Copyright
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019
Copyright © Kerry Barnes 2019
Kerry Barnes 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.
E-book Edition © February 2019 ISBN: 9780008314781
CHAPTER ONE
Detective Lowry hurried down the corridor to the end room of the burns unit. Panting furiously, he impatiently moved aside the two police officers who were on guard duty. He stopped in his tracks as he entered the sterile-looking room. The silence sent his senses alive. He wanted to gasp but quickly put his hand to his mouth. He peered closely at what looked like clingfilm over the girl’s face and shuddered at the horrific sight. Was she once pretty? he wondered. It was so hard to tell. Her face looked like a mask of melted pizza. While one eye was entirely covered with wadding, the other was peeping out through the mangled mess. He jumped when he saw she was awake and looking his way. She must have known that he was staring with morbid curiosity. But, sadly, it would be something she would have to get used to. Her face would never look the same again.
Breathless, he stepped closer. A sheen of sweat covered his brow, his mouth became dry, and his hands trembled. He’d seen many injuries in his thirty years on the force, but this was the worst one ever.
‘Sonya, I’m Detective Lowry. Are you okay to talk? I mean . . . ’
Sonya Richards could barely move her lips with the swelling, but she’d been given a seriously massive number of painkillers to numb the pain. Only a small part of her face could feel intense throbbing. The rest was almost completely burned down to the bone, killing all the nerves.
‘Yes,’ she murmured.
It was hard to take his eyes away from her face, but he had a job to do. Pulling up a chair, he sat close to her bed. His pot belly hung over his suit trousers, and his wheezing increased; he needed to cough to clear his throat.
‘Can you tell me who did this to you?’
She closed her eye and tried to swallow. The acid had not only managed to rip the insides of her mouth but also the larynx. ‘Is my husband dead?’ she croaked, her voice barely audible.
Lowry fidgeted in his seat. The raw flesh around her swollen mouth crinkled, and he winced, almost feeling her pain. ‘Um, have the doctors spoken with you about . . . er . . . ?’
‘No, they said you would talk to me.’ Her voice was a gruff whisper.
He guessed she already knew the answer.
‘I’m sorry. Yes, he died at the scene.’
She nodded, still with her eye closed. ‘Do you think it was quick?’
‘Um, yes, it was. Do you know who did this?’
‘He was selling that drug.’ She paused to take a breath. ‘You know the one. Flakka, it’s called. He changed after that, you know. I never really knew him anymore.’