Those We Know (DI Olivia Austin Book 4) Read online

  Those We Know

  DI Olivia Austin - Book Four

  Nic Roberts

  Copyright © 2021 by Nic Roberts

  * * *

  ‘Those We Know’

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  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Some may be used for parody purposes.

  Any resemblance to events, locales, business establishments, or actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Love to read Detective Thrillers?

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Book Five

  Missed Book One?

  Love to read Detective Thrillers?

  About the Author

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  Those We Know

  A spate of brutal murders and a killer who could be closer to home than one might think....

  Detective Inspector Olivia Austin and her team are pushed to their limits hunting for the dangerous and elusive murderer that has Newquay CID on edge.

  As the case turns personal and one of their own goes missing, the urgency to find the killer steps up and the race to get them before anymore bodies are found comes to a gripping conclusion.

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  Those We Know is Book Four in this fast-paced crime thriller series

  Prologue

  The pain hit her first. Hot and searing, tugging her away from any firm grasp on reality.

  Though every instinct screamed at her to keep her eyes shut, to push away the world until the back of her head stopped throbbing, she forced herself to pry them open.

  Bad idea.

  Darkness. That was all she could see. A scream built deep in her stomach, consuming and terrifying, but she forced it down, letting her lashes feebly shut instead. There wasn’t any fabric against her face; it must be that wherever she was, it was just completely devoid of light.

  Her heart pounded, building her anxiety with each new thud. Surely, it wasn’t normal for her pulse to be this fast?

  Another sensation started to find its way to her awareness, pushing past the ever-present pain from her head. Cold. Against her back and along her legs. Cement? No, it was rougher than that. Stone.

  Where the fuck am I?

  Any attempt to hold onto her observations was quickly dulled by the red-hot pain at the base of her skull. It was ringing, forcing tears from her eyes and a grimace from her mouth.

  She needed to vomit—rid herself of something in this dark, cold hell.

  Her first instinct was to reach up and cover her mouth, but she quickly realised her hands were stuck. Rope cut into her wrists, binding them together behind her back.

  “Ugh,” she groaned, trying to get some sort of leverage against her restraints. Wasn’t there something she could do? Some way to twist her way out? All of the random videos online she’d seen about safety seemed to elude her memory, though.

  She moved her leg. Yes! Untied. One shoe was missing, her foot already starting to feel clammy in the pitch-black cold.

  The sound of movement somewhere in front of her froze her to the spot. Someone was there. Watching her.

  She suddenly understood the saying about a deer in headlights.

  She couldn’t see them, couldn’t tell what they were doing or thinking, but their presence sent shooting streams of ice through her veins.

  Frantically, she struggled against whatever held her arms, pulling and tugging until the skin felt raw.

  “If you’re working on the ropes, they're tied too tight,” a hoarse voice called out from the darkness. “I’ve tried mine already. He knows what he’s doing.”

  Another shot of ice went through her body.

  “Hello?”

  Her voice wavered more than intended, and she winced as the pain in her head gathered once again, threatening to topple her like a rogue wave.

  “What’s happening?” she asked, body already exhausted from her feeble efforts at breaking free.

  Silence.

  “Hello? Are you still there?” She waited for a response, holding her breath in the darkness, desperately hoping that she hadn't imagined the voice. Hoping that the darkness wasn't playing tricks with her.

  “I’m here,” the voice finally admitted. Whoever the stranger was sounded like a woman, and an exhausted one at that.

  “Do you know what’s happening?” Tears welled in her eyes as she asked the question, burning hot against the cold damp air.

  She scraped the far reaches of her mind to find some sense amidst the madness. What did she last remember?

  The dating website. The message she'd received within hours of her profile going live. Getting an Uber, drinks at the bar, and then... And then what? The rest of it was blurred. Flashes of images and lights.

  Ignoring the pain that throbbed around her head, she edged forward into the darkness using her feet to drag her across the cold stone floor. Closer and closer until she touched something.

  Another groan.

  She hoped that she'd reached the owner of the voice.

  “Hey!” she hissed. “Are you hurt?”

  Another groan in response.

  “I'm Katie, by the way.” Her name. Something she could hold onto, something that was hers. “Hey, lady. What the hell happened to you?”

  It was a moment before the person replied.

  “I... I was at home, and then I...” The woman's voice trailed off at the sound of heavy metal clanking from somewhere they couldn’t see.

  She held her breath, scared to breathe for fear she might be found. Her body sagged, trying to make herself as small as possible.

  “He’s coming... back...” her companion whispered, clearly labouring for each breath. What had happened to her? “Listen, I’m a police officer. We’re going… to be okay. Just keep...”

  Somewhere further along a door slammed open accompanied by the sound of footsteps echoing around them.

  “Just keep quiet.”

  Fuck.

  1

  Olivia hated it.

  She’d called Dean immediately after she got off the phone with Clara, fumbling throughout her bedroom to get dressed as she insisted her partner get as many units over to Diana’s flat as soon as possible.

  Trying to throw clothes on in a hurry with a minor concussion felt awful, as it turned out.

  And the whole time, she glared daggers through Constable Andrew Shaw whenever he attempted to help.

  “Just
help me get out the door,” she had muttered to him once Dean had hung up. She could see the momentary hurt in his eyes, but she didn’t have much patience for other people’s feelings at the moment. “I should just fucking drive myself,” she cried out, marching toward the door.

  “Olivia,” Andrew had warned, his voice dark for once as he caught her wrist in his hand. His shirt hung open, and he only had one shoe on, but it wasn’t like he was delaying much, either. She just couldn’t sit still. “You know you can’t do that.”

  “Watch me,” she had snarled, yanking her wrist from his grasp, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave without him. A sob threatened to tear her lips apart, but she swallowed it instead, crossing her arms in order to dig her nails into her skin, tight and claw-like.

  The benefit of having a constable stay the night (aside from the sick pleasure Olivia still felt between her legs, even in the midst of her living nightmare) was a quick drive through town, sirens giving the two a pass to dart through the countryside. The blare disoriented Olivia more than she’d care to admit, each second an echo chamber of agony inside her head, but she gritted her teeth through the searing pain.

  Olivia had practically run to Clara when they pulled up in front of PC Diana Hershel’s building, her concussed head feebly protesting. The tech analyst had been a mess—how could she not be? She wore a bright green silk top and a very on-trend black skirt. Olivia could tell that she had done her makeup immaculately before arriving at the building, though streaks of black mascara ran down her smooth mahogany cheeks.

  “It’s not your fault,” Olivia assured her, wrapping her arms tightly around her friend.

  “I know. It’s that bastard’s,” Clara growled despite the hot tears that rolled down her cheeks and onto Olivia’s suit.

  “We’re going to get him,” she whispered before releasing her friend, pulling back to look around. “Can you take me inside?”

  Clara nodded, pulling Olivia into the building and up a set of stairs to an unassuming door. The building seemed quaint, unremarkable. With a twinge of something, Olivia realised that it reminded her of her first flat after she’d completed her police training.

  Clara had been right when she had described the flat to Olivia; Diana’s belongings had been tossed everywhere, papers and books scattered across the floor. A small pool of dark dried blood sat just beneath the corner of the kitchen counter. Olivia knew it wasn’t enough to be too deadly, but it wrung a knot in her stomach, nonetheless.

  The killer had spooned some of the blood into his hands in order to write I’VE GOT HER, PAY ATTENTION, in bold sloppy letters across the counter. Olivia’s stomach lurched at the sight of it.

  “Do you have any way to track her phone?” Olivia asked, frantically snapping gloves on so she could wade through the scene unobstructed.

  “Already tried. It’s off, SIM card is out. The bastard knows how to cover his tracks.” Olivia realised she didn’t think she’d ever seen Clara this angry. Frustrated, yes, righteous, absolutely, but the rage in her friend’s eyes made her pause.

  “Hey, we’re going to get him,” Olivia promised. “And we’re going to get her back.” She squeezed Clara’s shoulder gently.

  “I know,” the tech analyst replied, her face crumpling in anguish. Olivia scooped her friend into her arms once more, squeezing intently.

  “Diana’s strong,” Olivia continued, smiling even as grief pulled at her own heart, tugging it deeper and deeper into her chest. “And if we’re right and this fucker works at the station, we’ll get him before he even realises we’re closing in. We’ve already started narrowing down the list.”

  Clara stood there, clutching back at Olivia as her friend held her, and she recognised this fear, knew the terror of a loved one in danger. And though she hoped against hope that it didn’t come to it, if Clara were to lose Diana, she would be there for her.

  The realisation tightened Olivia’s throat even as it quieted the unnecessary distractions around her. She and Clara hadn’t talked about Rhys too much—it felt difficult for her to share that part of her life when she was in the middle of starting a new life in Cornwall—but the tech analyst knew enough. Plus, it wouldn’t surprise Olivia if she had done some digging on her own.

  The detective reeled a bit as she remembered the intensity of that first day after Rhys had passed. Even in the depth of sedatives and strapped to a hospital bed, her grief had threatened to swallow her whole.

  She wasn’t going to let Clara go through the same thing.

  “Whoa.”

  Olivia had completely forgotten that Andrew had come with her, and as she turned to see him, his surprise brought her back to the moment.

  “PC Shaw,” Clara blurted out, her eyebrows raising in surprise. Had it been under different circumstances, Olivia was positive she’d be on the receiving end of a litany of glances. Instead, Clara just looked off, eyes not quite focused on anything.

  “Andrew,” Liv continued getting his attention. “If you could secure the perimeter and coordinate with Detective Lawrence to get a clean picture on the flat, that would be incredibly helpful.”

  She wanted to smack herself as she spoke. She was Shaw’s superior; she didn’t need to coat an order in flowery language.

  He simply nodded and sulked back downstairs, though not before giving the flat one more glance over, doing little to hide his surprise.

  “Listen, once Dean gets here, we’ll take you offsite and start investigating. Until then,” Olivia gave out a large sigh. “Is there anything that you don’t want the SOCOs to see?” Her stomach twisted as she asked the question; it was directly against protocol to obstruct evidence, but she needed to offer that option. It was Clara, after all.

  Her friend’s eyes, still full of confusion, darted across Olivia’s face, trying to search for answers. They widened as she understood the meaning of Olivia’s question.

  “No, no I wouldn’t want to disturb the scene. I—” Clara’s voice faltered. “God, the whole station is going to know, aren’t they?” She buried her head in her hands as she asked, slightly shaking her head.

  “I’m sorry they have to find out this way,” Olivia replied, deciding it would be worse to sugar coat it. It wasn’t as if there was anyone who would be awful about Clara and Hershel being together; more, once it was out, there was no going back. Secrets were hard to keep at Newquay. She understood why Clara and PC Hershel were trying their best to avoid scrutiny.

  “We were planning on telling everyone soon, anyway.” Clara shrugged, wiping away at her face.

  Olivia offered her palm, purposefully meeting Clara’s eyes for permission. Her friend nodded, and Olivia started gently brushing her fingers across the tech analyst’s cheeks, tidying up her makeup as best she could.

  “I must look awful.” She sighed, her lips tightening into a tight purse.

  “You look,” Olivia sighed, thinking over her word choice carefully, “distressed, but also surprisingly put together, all things considered.”

  Her friend gave her a half-hearted grin.

  “Did you notice anything missing?” Olivia asked, looking around the room once more. Clara shook her head.

  “Maybe a picture or two from the wall, but I think most everything’s just on the ground.”

  He’s changing his M.O., Olivia thought to herself. With previous victims, the killer had been focused on obliterating their identity, removing anything that made them different or unique. This had been hasty, erratic. And he was less concerned with being thorough and more dedicated to a mess. Which either meant he was rushed or angry—or both.

  Olivia’s train of thought was interrupted by a knock at the door. She turned to see none other than Detective Inspector Dean Lawrence, her partner and good friend. Relief washed over her face as she saw him, his dark curly hair and brown eyes like coming home.

  “Dean,” she exhaled, a hopeful smile lifting her spirits at the sight of him.

  Except something was off.

  She l
ocked eyes with him. His eyes were furious, glaring into her.

  He was angry.

  Why was he angry?

  2

  “A word, Olivia?” His question came out past gritted teeth, and Olivia did her best not to let it shred her on the inside.

  “I’ll let you two have the space,” Clara muttered, ducking her head to sneak past Dean without having to meet his gaze.

  “Clara,” he called out as she passed him. She glanced up furtively. “I’m truly sorry that Diana is missing. I know you two are close. We’ll find her, I promise.” His voice was soft with her, and if the scenario had been different, Olivia would have done her best to choke down a chuckle as she looked to Clara. She couldn’t believe that Dean still hadn’t caught on. He could be so daft sometimes.

  Except whatever he was angry about, he was furious. The best she could do was give Clara a half smile before watching her friend disappear around the corner toward the entrance of the building. It’s probably good for her to get some air, she thought to herself.

  Dean stared Olivia down as he waited for the sound of Clara’s receding footsteps to disappear. Everything about the situation was bizarre. Why is he giving me that look? Dread festered in the pit of her stomach, corrosive and sharp.