Somewhere to Hide (The Estate, Book 1) (42 page)
Read Somewhere to Hide (The Estate, Book 1) Online
Authors: Mel Sherratt
ALSO BY MEL SHERRATT
Book 3, The Estate series
Kindle KDP (UK) top 10 bestseller of 2012
Word of mouth is crucial for any author to succeed. If you enjoyed reading Somewhere to Hide, please could I ask for a moment of your time to leave a review before you close the book? It would make all the difference and would be very much appreciated. Thank you so much.
You can also
join my mailing list here
to keep updated on future releases of my books. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ever since I can remember, I’ve been a meddler of words. Born and raised in Stoke on Trent, Staffordshire, I used the city as a backdrop for my first novel, TAUNTING THE DEAD, and it went on to be a Kindle #1 bestseller. I couldn’t believe my eyes when it became the number 8 UK Kindle KDP bestselling books of 2012.
My writing has come under a few different headings - grit-lit, sexy crime, erotic crime thriller, whydunnit, police procedural, emotional thriller to name a few. I like writing about fear and emotion – the cause and effect of crime – what makes a character do something. I also like to add a mixture of topics to each book. Working as a housing officer for eight years gave me the background to create a fictional estate with good and bad characters, and they are all perfect for murder and mayhem.
You can find out more at
melsherratt.co.uk
on twitter as
@writermels
And on
Facebook
Note from the author
As soon as people know that I was once a housing officer and that I’ve written a novel on a housing estate, the next question is always ‘is it based on an estate you use to work on?’ That’s usually followed by ‘have you written about any real people in the books?’ The answer to both questions is no.
The idea behind the series is there is good and bad in everyone, no matter what their background and upbringing. Everyone has a dark side; even the most dangerous people have a heart. Josie Mellor is my urban angel. I wanted a character who had to become non-judgemental, who had to distance herself from reality when she went home to her ‘normal’ life. I wanted to show that, no matter what our circumstances, underneath we are all the same. I suppose it’s down to the old adage, nature versus nurture.
Somewhere to Hide is the first in The Estate series. In the second book,
Behind a Closed Door
, you’ll find not only appearances from Josie but some of the other characters pop up too.
My hopes for the series? I’d like readers to go through emotional journeys with the women from The Mitchell Estate and feel happy for them when they ‘better’ themselves too. I want to show hidden crimes, things that happen to someone else behind closed doors – gritty content but happy endings, hope, encouragement.
Read on for the prologue and chapter one of Behind a Closed Door
PROLOGUE
Of all the shenanigans that occurred on the estate, nothing sent shivers down Josie Mellor’s spine more than a no-response call.
‘Josie, it’s Trevor. The alarm’s going off at 5 Nursery Lane. No one’s answering.’
‘But that’s Edie Rutter!’ Josie grabbed her car keys,
the phone still against her ear.
‘Her son can’t get there for about an hour,’ Trevor continued. ‘Any chance of you checking on her for me?’
‘I’m already on my way.’
It took Josie less than five minutes to drive to Edie’s home. She banged on the front door and lifted up the letterbox to shout through.
‘Edie! It’s Josie. Are you there?’
She looked through the window but could see no one in the front room. She raced around to the back and stood on her toes to look through the kitchen window. There didn’t seem anything amiss, although she couldn’t see the floor from where she was standing. She moved to the bedroom window, took off a woollen glove, and gave it a firm rap.
‘Edie?’
Cursing her short legs, Josie moved aside a terracotta plant pot, jumped up onto the low wall and looked inside. Screwing up her eyes, she tried to focus through the pattern of the netting.
In desperation, she began to lift up some of the pots around the tiny patio area. At her third attempt, she found what she was looking for. Moments later, she unlocked Edie’s front door and stepped in. Please God, she prayed, don’t let it be gruesome. Let her be asleep.
The television was on low as she stepped into the tiny porch. Through the slightly open door, she could see a foot in a pink slipper. Pushing it open, her hand shot to her mouth. Wide eyes stared straight at her. Edie was lying on her back, her head turned towards the door. There was a pool of blood around her ear.
Josie gagged. There was no life in Edie’s eyes but she looked terrified. The buzzer for the lifeline system still hung round her neck; Josie had fitted it when Edie’s husband had died. Alfred Rutter had left Edie broken-hearted and distraught – leaving Josie with the job of visiting her regularly to see that she was coping.
‘God bless you, Edie Rutter,’ Josie whispered into the silence of the room. It was then that she noticed the mess. The living room was littered with Edie’s possessions; the lamp and its occasional table lay on its side, photographs were ripped from their frames and discarded, glass shards sprinkled like confetti, and the mahogany sideboard stood with its doors wide open, its contents slung across the carpet. And what was that on the poker? She shuddered.
A noise behind her made her jump.
‘Fucking hell, Andy, you scared the shit out of me! Couldn’t you have knocked to let me know you’re here?’
‘Sorry, the door was open. I heard the call and then I saw your car outside.’
Tears streamed down Josie’s cheeks. Her hand shook as she pointed at Edie. ‘She’s dead. And I don’t think it was an accident.’
Andy took off his police helmet and a glove. He checked Edie’s neck for a pulse. Then he held his palm in front of her mouth. But there was no sign of life.
‘What the hell happened in here, Andy?’ Josie asked. ‘It’s one thing to rob the old dears but another to take their lives as they try to defend what’s theirs.’
‘There are some nasty bastards out there. We can’t protect everyone, no matter how hard we try.’
‘How long do you think she’s been there?’ Josie glanced at the clock on the mantel piece. It was only nine thirty-two. ‘All night, maybe?’
‘Early hours, I suspect. She must have come round enough to raise the alarm before she died.’
Josie pointed to the poker lying on the rug, knowing better than to touch it. ‘There’s blood on that.’
Andy nodded before reaching for his radio. ‘I’ll get the team out, set the wheels in motion.’
When Josie didn’t move, Andy placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes.
‘How can anyone do that?’ she asked. ‘Even if it was an accident, someone left her there to die. That’s beyond belief. It’s so cruel.’
Andy sighed. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’
‘What?’
‘This is the Mitchell Estate.’
CHAPTER ONE
Josie Mellor threw her car keys onto her desk and collapsed in a huddle on her chair.
‘What is it with me and the Bradley family? That’s five more complaints I’ve received in as many days. I was hoping after I’d been to visit Gina last week that the twins would behave themselves.’
‘Your three-fifteen’s here,’ Debbie Wilkins shouted over. ‘I’ve put her in interview cubicle one. She seems a bit stressed.’
‘A bit stressed?’ Josie retorted. ‘She ought to try finding dead people and dealing with the aftermath like I did with Mrs Rutter last month. And before I can take a minute to catch my breath this afternoon, I’ve got to deal with all
this
.’ She pushed aside the pile of phone messages on her desk that had grown considerably since she’d left it two hours ago. ‘I’m sure our tenants think I have the answers to all their problems.’
‘Poor Edie Rutter,’ Debbie said as she joined her. ‘I really liked her. She was a lovely old sort.’
Josie had been distraught when Edie had been found dead with head injuries in her bungalow a few weeks ago. The place had been trashed and a huge sum of money, among other things, had been stolen. But Mrs Rutter’s daughter had been particularly upset that a pearl necklace with a clasp in the shape of a butterfly was missing. It had been a family heirloom for years. There had been no leads at all, not even with the press coverage it had received for a couple of weeks afterwards.
‘It doesn’t seem fair, does it?’ Josie could feel tears forming again. ‘People shouldn’t die all alone. I met her son at Mr Barber’s funeral. He thought a lot of his parents, not like some of the families on the estate.’
‘Cluck, cluck, Mother Hen,’ Ray Harman chirped up. ‘It’s a good job everyone has Josie Mellor.’
Josie pulled a face at Ray. ‘Yes, it is, because if it was up to you, there would be no Mitchell Estate, right?’
Ray nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose. ‘You got me.’
‘Yes, I got you a long time ago, you smarmy git,’ she muttered under her breath.
‘You’ve only yourself to blame, though. If you would insist on spoon-feeding the morons, then what do you expect?’
Josie ignored him. She’d known a lot of people like Ray during her eighteen years working for Mitchell Housing Association. Ray was in his late forties and had been a housing officer for longer than Josie, yet he didn’t mince his words when it came to job dissatisfaction. Between the two of them, they covered the sprawling estate, along with Doug Pattison, the maintenance officer. Doug looked after reporting all the repairs needed at the properties, but would always offer to help out if Josie didn’t feel safe going to a visit alone. Ray, however, would be far too busy checking if garden hedges were an inch higher than they should be or whether Ms-Anderson-at-number-fifty-two’s skirt needed to be an inch higher than it was.