A sneaky peek draft chapter #1

First chapter of HELL HATH NO FURY (pre-edit and pre-Jo Watson scrutiny, but post-Reader Review Panel feedback). Copyright 2021 and all rights reserved.

A killer is roaming the country, leaving an identical yet bizarre clue on every victim.

DI Angela Clark’s last major investigation failed to find a multiple murderer. As a result, she was transferred out of CID and into a new office; to lead a support function. When a series of murders stretch the already depleted police forces, she is offered the chance to redeem her tarnished reputation.

To succeed, her dysfunctional team must unravel the link between the victims and the clue, before the killer strikes again. Standing in their way is a criminal known as The Broker, who will lose millions if the killing stops.

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PART 1: A CATALYST FOR MURDER

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Chapter 1 – Christmas 2015

One man cried-out as he fell to the floor, with a loud thud. Another man gasped, whilst a woman lay on the floor screaming as she tightly pressed her hands to her face. Footsteps could then be heard thundering towards the room.

“OH MY GOD, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” shouted the host as he ran in and looked down at the woman. He clasped his head in his hands.

“It wasn’t my fault. It was an accident,” pleaded a drunken party guest. In his hand was a shattered wine glass, blood dripping from its jagged edges. The other drunken guest, who had fallen to the floor, picked himself up and was transfixed by the woman. She was now shouting incoherently as she rolled from side to side. The pain was overwhelming, and she could feel the blood pouring down the side of her face.

“SHIT! WHERE’S JAMES?” screamed the host, looking frantically around. The man he was looking for, James Vickers, was a plastic surgeon and, thankfully, he was sober. He ran into the room and sank to his knees, next to where the woman lay. Blood continued to seep through her fingers.

“What the hell happened?” Vickers hissed through gritted teeth, as he tried to contain his anger and disgust at his friends.

“It was Simon; he was messing around and I… but he moved and then… well, I just tripped and the glass…” recalled the man with the glass in his hand, as he mimicked thrusting the glass forwards. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

“Get me some warm water and some clean towels, NOW,” demanded Vickers. Two other sober men ran into the kitchen while the two drunk men just stared at the scene, open-mouthed. Vickers reached out and took hold of the woman’s arms in an attempt to try to calm her.

“NO, DON’T TOUCH ME. DON’T TOUCH MEEEEE,” screamed the woman. She continued to writhe, panicking and kicking out. Vickers eased his grip on her arms a little but kept them firmly under his control.

“It’s alright, I’m a doctor. I need to check your face. Please.” His firm but assuring voice seemed to settle her a little and he eased his grip. Her breathing was rapid and he knew that the pain would soon be compounded by the effects of shock. He had to act quickly.

“I just need you to let me lift your hands. I know you’re frightened and in a lot of pain, but I need to stop the flow of blood.” He felt the tension in her hands and arms ease slightly. He slowly moved his hands from her forearms up to her wrists, but as he tried to gently ease her hands away from her face though, he felt her arms tense and lock again.

“It’s alright. I know you’re worried, but…” He turned his head to look behind him. He tried not to sound irate, but he called out; “Where’s that water and the towels? I need them RIGHT now.” The two men re-appeared from the kitchen; one with a bowl of warm water and the other with several towels. Vickers nodded to indicate where he wanted them to put them. He then turned back to the woman and, calmly but clearly, explained what he needed to do.??

“Miss, I’m going to lift your hands now. I will quickly check to see where you’re cut and then I need to clean the wound. It will sting, but we need to stop the flow of blood. Do you understand? Now, someone is going to hand me a wet towel. It’s warm water, which will clean the wound and help the blood to clot.” There was no response. The woman just lay, trembling. He started to slowly pull her hands away from her face as one of the men soaked and then twisted the first towel, ready to hand it to him. As her face was exposed, he could see that her cheek had been slashed. A jagged four-inch laceration ran from just above her left eye, all the way down towards the left-hand corner of her mouth, cutting through her eyeball. He puffed his cheeks out but made sure he exhaled quietly, so as not to panic her further.

“I’m going to lay the first towel on your face. If you want, you can hold it in place, but you MUST put pressure on it. It will sting, but it’s how we’ll stop the bleeding.” With shaking hands, she groped for the warm towel. As she got hold of it, she hesitated; torn between wanting to put it on and feel in control, but afraid of how much it might hurt. She clenched her jaw and put the towel on her face, releasing a guttural howl as the pain tore through her nerves.

“We need to get her to a hospital,” Vickers mumbled to the others, as he reached for another towel.

“How?” whispered one of the men. “If we call an ambulance, they’ll want to know what happened. Then they’ll call the police!” Vickers knew this was true, and he had no desire to be in trouble with the police. The woman also heard.

“No police,” she gasped. She too had no desire to be questioned.

“Then we’ll put her into my car and get her to the surgery at my private practise. There’ll be no-one there at this time of night. I’ll do the stitching,” said Vickers. What choice did he have? What choice did any of them have? If this incident became public, they would all be ruined. If the woman died, they would all be guilty.