Sam's Song (Sam Smith Mystery, #1)
(By Hannah Howe)
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| Author | Hannah Howe |
Love Hurts. For Derwena de Caro, songstress, female icon, teenage dream, success brought drugs, alcohol and a philandering boyfriend. It also brought wealth, fame and a stalker, or so she claimed. And that’s where I came in, to investigate the identity of the stalker, little realising that the trail would lead to murder and a scandal that would make the newspaper headlines for months on end.
Love Hurts. For me, Samantha Smith, Enquiry Agent, love arrived at the end of a fist. First, I had to contend with an alcoholic mother, who took her frustrations out on me throughout my childhood, then my husband, Dan, who regarded domestic violence as an integral part of marriage. But I survived. I obtained a divorce, kept my sense of humour and retained an air of optimism. I established my business and gained the respect of my peers. However, I was not prepared for Dan when he re-entered my life, or for the affection showered on me by Dr Alan Storey, a compassionate and rather handsome psychologist.
Sam’s Song. This is the story of a week that changed my life forever.
Extract
He was running towards me now, shotgun in his hands. I gathered my things, turned on my heel and scarpered into the woods. It would take me twenty minutes, at least, to get out of there. In my favour, I had mobility and agility. In his favour, he had power, strength and speed. With all things being equal, he would catch me before I made it back to my car.
Five minutes into my run I was starting to pant, more from anxiety than from a lack of stamina. I glanced over my shoulder. I could hear him, but I couldn’t see him. I pinned my ears back and ran as fast as I could.
After ten minutes, I sensed that he was close behind me. I was about to turn around to look when I heard the blast of the shotgun and, just above my head, saw the splintering of wood. Stumbling and gasping, I ploughed on.
As I ran, two thoughts occurred to me: one – he was faster than me and at this rate, he would catch up with me before I left the wood. Two – the fact that he was willing to use the shotgun revealed that he was taking no prisoners; he was shooting to kill. I increased my pace and prayed that I’d catch sight of the country lane soon.
Then I tripped over a branch. I went sprawling into the mulch of the forest floor. I tried to stand, but my ankle gave way. I would need five minutes recovery time but at this rate, I had less than five minutes to live. Frantically, I looked around and saw a large stone, heavy, but not quite a boulder. I limped over to the stone and tried to lift it. It was heavy, but fear gives you amazing strength and somehow I raised the stone to shoulder level and on to a knot of branches. Then I started to climb the tree. It was slow, painful going but, as a tomboy, climbing trees was my speciality and I still had the elasticity and suppleness of youth. Occasionally I’d pause to reposition the stone, then I’d move up to a higher branch. From ground level, I was out of sight, but I had a clear view through the tree to its base and roots. With my ankle aching and sweat dripping off my brow, I raised the stone and steadied myself. It seemed to take an age and my arms were hurting now, but Baldy appeared at the base of the tree, shotgun poised, his beady eyes scanning the woods...
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