Scimitar (A Kate Redman Mystery Read online

  Table Of Contents

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  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

  Requiem (A Kate Redman Mystery: Book 2)

  A Prescription For Death (The Asharton Manor Mysteries: Book 2) – A Novella

  A Blessing From The Obeah Man

  More Books By Celina Grace…

  Hushabye (A Kate Redman Mystery: Book 1)

  Imago (A Kate Redman Mystery: Book 3)

  Snarl (A Kate Redman Mystery: Book 4)

  Chimera (A Kate Redman Mystery: Book 5)

  Echo (A Kate Redman Mystery: Book 6)

  Creed (A Kate Redman Mystery: Book 7)

  Sanctuary (A Kate Redman Mystery: Book 8)

  Valentine (A Kate Redman Mystery Novella)

  Death at the Manor

  A Prescription for Death

  The Rhythm of Murder

  Number Thirteen, Manor Close

  Mental Health Charities

  Acknowledgements

  Scimitar

  A Kate Redman Mystery: Book 12

  Celina Grace

  Scimitar

  Copyright © 2019 by Celina Grace All rights reserved.

  First Edition: January 2020

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  The Kate Redman Mystery Series

  In chronological order

  Hushabye

  Requiem

  Imago

  Snarl

  Chimera

  Joy (a short story)

  Echo

  Creed

  Sanctuary

  Valentine (a novella)

  Siren

  Pulse

  Descent (a novella)

  Fury

  Tasteful (a novella)

  Scimitar

  This book is for my dear friend, David Hall

  1st April 1973 – 14th August 2019

  I love you and miss you, mate, so, so much

  Author’s Note

  I began writing Scimitar in 2017, intending it to be the 11th in the Kate Redman Mysteries series. At the time I began, there had been many terrorist attacks in the UK, and the more I wrote, the more uneasy I began to feel about it. It seemed morally wrong to write something that was essentially entertainment, about something that in real life at that time was causing people enormous grief and distress.

  I decided instead to go with a different plot, and wrote and published Fury instead.

  Sadly, terrorist attacks are now a part of life and so I decided to press on with the book this year, because it was a story I wanted to tell.

  In August 2019, one of my dearest friends David Hall, as close as a brother and my friend for 26 years, took his own life. I’d begun rewriting Scimitar by then and in the utterly devasting aftermath of his suicide, I was struck by the almost prescient nature of what I’d already written: about sudden, shocking, violent death, about grief and bereavement, about the bonds of friendship and family. I won’t lie; this has been a hard, hard book to write and this is why it’s taken so long to be completed.

  Oddly, the first time I heard from Dave that he was feeling suicidal was the night of the London Bridge terrorist attack (3rd June 2017). I’d met him in South London and was due to meet another mutual friend (of equally long acquaintance) afterwards at London Bridge. I was so shaken and upset by Dave’s state of mental and physical health that I decided to leave London Bridge early. I missed being caught up in the attack by nothing more than an hour. There but for the grace of God…

  Anyway, this is a long-winded way of saying that I’m going to donate a percentage of the profits from the sales of Scimitar to several mental health charities (details at the back of the book).

  Thank you.

  Celina Grace

  PS. After I’d written the words above, there was another terrorist attack in London, at London Bridge (again!). Whilst obviously reeling in horror at the death and destruction, there is something in reading that several incredibly brave civilians fought back and overpowered the terrorist using just (I’m not kidding) a five foot long narwhal horn and a fire extinguisher. Sometimes, fiction just can’t live up to real life. A big shout out to those brave chaps; the world needs more of you.

  Prologue

  Sunlight glittered off the waters of the Thames. Waves lapped and sparkled as boats and ferries churned their way through the water. The bright, clear blue sky was wisped here and there with faint white cloud. Chloe Wapping leant against the parapet of Waterloo Bridge, waving as a boatload of tourists passed underneath her, smiling slightly self-consciously. She brought her sunglasses down from where they had been pushed into her hair and slipped them onto her nose before turning to her companion.

  “What a day.”

  “Gorgeous,” Roman Whitely agreed. “We’re set for an Indian summer, I heard.”

  “Huh.” Chloe leant in for a kiss. “I remember they said that last year. ‘Stock up on the charcoal’ and what did we get? Three weeks of rain.”

  “Well, let’s enjoy it for now.” Roman wrapped his arm around her waist. “Shall we go and get some lunch?”

  Chloe concurred with his agreeable suggestion. They wandered over the bridge, up Villiers Street and onto the Charing Cross Road, holding hands. It was their first weekend away together, although they’d been dating for several months. Chloe, a detective sergeant in Abbeyford, a West Country town, was permanently busy with work and Roman, who worked as a chef, was equally wedded to his job. Chloe looked over at him as they walked through the sunny, busy streets, and smiled.

  Roman caught the smile. “What?”

  Chloe squeezed his hand. “Just appreciating the moment. It’s
been a long time coming.”

  “Hasn’t it just?” Roman squeezed back. They meandered past Charing Cross station, heading for Covent Garden. “We might have a drink in that pub in the market first, what do you reckon?”

  Privately, Chloe thought that was just something that overseas tourists would do but she was happy and relaxed enough not to point that out. I’m learning, she thought. She’d been single for so long that she’d been worried about how she would cope in a relationship. With Roman, though, it was easy; such a contrast to the drama-fuelled couplings she’d had in the past. Not to mention her short-lived marriage. Roman was calm and confident and laid-back, so much so that sometimes Chloe wondered if that was a trait that might come to annoy her, later on. For now, though, it worked perfectly.

  Filled with a rush of affection for him, waiting to cross Charing Cross Road, she pulled him closer and raised herself on tiptoes to kiss him. For a moment, there was nobody else in the world; no honking taxis, noisy buses, crowded pavements—nobody else in the world apart from the two of them, lip-locked and lost in each other.

  Chloe drew back, a little breathless, and smiling. “Where—”

  She began the sentence but never ended it. Roman’s eyes widened, his face contracting. Then he pushed her, hard—so hard she flew backwards onto the pavement, hitting it with such force that for a moment she thought she’d broken her back. Her elbow scraped the concrete, a zip of pain shooting up her arm. Tumbling, her other hand hit the concrete, her fingers hitting the ground so hard they were forced back. Chloe screamed, rolling, until she managed to get a grip on herself and on the pavement.

  “What the hell—”

  She was breathless with shock, her words coming out shaky and indistinct. Chloe staggered to her feet, adrenaline spiking within her. She looked for Roman; to scream at him, to accuse him, to ask why he had done such a thing? Chloe didn’t know. She looked and beheld a scene of horror, so much so that for a moment she believed she was hallucinating, that she’d hit her head when she fell.

  Bodies littered the pavement like broken dolls. So many broken dolls. Blood was spattered over the concrete; Chloe could see it steaming. Gasping, she looked wildly about her, looking for Roman, not seeing him, seeing only a trail of destruction and carnage. Towards Trafalgar Square, she could see the back of a white van as it ploughed through people on the pavement, bodies tossed aside like confetti. Screams and moans rose around her as the survivors began to comprehend what had happened. Blinking, trying to take it in, Chloe watched as the white van disappeared from her view. Sobbing, she began to stumble forward, frantically scanning the people lying injured or dead on the ground, searching for Roman, cradling her injured hand, arms wrapped across her stomach as if to hold herself together.

  I should stop, I should help. She told herself that, even as she sped up, whipping her head from side to side. The pavements blurred before her eyes in a surreal tableau. I should stop, I should help. But she couldn’t; she couldn’t make herself stop to help the middle-aged man with the catastrophic head injuries who lay half on the pavement and half in the road. She couldn’t stop to help the crying woman who clutched a screaming toddler to her, one little leg sheeting blood over the woman’s pink sundress. She couldn’t stop because she needed to find Roman. Chloe slowed and bent double, stomach cramping, and vomited onto the dusty, blood-spattered pavement, gasping and shaking. Then she straightened up and limped on, and on, and on.

  Distantly, from the direction of the square, came the sound of gunshots.

  Chapter One

  “So, what do you think?”

  Kate Redman took another look at the red-brick Edwardian townhouse and tapped her chin, thinking. She took in the original stained-glass panel of the front door, the sagging wisteria that grew thickly over the porch and the potted bay tree by the front door. “It’s lovely…”

  Anderton gave her a wry look. “But?”

  Kate caught his hand. “It’s nothing, it’s lovely—it’s just that…” She fell silent.

  Anderton, through long acquaintance, obviously knew there was something, but he was wise enough to remain silent. How to tell him what she was really thinking? How could someone who started off as I did end up in a house as—as affluent and middle-class as that?

  Kate shook herself mentally. “It’s a gorgeous house,” she said. “But a bit out of our budget, don’t you think?”

  Anderton shrugged. “There’s always ways and means. Anyway, that’s the last viewing for today. Shall we go for an early dinner?”

  “Sounds good.” Kate snuggled her head against his shoulder as he pulled her closer. They wandered back down the leafy, quiet street towards Anderton’s car.

  “Where do you fancy?” Anderton asked as he opened the door for her. Although Kate used to decry them as sexist, she had grown to appreciate his old-fashioned manners. “The club? Black Cat? Or somewhere new?”

  “I don’t mind—” Kate began, as she heard her mobile beep with a notification. Digging it out of her handbag, she saw it was a news update. Instantly comprehending what it said, she sighed. “Oh, no…”

  “What?”

  Kate held the phone out to him. “There’s been a terrorist attack in London.”

  Anderton cursed. “Shit. Another one? A bomb?”

  Kate opened the link in the text and scanned the webpage headline. “Ten dead, at least. Oh, God, how awful. No, not a bomb, another van attack…” She read on further. “Two suspects, both shot dead by police within minutes. God.” Feeling as if she couldn’t bear to read any more, she put her phone away and stared grimly through the windscreen.

  “I wouldn’t have The Met’s job for all the money in the world.” Anderton glanced over at her and patted her knee as he drove.

  “Me neither.”

  Both were silent for a while. What more was there to say? Condemn the terrorists, commiserate with the victims, say something courageous, announce that love was stronger than hate…

  Until the next time. Kate propped her chin on her hand, elbow resting on the car door. When would this ever end? She thought of the news reports they would watch later that night, the same old footage as if replayed from the last time; crime scene tape, the blinking blue lights of the emergency vehicles, interviews with shocked survivors, the obligatory shots of stoic Londoners going about their business, determined not to show fear. The defiant hashtags that would trend for a few days; #weareone #lovenothate #hanginthereLondon. The solidarity memes that would flood Facebook and Twitter and Instagram for a week or two. The blaring headlines of tomorrow’s newspapers, the horror of the photographs that would grace the front page. For a while, gradually fading away, until the next time…

  “So, where did you want to eat?” Anderton asked, quietly.

  Kate had lost her appetite. “Let’s just go to the club.”

  “Okay.”

  They drove to Anderton’s club in the centre of town and parked. As they climbed the steps of the Georgian townhouse, Kate caught sight of a tall blonde woman across the other side of the road and raised her hand to wave, thinking it was her friend and colleague Chloe. A second glance showed her she was mistaken. A moment later, and she gasped and looked at Anderton, stricken.

  He frowned. “What’s the matter?”

  Kate’s stomach was knotting. “Chloe’s in London this weekend. She went with her boyfriend.”

  Anderton’s face tightened. “I’m sure she’s fine. Just give her a ring.”

  Kate was already fumbling for her mobile. She brought up Chloe’s number with shaking fingers and hit the dial symbol. It went straight to voicemail. Kate swore and tried again. Same response. This time, she left a message, trying not to sound as worried as she felt. “Chloe, it’s Kate. Just seen the news, hope you’re okay. Just check in so I know you are, okay, bird?”

  Anderton took her free hand. “The chances of her being caugh
t up in that are miniscule, Kate. Do you know how many people there are in London at any one time?”

  “Millions, I know but—she was going to the West End…” Kate thought of something and jabbed at the Facebook icon on her phone’s screen. A quick scan of her news feed, hoping against hope to see those blessed words: Chloe Wapping has marked herself as ‘Safe’ during the attack…

  There was nothing; nothing except the comments from friends on the event that were already being posted. Kate opened up WhatsApp and typed a message into the Abbeyford CID group that had recently been set up. Chloe, are you okay? Anyone heard from Chloe?

  As they sat down to dinner, replies to her message began to pop up. Nobody had heard from Chloe. DC Martin Liu messaged Sure she’s fine, aren’t you Chloe? Check in, tho. DCI Olbeck wrote They’ve already set up a hotline for relatives, might be worth ringing? I’ll find the number.

  Their orders arrived but Kate only picked at her plate. Anderton had been sitting opposite her but after watching her push her food around her plate for ten minutes, he got up and sat next to her in the booth, pulling her close to him.

  “She’ll be fine,” he said gently.

  Kate tried to smile. “I know. It’s just—you know sometimes I get a feeling about things?”

  Anderton didn’t scoff. He looked worried. “Yes. I know.”

  “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “I’m sure she’s absolutely fine, Kate.”

  Kate pushed her plate away. “Can we go?”

  “Of course.”

  They drove back to Kate’s house in silence. Kate tried Chloe’s number again—and again. She left another message on her voicemail, not bothering this time to disguise the worry in her voice.

  Inside Kate’s house, they composed themselves for bed, solemnly and in silence. Kate knew Anderton was giving her worried looks but she couldn’t help herself from checking her phone every other minute. In bed, Anderton drew her close to him and she put her face against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart with some comfort.