ROZ WATKINS is the author of the DI Meg Dalton crime series, which is set in the Peak District where Roz lives with her partner and a menagerie of demanding animals.
Her first book, The Devil’s Dice, was shortlisted for the CWA Debut Dagger Award, and has been optioned for TV.
Roz studied engineering at Cambridge University before training in patent law. She was a partner in a firm of patent attorneys in Derby, but this has absolutely nothing to do with there being a dead one in her first novel.
In her spare time, Roz likes to walk in the Peak District, scouting out murder locations.
Copyright
An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019
Copyright © Roz Watkins 2019
Roz Watkins asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © April 2019 ISBN: 9780008214661
Praise for Roz Watkins
‘The Devil’s Dice is a terrific debut by Roz Watkins; it teems with shivery atmosphere and introduces a cop quietly different from most of the women detectives in British crime fiction today.’
The Times Crime Book of the Month
‘A touch of Agatha Christie, a dash of Ann Cleeves’s Vera and a suitably moody setting in the Peaks . . . bring a formidable newcomer to British crime writing.’
Daily Mail
‘A fascinating debut . . . Watkins brilliantly balances superstition and scepticism in this clever first novel.’
Sunday Times
‘A fabulous book. I can’t wait to meet DI Meg Dalton again.’
B A Paris
‘An outstanding debut. The Devil’s Dice had me gripped from the start.’
Stephen Booth
‘Twisty, creepy, funny, and you may shed a tear too. More DI Meg Dalton please!’
Caz Frear
‘A page-turning debut featuring a fabulous lead character.’
Susi Holliday
‘A fascinating debut with a deliciously old school mystery at its heart. I can’t wait to see what Watkins does next!’
Angela Clarke
‘A pacy, twisty read that had me on the edge of my seat . . . what a brilliant debut!’
K.L. Slater
‘Exceptional debut. Beautifully written and observed crime novel, with such well-rounded maturity it was a pleasure to read from start to finish. Glad it is a series so that we all have a lot more to look forward to.’
Amanda Robson
For Rob.
(I still think we could have got away with a talking dog.)
Prologue
She lay on her back, hard metal under her, so cold it felt like being punched. The smell of antiseptic scorched her throat. She couldn’t move.
She tried to scream. To tell them not to do it. She was still alive, still conscious, still feeling. It shouldn’t be happening. But no sound came.
The man had a knife. He was approaching with a knife. Silver glinted in the cold light. Why could she still see? This was wrong.
With all her will, she tried to shrink from him. He took a step closer.
Another man stood by. Dressed in green. Calm. They were all calm. How could they be so calm? She must be crying, tears streaming down her face, even if her voice and her legs and her arms wouldn’t work.
Please, please, please don’t. Inside her head she was begging. Please stop. I can feel. I’m still here. I’m still me. No words came out.
The terror filled her; filled the room.
The knife came closer. She couldn’t move. It was happening.
The touch of steel on her skin. Finally a scream.
One of the men placed his hand on her mouth.
The other man pushed towards her heart.
1.
The woman grabbed my hand and pulled me deeper into the woods. Her voice rasped with panic. ‘She was running towards the gorge. The place the locals call Dead Girl’s Drop.’
That didn’t sound good, particularly given the Derbyshire talent for understatement. I shouted over the wind and the cracking of frozen twigs underfoot. ‘What exactly did you see?’
‘I know what you’re thinking, but I didn’t imagine it.’ Strands of dark hair whipped her face. She must have only been in her forties, but she looked worn, like something that had been washed too many times or left out in the rain. She tugged a similarly faded, speckled greyhound behind her. ‘I was expecting proper police,’ she added.