Bad Moon Rising (#1 - D.I. Paolo Storey Crime Series)
Read Bad Moon Rising (#1 - D.I. Paolo Storey Crime Series) Online
Authors: Frances di Plino
Tags: #Fiction & Literature
Bad Moon Rising
Frances di Plino
Contents
Copyright © 2012 by Frances di Plino
Cover design by Jane Dixon-Smith
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Crooked Cat Publishing except for brief quotations used for promotion or in reviews. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Printed in the United Kingdom
First Black Line Edition, Crooked {Cat} Publishing Ltd. 2012
Discover us at
www.crookedcatpublishing.com
Contact Information:
[email protected]
This book is dedicated to my parents. Antonio, whose Italian ancestry inspired both my pen name and Detective Inspector Paolo Storey’s lineage and Elizabeth Rose (1934-2011), who would have been thrilled to see this novel published.
About the Author
Frances di Plino is the pen name of Lorraine Mace, humour columnist for Writing Magazine.
She is also a deputy editor of Words with JAM, writes fiction for the women’s magazine market, features and photo-features for monthly glossy magazines, and is a writing competition judge for Writers’ Forum. Winner of a Petra Kenney International Poetry Award, she has been placed in numerous creative writing and poetry competitions.
Lorraine, a tutor for Writers Bureau, is the author of the Writers Bureau course, Marketing Your Book, and the co-author, with Maureen Vincent-Northam, of the Writer’s ABC Checklist (Accent Press).
Bad Moon Rising
"I loved this tense, fast-paced and gripping novel. A brilliant debut."
Amanda Hodgkinson
New York Times Bestselling author of 22 Britannia Road
“sensational, a complete hit... truly thrilling... pure brilliance”
Bethan Townsend
Judging Covers Reviews
“read-at-a-sitting page turner”
Patrick Forsyth
The Woman Writer
“With memorable characters and a plot that keeps the reader guessing right to the very end, Frances di Plino’s debut novel, Bad Moon Rising, will more than satisfy any fan of good crime writing.”
Jo Reed
Author of the Blood Dancer series of novels
C
HAPTER
O
NE
“Please, no. Oh God. No more. Please.”
Excited by her pleading, he pounded his fists into her face. He craved release, but couldn’t give in. Not yet. Not while she could defile him. Only when her swollen lids meant she could no longer see did he allow himself to take her throat between his hands and free her soul.
He waited for her death throes to pass, then relaxed his grip and moved down the bed to suck and caress her breasts. His heart pounded. Now. He had to move now before it was too late. Shifting position, he straddled her body. Arching his back, he emptied his hatred onto her breasts.
Shuddering, he slid from the bed and fell to the floor.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “So sorry, so sorry, so…”
His throat constricted. As tears flowed, he screamed. Thrashing wildly, he knocked against the chair holding the woman’s clothes. Her tights fell across his neck and he panicked, clawing himself free.
Fucking whore!
“God forgive me,” he sobbed. “She made me. Forgive me, God. Forgive me.”
Crawling to the corner cupboard, he opened the door and reached for the scourge. He braced himself, then flicked the nine-tailed lash, the tiny spiked ends digging into his flesh.
Each strike lifted him closer to purity, until he collapsed. Exhausted, he slept.
He woke at first light, ready for the next stage. Filling a bowl with water, he brought it to the bed, then scraped under each of the woman’s nails before washing most of her body in the warm water. He swabbed above and below her breasts, careful not to disturb his gift, the sign of her salvation. From under the bed he brought out a small black leather casket. He removed a fine-toothed comb and ran it through her pubic hair, placing the loose hairs in the envelope he’d already marked with a number four.
***
Detective Inspector Paolo Storey hunched deeper into his sheepskin. The cold suited his mood. A biting wind, typical for the dying days of February, gusted across the front of the criminal courts and played havoc with the press microphones. One of the reporters dropped his dictaphone. It bounced once before landing in the gutter. A spasm of disgust crossed his face as he reached down and brought it up, dripping with sludge. For the first time that day, Paolo felt like smiling. He didn’t like reporters, and that one in particular enjoyed knocking the police.
He couldn’t understand why the press considered it was okay to have a go at the people trying to put criminals away. Lowlife cons had more rights than their victims. He tried to contain his anger but he was too mad at the world in general, and justice in particular.
Paolo and his Detective Sergeant, Dave Johnson, stepped back to allow the solicitor and Frank Azzopardi to pass. The reporters began yelling questions, each determined to be heard. Matthew Roberts stood beside his client, waiting for the noise to abate.
“Seems the bastard’s got away with it, sir,” Dave whispered.
Paolo turned his head slightly to answer; the icy wind was making his eyes water. “Yeah, that tends to happen when the only witness disappears, particularly when she’s also the victim. Ssh, let’s hear what Roberts has to say.”
“My client, Frank Azzopardi, a well-respected businessman, has been the victim of yet another effort by the police to improve their conviction rates. He has been unfairly targeted, accused of attempted murder and grievous bodily harm, yet not one witness to the alleged attack has come forward. Even the supposed victim hasn’t felt it worth her while to follow up on her original statement. We have been told today that the Crown Prosecution Service cannot find sufficient evidence to bring the case to trial and that all charges against Mr Azzopardi have been dropped. We shall be making a complaint about the harassment he has suffered at the hands of an overzealous police force. Depending on the outcome of that complaint, we will consider our legal options. That is all, we have no further comment.”
Paolo knew they were most probably too far away for Roberts and the reporters to hear him, but he lowered his voice just in case.
“I could’ve written that speech for him,” he said. “He’s like Pavlov’s bloody dog. See a camera – badmouth the police.”
They made an incongruous pair, the Maltese pimp and his legal representative. Matthew Roberts dressed with a quiet elegance at complete odds with his client’s flamboyant attire. It was easy to see why Roberts made female heads turn: tall and good-looking, he exuded confidence and charm. Azzopardi was only a few inches shorter, but a swarthy complexion, shiny black hair and flashy designer clothes made him look almost a caricature of his companion.
Roberts and Azzopardi had a close friendship that went all the way back to their shared schooldays. As a teenager in the same school, Paolo had once wanted to be part of Matthew Roberts’ inner circle, but even back then he’d loathed Azzopardi. Now the less he had to do with his former classmates the better, but with Roberts representing Azzopardi it was impossible not to run up against both of them.
The two walked away, the reporters at their heels still calling out questions.
Paolo sighed as they passed. “I’ll get that bastard one day. We’d best try and track down our missing witness.”
They walked towards Dave’s car, Paolo silently running through the possibilities of what might have happened to Lisa Boxer, until Dave interrupted his thoughts.
“Do you reckon Roberts believes all that guff he spouts?” he asked, patting his pockets until he located his car keys. “I mean he can’t really be stupid enough to think you’d try to frame Azzopardi just to get a conviction, can he?”
Paolo wondered if Dave was questioning his integrity. They hadn’t been partners long enough to establish any kind of rapport yet, so he wasn’t sure what the younger man thought, especially as the case predated Dave joining the team.
“I don’t know what goes through his head. Maybe he just likes being on the box. I feel as though I can’t switch the set on without Mr Smooth spouting police corruption.” Paolo changed his voice to imitate the cultured tones of Matthew Roberts. “It is my belief the police couldn’t find their own stations without a map. They are incompetent.”
He waited until Dave stopped laughing. “All I know is, I had Azzopardi this time and I let him slip away. I should’ve insisted on protection for Lisa Boxer, but I didn’t. On the other hand, she might have done a runner. Prostitutes don’t like dealing with the police, not even when we’re on the same side.”