Trust Me Once: Morecambe Bay Trilogy 2 (Book 1) Read online

  Trust Me Once

  Morecambe Bay Trilogy 2

  Paul J. Teague

  Contents

  Also by Paul J. Teague

  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

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Free Gift

  Author Notes

  Also by Paul J. Teague

  About the Author

  Also by Paul J. Teague

  Morecambe Bay Trilogy 1

  Book 1 - Left For Dead - read it here

  Book 2 - Circle of Lies - read it here

  Book 3 - Truth Be Told - read it here

  Morecambe Bay Trilogy 2

  Book 4 - Trust Me Once

  Book 5 - Fall From Grace - available on pre-order here

  Book 6 - Bound By Blood - released 28/12/2020

  Note: The Morecambe Bay trilogies are best read in the order shown above.

  Don’t Tell Meg Trilogy

  Features DCI Kate Summers and Steven Terry.

  Book 1 - Don’t Tell Meg - read it here

  Book 2 - The Murder Place - read it here

  Book 3 - The Forgotten Children - read it here

  Standalone Thrillers

  Dead of Night - read it here

  One Last Chance - read it here

  No More Secrets - read it here

  So Many Lies - read it here

  Two Years After - read it here

  Friends Who Lie - read it here

  Now You See Her - read it here

  Prologue

  12:01 am January 1st, 2000

  Tiffany heard the waves first, crashing in the darkness. They hadn’t roused her though; it must have been the incessant crackling of fireworks sounding overhead, as persistent as gunfire.

  She leaned forward and felt the seat belt pressing into her chest. Why was she strapped into a car? The last thing she remembered was leaving the village hall. The community celebration was in full flow, she’d made her excuses and left early.

  She was still in her dress, but her vision was blurred and her head was pounding. Had she got slightly drunk? Nobody could blame her if she had. It was a new millennium, no less, a once in a lifetime opportunity to wave goodbye to one century and usher in another. There’d been so much hype surrounding it, Tiffany had almost had enough of the celebration before it began, but as the date neared, she’d steeled herself. She would most likely be dead by the time the next century came around, so she should make the most of it, for the children’s sake as much as anything.

  They were far too young to understand the significance of the celebrations, but she would take a photograph of them with a date stamp on it. If they were lucky enough to enjoy good health and good fortune, with medical advances at least one of them ought to live long enough to see in the 22nd century, if there was still a world available to live in by that date. If she had anything to do with it, there would be. The new wind farm would be just the beginning of things.

  She moved her hand to her forehead, searching for a wound. Her head was thudding furiously, worse than any migraine. Tiffany figured she must have fallen or banged her head somehow. The pain was excruciating, and a sick sensation lingered in the pit of her stomach. What had happened? She started with what was in front of her. It was a car; the people carrier she’d wanted because it was big enough to fit three child seats in the back, each with a suitable seat belt. There was no way she was squeezing three young children into anything less.

  A plastic Smurf toy was attached to the dashboard, confiscated after Jane was found with it in her mouth. She’d screamed when Tiffany had taken it away from her, so the compromise was that it rode with them in the front. It was Papa Smurf, but Jane always said it was Grandpa. The least she could do was to allow Jane to see the thing that reminded her of him. If only real life were as simple as the Smurfs; perhaps things wouldn’t be so bad if Grandpa had managed to hang on a little longer until things were sorted out properly.

  Tiffany scanned the area in front of her. What a state the car was in. The discarded snack packets and juice cartons stuffed into the glove compartment and down the sides of the doors made it an extension of their living space, a continuation of family mayhem on four wheels. The car tax disc holder was peeling away from the window. She reached out, feeling a sudden urge to smooth it down, but was once again tugged back by the seat belt.

  Why was she in the passenger seat? She always drove the people carrier when the kids were in it. When it was just the two of them, David drove them in the run-around; that had been the deal since he’d got a ticket for speeding. She was appalled that Callie had been in the back of the vehicle at the time.

  ‘She loved it; she was laughing her head off,’ David had protested. It was the last time he’d ventured a defence when it came to putting any of the kids in danger. He’d learnt his lesson fast and well.

  Tiffany felt around for her phone. It wasn’t tucked under her leg, where she usually put it, uncomfortable though it was.

  For a moment she wondered if she was in the middle of a gun battle, then realised it was the fireworks whizzing and crackling in the sky. Her eyes began to focus on the spectacular colourful flashes to her side and over the sea. At the sound of cheering and jollity to her left, she tried to pull herself up to get a better view of her surroundings.

  To her right was the new RNLI boathouse. They still called it new, even though it had been there for a couple of years. If she strained her neck to the left, she could make out the sides of the now dilapidated Midland Hotel, its plain walls beautifully tinted by the explosive colours of the fireworks. Quite a crowd had gathered along the promenade, all in high spirits, many of them loud and drunk.

  It was only then that Tiffany noticed the car was running. The engine was so quiet she could barely hear it amid the constant fireworks. What the hell was she doing parked at the slipway by the lifeboat station, with the car engine on? Her mind sharpened, alert to everything that was wrong about this situation. They were supposed to be meeting at the village hall, yet this was Morecambe, and she had no reason to be there. She’d never felt as sick as this.

  Then she realised. The smoke wasn’t coming from hundreds of fireworks shooting into the sky. It was inside the car, surrounding her, stealing away her consciousness moment by moment. She tried to reach for the door catch, but she was paralysed by fear as the fumes enveloped her.

  Filled with panic, Tiffany scanned the space. At her side, a tube was hanging through a narrow gap at the top of the rear window. Something had been stuffed into the
gap; it was one of Callie’s bibs. Her body stiffened as the survival instinct finally kicked in. She hadn’t done this to herself, surely? Rowan was a difficult baby, and she’d felt down at times, but nothing bordering on serious depression. Why couldn’t she move to save herself? She was fading, the fumes overcoming her like a predator in the darkness.

  She struggled to keep her eyes open, then forced herself to turn as she thought of the children. Were any of them in the car with her? There was a small chance that she’d done this unspeakable act to herself, but never, never would she do this to her children. Their seats were empty, abandoned, toys and juice cups discarded as if they’d unclipped themselves and walked away. But they were too young for that. Rowan was a baby; only Callie could walk, and Jane insisted on crawling everywhere, adamant that walking was not for the likes of her. Where were they?

  The rage inside her was smothered by the blanket of thickening fumes as she felt herself drifting away, unable to move.

  As she finally gave up the struggle to keep her eyes open, she heard a click at her right-hand side. A fresh rush of cold midnight air swept into the car, reviving her momentarily. She was aware of a voice, a young female voice, recognisable. Who was it? They were in a state of panic, out of their depth. Then there was silence.

  After what seemed like an age, Tiffany realised the engine was no longer running. The door next to her opened, and somebody reached across to unbuckle the seat belt. The fresh air swept through her like an elixir, but she vomited as she was released and dragged out of the car. Her rescuer laid her gently on the concrete slipway, apologising profusely, as if it was her fault.

  ‘Oh God, I was too late. I’m so sorry, Tiffany. I’m so sorry I didn’t get here in time.’

  She was crying with frustration, desperate to help, but fretting as if she’d failed.

  ‘I’ve called an ambulance, Tiffany. You’ll be all right. I’ve got to go now, or they’ll know it was me. I’m so sorry I was too late.’

  As the freezing air forced its way into Tiffany’s exhausted lungs, her brain started to function again. The voice was Kate Allan’s. What was she doing here? Ah, she was a young constable, with every reason to be there on the eve of a new millennium. She could see Kate running off, looking around her as if she feared she might be spotted. But she was in civilian clothing, with no sign of the police uniform of which she was so proud.

  What about the children? Where was David? Tiffany felt a rush of adrenaline shoot through her body as she realised something terrible must have happened. As the fireworks continued to explode in an array of colour overhead, and the cheers from the hotel became more charged with excitement at the new millennium, her head slumped to the side, giving her a view of the waves lapping around the concrete of the slipway. Bobbing about in the water was Rowan’s teddy bear, the insistent waves carrying it slowly but surely out into the bay.

  Chapter One

  Wednesday, Day One

  Charlotte switched off the audio on her smartphone, removed her earbuds and grimaced at Nigel.

  ‘I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t taken the shorthand module; I’m struggling to get my speed up.’

  Nigel laughed and took a swig of the coffee that Charlotte had made ten minutes previously.

  ‘The problem is,’ he said after swallowing a mouthful, ‘you can’t use video or audio recorders in court, so it’s always a handy skill to have up your sleeve. I rarely use it these days, but I’m always grateful that I can do it when I need to make notes at speed. Anyway, you made the decision to put the glamour of running the Lakes View Guest House behind you, to try out this lucrative journalistic life.’

  He snorted at his own comment.

  ‘That’s not exactly true; I’m still managing the guest house with Will. Piper and Agnieszka have stepped in to help, to let me do this. I’m just glad to have the chance of a career change. Another one. It’s working well for everybody, I could hardly look a gift horse in the mouth, could I?’

  Charlotte moved her arm around, still aware of some discomfort where she’d dislocated it. Running the guest house had proved too physical for her in the aftermath of her injuries. The more sedentary pace of a distance learning course in journalism, with two days’ work experience alongside Nigel, was the ideal prescription for recovery.

  The phone rang at Nigel’s side.

  ‘There’s the Batphone,’ he said with a smile. ‘Who knows what our next assignment could be? A missing dog? A vandalised park bench? Get the Batmobile ready, Charlotte, Morecambe needs us!’

  She laughed out loud, then silenced herself as Nigel lifted the receiver. It had been a sleepy six months working at his side, but after the excitement of the previous year, it suited them both. Most of the time the town plodded along at a slow and steady pace, and that was fine by Charlotte. She’d already experienced enough excitement in the resort to last a lifetime.

  Nigel’s tone altered suddenly. For a moment, Charlotte considered returning to her shorthand, but there was something about the way he’d just changed gear that told her this was something more than a routine call.

  With rising impatience, she listened to his non-committal responses, which gave nothing away but were packed with so much promise.

  ‘Yes... Irwin? No, I wasn’t on the paper then. No... No... Really?’

  He clicked his mouse and pulled up Google to run a search.

  ‘Yes, it’s all over Google. I can’t believe I never heard about it. OK, when will it be? Yes. OK. Great. Speak later.’

  Charlotte was fit to burst.

  ‘What was that about?’ she asked, hardly able to contain her curiosity.

  ‘One moment,’ Nigel replied.

  ‘This is incredible,’ he said, more to himself than Charlotte.

  Charlotte looked at him, waiting for his response. At last he stopped his interrogation of Google and turned his chair towards her.

  ‘This is a great story. That was my contact at the police station tipping me off. We can’t report anything yet, but he’s given us the nod so we can get working in the background. Did you ever read about the Irwin case?’

  ‘Irwin? No, never heard of him,’ Charlotte replied, entranced by the intrigue of the call.

  ‘Not him, a whole family. There were five of them. Husband, wife and three children under the age of five years old. Four of them disappeared into thin air.’

  ‘What, here in Morecambe? How do you do that?’

  ‘Who knows? The wife survived, but the other four family members were thought to have died, probably drowned at sea.’

  ‘Were they in a boat?’ Charlotte asked, keen to get to the nub of this story.

  ‘No, this bit will surprise you. Are you OK to speak about what happened before? I don’t want to bring too many bad memories flooding back.’

  ‘Nigel, it’s fine. Tell me.’

  ‘You know the slipway beside the RNLI building on the sea front?’

  ‘How could I forget it after what happened with me and Olli?’

  ‘That’s why I checked. Their family car was found there, but the husband and kids had vanished and the wife was lying beside the vehicle. It looked like some kind of suicide attempt. The kids’ toys were found out at sea. No bodies were recovered, and no one ever saw the other family members again, so they were presumed dead.’

  ‘What about the wife?’

  ‘She didn’t have a clue what had happened. She lost her mind afterwards, apparently.’

  ‘How recent is this?’ Charlotte asked.

  ‘Well, that’s the thing. It happened over twenty years ago, on the night of the new millennium.’

  Charlotte thought back to that night. It was before Lucia was born and she was pregnant with Olli. She remembered because she and Will had spent the evening in Accident & Emergency getting the baby checked out, in among the New Year revellers who’d peaked too soon and had already had too much to drink. They were in Bristol at the time and the maternity leave had given her a welcome break from teach
ing, even if the price was a difficult pregnancy and prolonged morning sickness.

  ‘That was a long time ago,’ she said. ‘I didn’t have a grey hair on my head back then and every bit of my body was at least one inch higher.’

  Nigel laughed.

  ‘Why are you getting a call about something that happened years ago? Surely it’s done and dusted?’

  ‘That’s what the police thought, but there’s been a new development this morning. The details are still sketchy, so we can’t run a story yet, but I’m going to send you out to do some digging, if you’re happy for me to drag you kicking and screaming from your shorthand?’

  ‘It’s a terrible blow, but like the professional I am, I’ll work through the trauma.’

  Charlotte liked the irreverent atmosphere which went with the job. The journalists had to cover harrowing stories in between the humdrum matters such as lost pets and cancelled events. The relaxed atmosphere was refreshing after so many years of watching her tongue in school staff rooms.

  ‘So, are you ever going to tell me what happened?’ she asked, warming to the prospect of some news story research to sink her teeth into.

  ‘Morecambe police found a body at the slipway in the early hours of this morning.’

  ‘Dead?’

  ‘No, they thought they’d found a drunk at first, but it was a young woman; they reckon she’s in her early twenties. She’s in a coma at Lancaster Infirmary.’