Page 1 of Enveloped By the Darkness

Prologue

Detective Sergeant Lucas

Cold cases were the bane of my life. Sometimes, as I fell asleep at night, their victims would crawl to my bedside, prodding at me for progress.

Have you forgotten us?

A chorus of their voices would circle, plaguing me as I clawed for sleep.

We’re still there, you know. Sprawled out there in the darkness… waiting for justice.

“I know.”

Sitting at my desk, I hadn’t meant to say the words out loud, but the disembodied voices had grown louder in recent weeks. A crowd of frantic women who’d chosen to haunt me, making rest damn near impossible.

“Guv?” Detective Constable Granger looked up from his screen. “What did you say?”

“Nothing,” I muttered, exhaling as I glanced out at the gray, grim cityscape.

Damn. I really must be tired if I was starting to vocalize my thoughts without realizing it. I needed to relax more, but that only seemed plausible if I could exorcise the ghosts of some of those nameless victims. So many perpetrators went without punishment. People who lacked any essence of a conscience were left to wander the streets. No wonder the country was so dangerous. It was a miracle the Crown Prosecution Service put anyone away.

Sighing, I leaned back in my chair and stretched my tired limbs. This never-ending line of dead ends was not why I’d signed up with the police service. Once upon a time, I’d thought I could make a difference—help people—but these days, that seemed less and less likely. My career had morphed into one long line of paperwork and a lingering sense of uselessness. Some days, I didn’t know why I got out of bed.

“Here you go, Guv.”

I’d been so lost in my quagmire, I hadn’t noticed Granger standing by my desk. Placing a huge pile of files on the counter, he sheepishly shifted his weight.

“What’s this?” I asked, downing the coffee, regardless of its temperature.

“Unresolved cases for the last twelve months.” Granger’s brow rose as though he, too, couldn’t believe how poorly we’d performed. “I thought you might like one more look before they’re archived.”

Flicking through the wad of paper, I blew out a breath. “Isn’t this all online?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “But you know how it is. Out of sight, out of mind. Once they get archived, they don’t tend to see the light of day again.”

It was a depressingly accurate analysis.

“You’re right. I’ll take a look.” I barely had the time, but the incessant specters of our failures insisted I acquiesce. I’d never get any rest unless I said yes. “Leave them here and start work on the Dale case.”

“Fancy a fresh brew?” Nodding at my cup, he patted the top file. “I’m parched.”

“Sure.” Managing a smile, I thrust the mug in his direction. “Thanks.”

I watched as he trudged back to his desk and collected his cup. Ten years my junior, Granger had dark hair and a tight ass. He might have been more enticing if we didn’t have to spend so many soul-crushing hours crammed in the office together, but as it was, all I saw was my subordinate—a colleague I had learned to lean on.

Reaching for the top file, my gaze scanned over the victim’s details.Tiffany Noble.At least this one wasn’t dead, but it sure as hell was a strange case. Tiffany had been the victim of a stalker who’d taken up residence in her home without her knowledge. So far, so weird, but her story had got even more peculiar when, after breaking free of his clutches, she’d made the crazy decision to start a twisted consensual relationship with him. Weeks later, the romance had seemed to implode, and Tiffany had got back in touch once she’d started therapy.

“Good for you,” I murmured, logging into my secure profile and pulling up the case.

I wanted Tiffany to be okay, to be in the minority of women who survived and got over her ordeal and even though I didn’t understand some of the choices she’d made, I was glad she was free of the predator who’d hunted her. Clicking on his details, I pulled up his profile.

Kade Walker.

An image of his smirking face burst onto the screen, reminding me of the slimy son-of-a-bitch who’d caused the trauma. We’d never had the opportunity to hold him in custody but had tracked him after he’d fled Tiffany’s house. In the end, she’d refused to press charges, rendering our case irrelevant, but somehow, I hadn’t been able to forget his crime. There was something so insidious about hiding in another person’s home and taking them prisoner. It smacked of a criminal mind who’d acted before, and I couldn’t believe that this was his first offense.

“At least she dumped his sorry ass.”

The thought emboldened me as I searched her employment details. The last I’d heard, she’d headed a big trial and had helped send the suspect down for ten years. That was the definition of moving on. Lifting the receiver of my desk phone, I punched in the numbers, waiting as the dialing tone echoed in my ear.

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