At the tender age of fourteen, Terry Prince is sent to prison for the horrific abduction and murder of toddler Jack Randall. The marriage of Jack’s parents, Lucy and Ethan, crumbles under the strain of losing their child, and Lucy is left with her grief and the struggle of raising her seven-year-old son Ricky alone.
Eight short years later, Terry Prince is released on parole. Lucy’s world is turned upside down and all her pain rushes back to the surface. And when another young boy, Ben, goes missing in similar circumstances, she fears Prince has struck again.
Ben’s case is assigned to newly single DI Matt Winston, the same officer who found Jack’s body all those years ago. A chance encounter with Ricky renews his connection with Lucy, and they embark on a relationship. But with the memories of Jack’s murder suddenly so fresh in their minds, the line between hard and circumstantial evidence starts to blur. Matt is desperate to find the culprit before it’s too late this time, and Lucy is desperate for some kind of justice. But will catching Ben’s abductor really bring them the closure they seek?
When I Wasn’t Watching
Michelle Kelly
HQ
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1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2014
Copyright © Michelle Kelly 2014
Michelle Kelly asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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E-book Edition © June 2014 ISBN: 9781472096432
Version date: 2018-09-20
MICHELLE KELLY is a mother, writer and teacher from the West Midlands in the UK. She began writing for a living in 2013 and is the author of three historical romances for Harlequin Mills and Boon, including the Regency story 'The Rake of Glendir' the Paranormal Investigations Agency series for Xcite Books, and a forthcoming cozy mystery series for St Martins Press in the US. 'When I Wasn't Watching' is her first crime novel, and she is currently working on her second, to be published by HQ Digital in 2015.
For my son, Callum Michael Ian Bird. You make me proud every day.
Contents
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Part Two
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Part Three
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
It isn’t for the moment you are struck that you need courage, but for the long uphill climb back to sanity and faith – Anne Morrow Lindbergh
Chapter One Tuesday
They told her over the phone.As if she, of all people, wasn’t important enough to warrant a face to face visit. For the next few minutes Lucy sat very, very still, staring at nothing in particular. Then she got up with exact movements, determined to be calm. She even made herself a cup of tea. Which she managed to drink half of before the rage came, hot and bubbling.
The cup smashed against the far wall, the liquid leaving stains that looked like mud across her delicately patterned wallpaper.
‘Bastards!’
Then she burst into tears.
When the phone had rung Lucy had expected it to be Susan from work. They had arranged a movie night on Saturday and she had been looking forward to it; even treating herself to a new pair of jeans. So she answered cheerfully enough, then frowned as a throat cleared on the other end of the line before asking, after a slight hesitation, for Mrs Randall. She paused before realising the voice was asking for her.
‘It’s Ms Wyatt now,’ she said firmly. There was after all a new Mrs Randall. ‘I got divorced five years ago.’
‘I do apologise.’ It was a male voice, quite official sounding and also, Lucy thought, nervous. As soon as she thought it a sense of dread twisted low in her belly.
‘But you were Mrs Lucy Randall? Jack Randall’s mother?’
Lucy felt as though her throat was full of sand as she spoke.
‘Yes, who is this?’She hoped to God it wasn’t the press. They had hung around enough in the days after Jack’s death and the weeks leading up to the trial, and then again when Ethan had left her. They had been sympathetic but still intrusive and she had always refused to comment, an instinctive