The Redeemer: A Shanna Regan murder mystery by Victoria Goldman

Author:Victoria Goldman [Goldman, Victoria]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Three Crowns Publishing UK
Published: 2022-07-11T16:00:00+00:00

My phone rings as I walk out of the shul gate.

Number withheld.

Feeling bold, I answer it.

‘Hello again, sweetheart.’

I lean forwards and take deep breaths to stop myself retching into the dirt by my feet.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I hold my mobile against my ear, hand shaking. ‘What do you want, Andy?’

‘Anyone would think you’ve been avoiding me.’ Andy laughs, harshly and deeply. ‘But then you’ve always liked playing hard to get.’

Before we became lovers, Andy hounded me with WhatsApp messages and phone calls and late-night visits – even following me to Africa on one of my work assignments. I’d been reluctant to get involved with not just a colleague but my boss – features editor at NewsQuest. Eventually I gave in, won over by his persistent charm. And now he’s chasing me yet again but for very different reasons.

‘Is this your apology? Because you’ve fucked everything up so I can’t get work.’

He snickers. ‘Apology? I warned you things would get tough unless you gave me those photos.’

‘Fuck you, Andy.’ I walk to the side of the shul gates and lean against the brick wall. I want to terminate the call but also want to know what he’s going to say. Find out what else he’s done.

‘I just want those photos, Shan, then I’ll leave you alone.’

I imagine him pushing his long wavy hair away from his eyes, as he always does when he’s perturbed.

‘Which photos?’

‘Don’t play games with me.’ His voice drops. ‘And I know where you are. In fact, I’m watching you right now.’

A fire engine thunders past, lights flashing and sirens blaring. Another follows, then a police car. The sounds echo at me down the phone. I glance at the church, up the street, across the pavement. An elderly woman perches on the bench at the crossroads with a little boy, her grandson maybe, bouncing on her lap. A man in a pinstriped suit, carrying a battered tan briefcase in one hand and leaning on a grey crutch, hobbles into the church.

‘Where are you?’ I clench my phone. ‘How did you find me?’

‘You joined a new Facebook group for local residents. Showed up in my feed.’ His snicker sends an icy ripple down my spine. ‘So it wasn’t exactly hard to track you down. Then I found Shanna Regan written on a postcard in a newsagent window, asking for information.’ He laughs. ‘Can’t be too many Shanna Regans around here … with your phone number. I always said you were one in a trillion.’

‘You’re not getting the photos. They’re in a safe place.’

‘I’ll find them somehow. Don’t underestimate me. I’ve found you, haven’t I?’ He goes silent for a moment, then continues, ‘So what were you doing in the synagogue just now, Shanna?’ He hisses my name, a reminder of the snake he’s become. ‘What are you getting involved in?’

‘It’s none of your business.’

‘Are you sure about that? I still don’t get why it mattered to you that much. Me and the lads, we’d had too much to drink. And it’s not like he didn’t deserve it.

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