was screwing about with the past; tormenting her like Sebastian used to, topping up her stress levels. To her right, Michael screamed from his bedroom doorway so loudly that he could have been pressing his mouth against her ear.

  She clamped her jaw closed, and heat prickled her skin, but she was determined not to break down. What the hell had she done to deserve this? “Michael!” she yelled. “Shut up!” Her reflection in the cracked window above the sink showed her the veins standing proud in her neck and the tears dancing on her eyelashes, ready to fall.

  The oven timer dinged but she didn’t hear it. She didn’t smell the burning food; and the stinging in her eyes was just the prelude to more tears. Her mind had latched onto the two-year-old’s screaming until nothing else existed.

  Her hands became still in the hot water. Soap bubbles popped against her skin.

  Anger grew in her chest, and her breathing trembled. Inside, the clouds were gathering and the storm was about to break.

  He screamed.

  She closed her eyes and the tears fell.

  When the smoke alarm shrieked, Jessica jumped, and her anger exploded. She pulled her hands free of the sink and smashed them furiously back into the water. Her reflection burst into a thousand droplets just as the pain hit.

  Michael screamed louder. The alarm screeched, but the new pain claimed all her attention. Jessica pulled her hand out of the sink; watery blood flowed down her forearm from the knife wound and dripped from her elbow onto the wet floor. The soap bubbles were red, and—

  “You should get that seen to.”

  Jessica squealed.

  Sebastian stared at her. He hadn’t shouted over the alarm, but she’d still heard him.

  “Jess.” He wore a shirt with no collar, buttoned up tightly under his chin. Sleek, fashionable.

  Panic slapped her, eyes darting everywhere at once. “The fuck are you doing here?”

  He nodded at the blood running from the gash in her palm. “Here.” He passed her a tea towel.
/>   She snatched it from him, stepped back, and shouted, “How did you—”

  Holding the knob between fingertip and thumb, he turned off the oven, and fanned the smoke alarm but for now it continued to shriek. “Shouldn’t leave your door open.”

  Michael’s scream filled the background and stabbed at her.

  Sebastian smiled like he was her saviour. “Not round here,” he said. “Not safe around here.”

  There was a knife on the draining board. “Get the fuck out.”

  He took a step closer and tilted his head towards the bedroom. “Can I see him?”

  “No.”

  “He’s crying. He needs his father.”

  “Get out before I call the police.”

  Sebastian retracted his step and peeked into the lounge. He was scanning the place, sneering at the slowly dissolving sofa, the shiny, stained carpet. Demeaning her without even trying. “Do you have enough credit left on your phone to call the police? I could lend you a fiver if you like?” He returned his attention to the kitchen; the torn lino in front of the oven, the mould on the wall above the cracked window. “This is 2007, Jess. You’re living like it’s the middle ages. It’s disgusting.”

  “It’s home.”

  “Home?” The bewildered smile lingered. “Boyfriend coming over tonight?”

  “None of your business. Now please—”

  “You don’t belong with a bus driver,” he sneered, “and you don’t belong here. Neither does my son. You belong with me.” The smile was gone. It had been a façade, anyway.

  ‘You belong to me’, you mean.

  She pulled the tea towel around her hand and winced. “And you belong in a psychiatric ward. I’m not going anywhere with you. And if you take one step towards Michael, I’ll slit your throat.”

  “So that’s how you feel?”

  She snorted, “It’s taken you a year to work that out? Go home.”

  “Not without you.” He grabbed her arms. “Not without him. We’re a family—”

  “We’re not a family. Why can’t you understand that? It’s finished. Now get off me, and get out of my house.” She hated herself for trembling. She hated herself for staring into his black eyes and feeling the coldness spreading out from her heart, feeling the old pain, the old fear resurrected so long after she’d thought it was dead.

  The noise was deafening.

  “I mean it. This is your last chance to make all this right again.” He let his hands fall away from her reddening arms and took the knife from the draining board.

  “Sebastian. Wait.”

  “You can change all this,” he waved the knife around the room. “You can be back home within half an hour. Michael can sleep in his old room, and we can start again. It’s all in your hands, Jess. His future lies with you. Our future.” He smiled again. “My future.”

  Jessica’s heart tripped over itself. But despite her fear, she wouldn’t beg – he wanted her to beg, like she’d done before; he wanted her to kneel, to plead for a life she daren’t return to. Not this time. Pride with a sickening tinge of panic glowing at the edges stopped her. She snarled, “You’re fucking mad, Sebastian. We’re not—”

  He turned the blade on himself and his shirt creased just beneath his sternum.

  Did he mean to do it this time?

  The façade melted away. There was no smugness; there was no emotion at all. His eyes were flat discs of black. “Last chance to make all this right again.”

  “Don’t,” she whispered, almost reaching out to him.

  Michael screamed.

  He raised his eyebrows again in a silent question; a prompt, an offer.

  Blood seeped through the towel, and she clenched her fist. “No.”

  The tip of the blade pierced his skin. His white shirt spotted red and she gasped again.

  “I’ll do it. And my death will be on your conscience. You know it will. How will you ever forgive yourself? How will you explain it to him?”

  “Sebastian.” Her voice quivered, and for a minute even Michael’s piercing scream seemed diminished as her entire focus lay on the blade at his chest. He’d threatened it before, to make her forgive the latest bruises when apologies and flowers had failed.

  He’d threatened it – even sank a blade into his wrist once. But like all his promises, it had been hollow. Like this was surely hollow. Another of Sebastian’s mind games.

  Don’t trust him. Don’t let him manipulate you again. It’s a trick!

  Resolve straightened her face.

  He twitched the blade but there was no fear in her.

  He had lost, and as the blood bloomed on his shirt, confusion bloomed on his face. “A new start,” he said. A desperate half-smile tried to break her reticence. “A clean slate. We begin again. Paris next weekend, Brazil next month.”

  She looked from the knife to his eyes and back again.

  I could push it in. One quick jab and it would all be over.

  He’d never threaten her again, he’d never induce this fear again. She bit her lip.

  Michael stopped screaming.

  Jess blinked herself back to reality. She took a step back. “Just fuck off, Seb.”

  She turned away and went to Michael. She could feel the tingle running up her back as he watched her leave.

  “Jess!” He screamed, “I mean it! Jess!”

  * * *

  Less than an hour later, the police led her from the flat. Bewildered, she glanced over her shoulder at the body, and watched in absolute shock as Michael reached out to her from the arms of an officer. There were no sounds, just the sight of his frightened eyes, and his shaking hand.

  How it ended

  DAY 1

  Chapter Two

  “That is some serious fucking anger.”

  Eddie stood at the end of the driveway, cigarette hanging from his bottom lip, as he studied a picture he’d taken on his phone. He looked from it across to Troy. “Perhaps the murderer worked with you for a day.”

  “Very clever, old man.” Troy grinned, chewing gum.

  Eddie watched as Troy walked back towards the body with some kind of street swagger in his hips. He found it incredibly annoying. At the end of each stride there was something like a controlled collapse, a limp perhaps, but he made it look cool.

  “Why don’t you go sit behind your desk and scribble some report? Leave the proper work to me.”

  Eddie stared after him; his dislike of the new CSI seeped ever closer towards hatred. There was no joking in Troy’s laughter, no humour in his insults. He meant every word.

  “Come back, Duffy, you old bastard,” Eddie muttered. “All is forgiven.” He sighed, put away the phone, and clambered into a scene suit, almost tripping up over the stupid thing. He could feel his anger growing, keeping pace with his embarrassment as he hopped around, trying to get his foot in the hole. “Fucking thing!” He spat the cigarette away.

  Troy looked back over his shoulder, then turned and laughed. “You need a hand? Arthritis getting too much for you?”

  “I am going to fucking batter you in a minute.”

  “Ha. Like you could ever catch me.”

  Eddie gritted his teeth and pulled the suit hard enough that his hand tugged a hole straight through it. He heard a cough behind him, and saw Benson pretending to be dignified, as though he wasn’t really laughing at all.

  “They’re a twat to put on,” Eddie said. “How come people can’t appreciate that?”

  “No one else seems to have the problems you do.”

  “That’s because I’m more creative; my mind is elsewhere while I’m getting suited up.”

  “Mind?”

  “They need redesigning; they’re shit. Now what the hell do you want?”

  “I’m a Detective Inspector at a murder scene, Eddie. Take a wild guess.” Benson stepped closer, aware that there were PCSOs and quite possibly press floating around nearby. “He still pissing you off?”

  Eddie zipped up the suit, ignored the split runni
ng from chest to abdomen, and said, “Is it really that obvious?”

  Benson grinned. “I think you hide it well.”

  “Why can’t I pick my own staff? Stupid system.”

  “Because Personnel would be out of a job.” Benson took a Mars bar from his coat pocket, cracked the seal, and said, “So what have we got here then?” through a mouthful of toffee.

  “Get a suit on and come see for yourself.”

  “And have people laughing at me too? Forget it. I’ll settle for the description.”

  “He’s a brief, right?”

  “Was.”

  “Defence?”

  Benson nodded.

  “I’ve never had a body where thousands have a motive for killing him.”

  Benson peered down the driveway. “Go and supervise your new bulldog and make sure he doesn’t fuck anything up. Boss wants this one filed quickly.”

  “Has he ever said, ‘Take your time with this one, Tom’?”

  * * *

  Eddie crouched by the body and felt the tear in his suit grow longer. And even though Troy had his mask on, Eddie knew he was laughing as he chewed his gum like a cow grinding cud. “If you don’t wipe that grin off your face, I’ll wipe it off for you.”

  “Get out of the wrong side of bed this morning, Eddie?”

  “Both sides are the wrong side.”

  “You need vitamins. They won’t bring back your youth, but they’ll take away the aches and pains.”

  “You getting another job somewhere far away from me is the only thing that would make me feel better.”

  “You don’t like me, do you?”

  “Give me your assessment of this scene, and then I can leave it with you.”

  Troy slid his mask down so it nestled under his designer-stubbled chin like a G-string under a pussy. “I said you don’t like me, do you?”

  “I thought I hid it pretty well. Damn, Benson lied!”

  “I’m good at picking up on people’s feelings.”

  “Sharp lad, well done.”

  “Why don’t you like me?”

  “We haven’t got that long.” Eddie looked at the body. “Get on with this.”