Bad Company: a gripping psychological thriller full of twists by Jocelyn Dexter

Author:Jocelyn Dexter [Dexter, Jocelyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloodhound Books - crime, thrillers and mysteries
Published: 2023-03-20T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-SEVEN

Penny

‘Come on, open up. I know you’re in there. I’m not leaving until you let me in.’

Rather lamely, Penny was tempted to turn off the lights and pretend she wasn’t in. But of course she couldn’t. Bloody Butty knew she was in. It wasn’t like she could hide in a corner quietly and hope he’d go away. Anyway, how did he know where she lived?

‘Go away, Butty. I’ll see you another time. I’m a bit busy right now.’

‘I’m not going anywhere. Let me in.’

Penny let the silence drag out. Another metallic flap of the letterbox.

‘Please, Penny. I’m not going anywhere. It’s cold out here.’

She wanted to shriek out her rising hysteria. She had a dead body in a wheelbarrow in the middle of her sitting room, and a fourteen-year-old boy demanding to be let in. It was like some stupid farce. She teetered on the brink. For a moment, she stood immobile, frightened if she moved, she might fall.

She braced herself. ‘I told you, I’m busy, okay? Let’s meet up tomorrow.’

As she spoke, she mentally kick-started herself and began hurriedly cleaning up, wearing her disposable latex gloves, wheeling Moley behind the sofa out of the way, before bending and folding up the plastic sheeting into neat square packets. Instead of having to grapple with one large plastic tarpaulin, she’d used four, over-lapping. Wrinkling her nose at the smell of vomit she made sure she avoided getting it on her and steered clear of any blood spatter.

She got rid of the takeaway containers. Carried on ignoring Butty.

‘I’m waiting,’ came Butty’s voice: plaintive now, wheedling.

Her teeth ached with the severity with which she clamped them shut: furious with the boy, with the chaos he had brought to her. Was still bringing to her doorstep. Ignoring him, she went about her cleaning up business. She moved to the thump of her racing heart, and having wheeled Albert the Mole through the kitchen and into the adjoining garage, she transferred him into the back of the jeep, again using her father’s ramp. Returning to the sitting room, she got a duster out, feeling her palms damp within her gloves. Fear sweat.

She wiped everything clean.

Her mobile vibrated on the kitchen worktop. She couldn’t ignore it. It might be one of her parents needing her. Picking it up, she read the text:

Guess who? Let me in.

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