Nightmare party, p.1
Nightmare Party, page 1
Nightmare Party
DS Leah West - Book Fifteen
Nic Roberts
Ari Thorne
Copyright © 2023 by
Nic Roberts & Ari Thorne
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‘Nightmare Party’
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All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Some may be used for parody purposes.
Any resemblance to events, locales, business establishments, or actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Contents
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Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Book Sixteen
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Prologue
He felt like his head was on fire.
He rubbed it as the world around him swirled. What had possessed him to come here? He could have been sitting at home in the comfort of his bedroom.
The music was blasting out through the walls, dragging anyone either exhausted or drugged back to the world of the conscious. It was so loud, it felt like the walls were vibrating. Or maybe it was the drugs starting to take effect.
Everything in the room seemed primed to set him off—the noise, the bright lights that seemed to pierce his eyes, the people nudging him.
The dancers were all possessed by manic energy. He’d come here with some people but lost them in a flurry of movements. They could be standing right in front of him, and he wouldn’t even know.
He caught a glimpse of someone making their way past him. It was fleeting, but he could see the disdain etched all over their face before they vanished again into the pulsating mob.
He figured he should at least try to enjoy the event while he could. He was here after all, and he was going to be seeing these people daily.
He wasn’t used to not being the centre of attention, and there was a part of him that wanted to scream out for everyone to pay attention to him.
He suddenly felt a nervousness wash over him. It wasn’t social anxiety. He was always used to being the life and soul of a party. His hand went to his throat like an invisible hand had wrapped its fingers around it. He immediately imagined it was the person who’d just walked past him.
He should leave this party. It felt like a black hole that was sucking him in.
When he turned around, he came face to face with the last person he expected. In a quick motion, their hand leapt up, and he felt something splash against his face.
At first, he thought it was just punch from the punch bowl that covered his face…
…but that mistake only lasted a second.
Suddenly, his face felt like it was on fire, as though somebody had plunged it into molten lava. He screamed a scream that cut through the makeshift disco and caused everyone to turn and look at him.
Meanwhile, the assailant left the party quickly, satisfied that their target wouldn’t have much of a face left.
1
Detective Inspector Leah West had spent so long getting accustomed to terror, she’d almost forgotten what bliss felt like.
She was lying in a massage parlour alongside Clarissa Everett, feeling soft, moist hands working their magic on her bare back. One of the masseuses—a young woman with slender hands—noted, “You’re carrying quite a bit of tension in your back muscles.”
You think!? Leah’s entire career had been one stress fest after the other. She felt like every time she put a shithead away, two more popped up in their place.
“We should do this more often,” Clarissa noted, her eyes closed as the smooth hands worked expertly over her. “And to be honest, you should too.”
“I can’t always get the time off,” the detective complained, her frustration muted by the probing hands on her back.
“It’s a good thing that Jonesy’s handling things as well as he has done,” the editor noted, trying to keep herself still.
“Why wouldn’t he?” she replied, knowing that her partner and lover had been nothing less than supportive.
“I’ve had a few alpha male boyfriends in my time who expect to be the breadwinner,” Clarissa noted, keeping her head facing down, and trying to keep as still as possible. “You end up getting a few pay grades ahead of them, and they act like you’re trying to clip their balls. When I got promoted over a guy I was seeing, he didn’t congratulate me. His first thought was who I must have slept with to get the promotion.”
Leah sighed with disgust at the rampant sexism. “I guess I’m lucky with Jonesy.”
“How long until he gets promoted?” the journalist queried just as the masseuse was finishing up. “I think it’s safe to say he’s earned his stripes.”
“I…” To her shame, Leah hadn’t thought about that. She’d never thought to ask about Jonesy’s career prospects. “To be honest, I worry about pushing him too much.” She thought about the trauma Jonesy had undergone over the past year from an attempted hanging to prolonged PTSD to killing a murderer with his bare hands.
And Clarissa shared the thought. “When I first met the man, I thought he was like a porcelain doll. It wouldn’t take much to break him. And with everything that’s happened to him, he’d have every reason to break. Hell, I don’t think I could go through what he has and come out smelling of roses. I’d say he’s earned his promotion. Just like you’ve earned yours.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Leah began before she considered the full meaning of the words. “We still haven’t found Suzie Dano.”
“That wasn’t your fault,” Clarissa tried to reassure her, oblivious to the guilt she was slinging in her friend’s face. “That girl’s a masterclass of slipping away.”
Ever since Suzie Dano had slipped away—in part because Leah had put minimal effort into going after her—Leah had felt a growing divide between her and the people closest to her, knowing there was no way they would condone her letting the assassin roam free. She tried to tell herself that maybe Suzie had a change of heart, that she wasn’t going to pursue the life of a hired killer anymore. When Leah had conversed with the girl, she detected a weariness in her despite her young age. She’d probably spend the rest of her days wondering if she’d made the right choice.
“You’ll find her,” Clarissa insisted, in a tone that was meant to be supportive but came out as forlorn. “She can’t stay hidden forever.”
Leah had a lot of worries regarding finding Suzie Dano again. She knew that Jonesy felt a burning hatred for the woman. If the two ever came face to face, she could easily see her partner landing the killing blow, if only to remove another danger from the world. He’d already killed one mass murderer in suspect circumstances. I hope he doesn’t end up developing a taste for it.
She returned home later that evening to see Jonesy and her brother Nate laughing on the couch together, clearly having had a few beers. “Evening, boys!” she offered with a thin smile.
Jonesy looked to her with an expression he’d often worn in the early stages of their relationship where he’d struggled to find the balance between professional courtesy and lovelorn yearning. “Nate was just telling me about the early days of your piano recitals,” he explained, gesturing to her drunken brother with a thumb.
Leah couldn’t help a scowl crossing her face. A year ago, Nate had been kidnapped by a group of drug dealers who’d pumped him with a tainted dosage. Ever since then, Leah had been worried that he might develop a long-lasting addiction. It hadn’t happened yet, but she didn’t want to take any chances. And getting plastered probably isn’t going to do much for his resilience.
“Yeah,” Nate exclaimed in a slurred voice. “I was saying to Sam that it’s a shame you didn’t keep it up.”
“Well, I like to think I found my calling,” she replied, starting to head to bed.
Once she was under the covers, she realised how close she was to telling Jonesy about what went down with Dano. The secret was killing her. But then she thought about the domino effect that her actions would have; she’d certainly say goodbye to her career in the police service, and Jonesy wouldn’t ever look at her the same way again. It was the thought of him hating her that encouraged her silence.
She tried to tell herself that with every case she took on, every murderer she brought to justice, every victim she avenged. Maybe it would balance out her letting Dano walk away a free woman.
Was this how it was going to b e now? Spending the rest of her life living in the shadow of this colossal decision, never truly able to make up for it? And yet, the most disturbing thing of all wasn’t the regret.
It was that she would do it all over again.
She thought about her deceased friend, Simon Kemp, who’d always skirted on the edge of morality. She wondered what he would have made of the decision. She had a hard time believing the private investigator would approve of her decision.
All she could do was go to work every day and try to right all the other wrongs while shutting out this one.
When they drove to work the next morning, both were quiet. For his part, Jonesy seemed oblivious to his partner’s emotional state. “Here’s hoping they throw a decent distraction our way.”
But when they got to the station, many of the police were on the verge of being dispatched. “What is it, a murder?” Leah asked a departing DC Farah Hussein.
“No,” the young constable replied grimly in a tone that suggested a murder might be preferable. “An acid attack.”
2
The detectives arrived at the college campus with a sense of dread.
The victim of the attack was a local college student named Andrew Fallon. Several of the witnesses’ reports said they’d seen him turn up at a party with a group of friends before somebody had thrown acid in his face.
DC Hussein had arrived on the scene first and had already set up a scene log. “Did they manage to get a look at the attacker?” Leah asked once they’d parked up.
Farah shook her head. “I’m afraid not. People only caught the aftermath. A few of them even thought it was typical teenage hijinks and kept the party going. It wasn’t until his…” She gulped, unable to finish the sentence, instead gesturing to the left side of her face. “That’s when they called the ambulance out.”
“How badly was he burned?” Jonesy queried, wishing he didn’t have to ask the question.
“It’s hard for me to say,” she managed, almost choking on the words. “From what I’ve heard, they needed to put him in a chemically induced coma. He’s going to need skin grafts. Lots and lots of skin grafts.”
“How soon will he be able to talk?” the inspector asked, silently thinking that this was one of the few cases when a victim was able to speak at length about their attacker.
“It’s hard to say at this point,” the constable returned, frustrated that she couldn’t give a more concrete answer. “The doctors are still assessing the full extent of the damage and whether there will be any long-term health defects.”
Leah paused, feeling a stab of pain for the young man who would have to wake up to find his whole life had been turned upside down. She’d dealt with survivors of grievous assaults in her former post in London. Recovery was never straightforward. There was always a part of them that had been lost in the assault.
“How the hell did this happen?” Leah exclaimed, gesturing around at the scene and the small gathering crowd. “How could somebody come into the party, attack someone, and no one saw a damn thing!?”
“Believe me, I’ve been asking that same question,” Farah replied with an air of disappointment. Most of the witnesses were either stoned or drunk.”
“So, have we got to wait until they sober up?” Jonesy asked impatiently, wanting to get on with the interrogations.
“How long is your typical hangover?” Farah answered with a shrug. “There are a few people available to talk. A girl called Emily Lloyd. She’s the one who called the ambulance. She also tried to administer first aid… before she worked out what it was over his face.”
Leah and Jonesy winced at this, wondering what kind of effect the dissolving acid would have on her skin.
“She was taken to the hospital for a brief check-up,” Farah explained, pointing to a young woman standing in the crowd with bandaged hands. “She insisted on coming back here and helping the police with the investigation.”
Leah took in the sight of the young girl, who wore a haunted expression on her face, her arms slowly moving up to hug herself, and then, remembering the sting in her palms, letting them fall to the sides again. Fair play to her for coming back here.
“We’ll speak with her first,” Leah suggested, pointing to the house that was being sectioned off. “In the meantime, I want Priya and her team combing that place.”
Farah frowned at this. “Teenagers letting loose at a party?” She asked rhetorically with a raised eyebrow. “This could take some time.”
Leah dismissed her colleague with a wave of her hand before walking over to the young woman standing at the edge of the crowd, clearly waiting for them.
“Emma?” she began kindly, trying to soften her tone for the traumatised girl. “I’m Detective Inspector West; this is Detective Constable Jones. We understand that you were at the party when the… incident happened?”
“I was, yes,” Emma replied, having long since gone numb from the shock.
“You did a good job,” Jonesy offered, trying to mitigate some of the emotional damage. “You acted very quickly. Probably saved his life.”
Emma shrugged. “Somehow, I don’t think Andrew is going to thank me for that. He loved his looks. I think he would have rather let the acid finish the job.”
The detectives were surprised by that statement, thinking it was a tad overkill. Then again, I haven’t seen the full extent of injuries. I don’t even know how much of a face he has left.
Not wanting to focus on that particular detail for now, Jonesy asked, “How well did you know Andrew?”
But before the girl could answer, Leah took in the observing crowd. “Perhaps we could go somewhere a bit more private.”
They retreated to the campus cafeteria where they settled into a booth in the corner of the room. Jonesy took a look around at the students gazing at them, feeling out of place due to being a decade older than everyone present.
Emma wrapped her hands around a Styrofoam cup as Leah tried to smile reassuringly at her, going over the right words in her head and finding none. “Emma, how well did you know Andrew?”
She took a sip of coffee before answering, clearly trying to work up the nerve. “We went to primary school together,” she explained, unable to meet the detective’s eyes. “He was always a sweet kid who looked out for me. Whenever I was being picked on, he was always there to defend me. But then when we went to junior school, we lost contact with each other. I started at college last month, and there he was on the first day, going into the same classes.”
“So, you were close friends?” Jonesy asked, eager for insight into the victim’s personal life.
“I’d say we were quite close,” the student replied, looking at them both as though some of the life had come back into her. “He could have turned out to be another pompous prick, but he was one of the nicest people I’ve ever known. And believe me, when you spend most of your life fending off shitheads, you almost lose track of the good ones.” She smiled warmly as she looked back on the fond memories… before her face clouded over, those once-happy thoughts now overshadowed by everything that had happened the night before.
“Emma,” Leah began, unable to offer any comfort and instead settling for questioning the teenager. “Can you think of any reason anyone would want to harm Andrew?”
“I don’t see why,” she replied with a shrug. “He wasn’t the type of person to make enemies. He got along with everyone. Even the teachers liked him, and they hate everyone.”
This wasn’t the answer Leah had been hoping for. “Are you sure that nobody was harbouring a grudge against Andrew and it came out at the worst possible time?” she asked, trying to will a vendetta into existence.
