Page 52 of Nothing But the Night (Basic Instincts 2)

Then it stopped.

Going back to the phone, he heard Tyrone’s voicemail message. He hung up and redialled, listening more intently.

This time he heard it. The ringing came from the bushes, somewhere behind him.

“Tyrone,” he yelled. “Tyrone, are you there?”

Nothing. The ringing stopped as the voicemail kicked in again.

Marc cautiously retraced his steps and dialled again.

The sound came from behind a length of bushes that ran behind the footpath.

He stepped onto the grass that was sodden and waterlogged from last night’s rain. Mud sucked and squelched at his feet. He hit redial once more.

This time the ringing was much closer.

The hairs down his neck and spine suddenly prickled.

Get out of here. Run.

Marc fought the instinct to flee.

Please God, not again.

The ringing came from under an overgrown section of bush. With a trembling hand, he eased a branch aside.

A slightly built young man lay in the dirt below it. He clutched a mobile phone in his stiffened hand. His eyes were open and unfocused. His skin was a ghastly shade of grey.

Marc recognised the same grim expression of death he had seen on the face of Dan Blumel.

The man’s chest was a bloody mess of lacerations, so vicious and deep they had torn right through the padding of his coat and shredded the flesh beneath.

Chapter Nineteen

A Jagged Edge

Marc got up and stepped carefully away from the body. He was in shock but had enough awareness to know he was walking all over a crime scene. Too late to do anything about the contamination he’d already caused, but he could reduce any further impact. He rose onto his toes and attempted to retrace his steps backwards through the sodden grass. He didn’t want to look at Tyrone’s face again. It was an image that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

He looked around. On the opposite side of the park from the river, he saw someone. A man in a dark padded jacket, walking a dog on a leash.

“Help,” he yelled. Then louder, “Help, please.”

The man didn’t even look in his direction.Shit. He was probably wearing ear-pods. Marc waved his arms above his head, desperate to attract the man’s attention. He realised his urgency—he didn’t want to be alone out here with a dead body—then he was immediately struck by guilt. What an awful thing to even think. Ayoung man had lost his life. That’s what he should be concerned about.

He dialled the emergency services. “Police,” he hollered when the operator answered. “There’s a body by the side of the river Bly.” His voice was remarkably calm, given how badly his limbs trembled. He gave clear directions to where he was. The operator asked him to return to the body to check for signs of life.

“He’s dead,” Marc said. “I’m sure of it. His chest is all cut up. There is no life in his face.”

Regardless, the call handler insisted that he check for a pulse.

Marc’s feet became heavier with every step he took back. He closed his eyes as he drew aside the branch that covered Tyrone’s body. His breath rasped through his teeth. He forced himself to look. Not at the man’s slackened features, but at his hands.

Marc reached for his wrist.

Tyrone’s skin was cool, but not completely cold. Whatever had happened to him, it hadn’t been too long ago. Whoever had done this must have run through the park. If they had returned along the river, he would have seen them. Marc steadied himself and pressed his fingers to the radial point. All he could hear was his own blood in his ears. He concentrated harder, applied more pressure.

There was nothing. No pulse.

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