Your Life or Mine Read online

  Praise for VICKI BRADLEY

  ‘A twisty thriller about the happiest day of your life descending into a nightmare’

  Claire McGowan, author of The Other Wife

  ‘As pacy as it is puzzling, you’ll change your mind endlessly about what you think has happened’

  Heat

  ‘A deliciously dark and twisted read’

  Woman magazine

  ‘Will take you on a frantic ride’

  Sun

  ‘An intense thriller’

  Bella

  ‘Such a joy to read… Definitely an author to watch!’

  Sam Carrington, author of I Dare You

  ‘Tense, layered and atmospheric… I couldn’t put it down’

  Fran Dorricott, author of After the Eclipse

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  For my twin sister, Alison.

  Thank you for your sense of adventure, love of life, humour, and drive.

  For encouraging me to reach for the stars like you do.

  And for always being there for me.

  Prologue

  Saturday 22 January, 23:55

  She jolted awake. Kennington; her stop. She jumped up and scrambled to get off the tube. She made it just in time. The doors slid shut behind her and she laughed in relief. She’d only just caught the last tube and she didn’t fancy having to walk all the way back to Kennington from Oval at this time of night.

  She glanced left and right, suddenly aware that there might be other people on the platform, but there was no one.

  It was just her.

  As she headed towards the exit, she felt sluggish. She staggered to the escalators, steadying herself on the handrail and wishing she hadn’t had that last cocktail. Why did she always have to have that extra one? And why had she bought them all shots? Still, how often did she get to see the girls? It had been a special occasion and she didn’t have to be at work until her Monday night shift at 10pm.

  She stumbled at the top of the escalator and clattered forward on her heels, catching herself before she fell. Her footfall echoed around the empty station. She paused for a second to get her bearings as Kennington underground station spun slowly around her.

  It was deserted – not even any staff around – and she was grateful. She’d hate for anyone to see her like this.

  She tucked her hair behind her ears, took a big breath and tried to focus. She tapped herself out of the barrier, nearly dropping her police oyster card in the process, and cursed herself. If she lost that, it would cause her a lot of grief at work.

  She shivered as the outside winter air hit her and the muggy, stale warmth of the underground was left behind. She pulled her red coat tighter around her. The street outside was dark and the pavement shiny with recent rainfall. Just as well it had stopped; she’d left her brolly on the tube. There was a break in the clouds, revealing a full moon, which was never good for police. Burglars loved a full moon. When the moon was so bright it was like a strange pale daylight; they didn’t have to announce their presence with torch light, instead relying on the moon’s beams to guide them through unlocked windows.

  She looked left and right down Braganza street, but there was no one, so she set off along the side road – not far. Her footfall echoed down the deserted pavement and she picked up her pace, aware of how late it had become. She took out her mobile and scrolled to Luke, but stopped herself before she pressed dial. She’d got into the habit of calling him on the way home; it made her feel safer. But she couldn’t call him anymore.

  She dropped her mobile back in her bag and sighed. Luke had been great when she’d first met him, so relaxed and could make her laugh easily, but after one too many drinks that all changed. His temper had scared her. She wouldn’t call him, even though she missed the Luke she’d first met and having someone to call.

  A man thirty metres away, on her side of the road, snapped her out of her thoughts. He was walking towards her with purpose. She put him in his mid-thirties, his pace slow and steady, as if trying not to scare her. Never a good sign. She crossed the road – nice and relaxed, not showing any fear. They could smell it, she knew, and it galvanized the really bad ones.

  She clutched her house keys inside her coat pocket as a weapon. She was too drunk to pose any real danger to him, but the sharp edges of the keys comforted her. They weren’t sharp enough to penetrate skin, but if it came to it, they could do some real damage to someone’s eyes.

  The man glanced across the road at her but walked past, remaining on the opposite side. She released her tight hold on the keys as she checked behind her, but he’d turned the corner and was gone.

  She re-crossed the road. She preferred this side. There were little front gardens with low walls – no looming hedges for someone to hide behind. The engine of a car hummed in the distance. Civilization. She was so close to home now – only a minute away.

  There was a sudden thud to her right and she froze, rooted by fear. It had come from behind a bush in the garden next to her. She tightened her grip on her keys again, wishing she had a better weapon. Something scrabbled over the wall and darted away. She’d startled it. Her shoulders relaxed. Just a cat.

  She tried to stifle a yawn, wondering if the kebab place around the corner from her flat would still be open. But it was past midnight and she didn’t fancy the extra walk with no guarantee of food at the end. Cheese on toast when she got home would have to do.

  She turned into her street and relaxed. Not far now and then she could take her heels off. The arches of her feet ached and she knew she’d have blisters. Vanity over practicality, but she’d wanted to look good, to give herself a boost. The break-up with Luke had been tough.

  She took her keys out of her pocket and turned down the pathway into the small front garden. She glanced down, skimming through her keys until she located the key fob to the communal front door.

  There was a sudden sharp pain to the back of her head. She felt herself falling forward, but too fast to put her hands out, and her jaw collided hard with the concrete doorstep. For a moment she was stunned, felt nothing at all, and then white-hot pain burnt along her jawline.

  She tasted rusty blood in her mouth. Before she could scream, there were fingers pressing tight into her windpipe, closing off her airway as her attacker straddled her back. Her hands scrabbled at the enclosing fingers, but she couldn’t pull them apart; they were vice-like and getting tighter. They felt rough, like Luke’s. She tried to turn her head to see who was behind her, but the hands had her neck pinned to the floor.

  She swung her elbow back uselessly towards her attacker, failing to get her arm back far enough, the weight on her back restraining her against the cold ground. Her jaw screamed at her, the pain intensifying, and she realized with startling clarity that she was dying.

  She shouted out, but all that came out was a strangled gurgling. Her lungs felt like they were burning, and she clawed frantically at the hands.

  For a moment she thought of her mother, tiny and small in her big armchair – how fragile she’d seemed on her last visit and how she’d promised herself she’d see her more often.

  Her vision faded, the edges becoming blurred. She couldn’t die; she wasn’t ready. Darkness seeped into her peripheral vision, slowly covering everything in black. She struggled harder, a last frantic effort, but her assailant’s grip didn’t budge.

  She couldn�
�t leave her mother; it would kill her.

  The pain was so intense now, like white fire burning inside her chest. She wanted it to stop. Please stop. And then it did. The blackness was complete and there was nothing.

  Chapter 1

  Earlier That Night, Saturday 22 January, 19:35

  ‘Alana, come sit next to me.’ Jane beckoned Loxton to the seat next to her at the pub table. ‘It’s so great to see you. This is my first night out since I had Joseph.’ She was positioned at the centre of the group of women, at the heart of them, which was fitting. She had kept them all together when they worked in the murder squad, arranging the social gatherings, checking up on them all. And they had become friends for life because of it.

  Loxton obliged Jane, sitting next to her, although she would have preferred to be tucked away at the end of the table, where there was less chance of being asked any awkward questions by the others.

  It had been two years since they’d all worked together in the murder squad, but they’d continued to have their regular meet-ups until recently. Partly it was down to Jane having a newborn, but Loxton knew it was her fault too. When she’d been demoted from the murder squad a few months back, she’d gone quiet. But Jane had been persistent and recent events had pressed the matter. Loxton owed Jane just about as much as she owed anyone, so for her sake she had swallowed her pride about her demotion and come along. She didn’t want the group to drift apart, and she needed to talk about what had happened too.

  All of Alana’s memories came flooding back as she looked at the women sat around her. The old stories, carefully placed in their boxes, were bursting to come out.

  Emma grinned at her, already halfway through her first glass of white wine, always ready for a party. ‘It’s so good to finally get us all together again. How have you been since I saw you a couple of months ago?’

  ‘Settling into Southwark CID okay,’ Loxton said, feeling her mood lightening, Emma’s energy was infectious. The male waiter was hanging off Gabriella’s every word as she asked him about the wine menu. He looked entranced by her Italian accent.

  Despite her pain at seeing them all together, reminding her of everything she’d lost, it was still good to be back with them.

  ‘Are any of the boys coming?’ she asked Jane.

  ‘No, I decided to keep it to just us girls this time, although I don’t know where Sarah’s got to. I didn’t get a chance to talk to her. I had to leave a message with her grumpy sergeant. He probably didn’t even pass it on.’

  ‘Has she got a big case on?’ Loxton asked.

  ‘Her sergeant wouldn’t say. Just said she was busy and wouldn’t be able to make it. Weird guy.’

  ‘What’s his name?’ It was unlikely Loxton would have heard of him, but as the years passed it was surprising how small the Metropolitan Police became.

  ‘Steven Anson. Seemed a bit arrogant.’ Jane shrugged and took a sip of her wine.

  Loxton nodded and picked up the drinks menu. She had heard of him but never met him. He was a legend in the surveillance world. He worked in undercover operations, making her wonder what Sarah was up to these days. She realized with sadness that they’d lost touch. She’d seen Jane occasionally over the past few months and had kept up her regular coffee dates with Emma, but she hadn’t seen the others for a while. Well, she thought, here was her chance to make amends.

  ‘How’s the murder squad going?’ Loxton asked Gabriella.

  ‘Not the same without all of you. There’s a new inspector, DI Meyer, trying to throw his weight around, but he’ll settle down.’

  ‘That’s all you need on top of the cuts,’ Loxton said.

  ‘What I need is a bottle of Prosecco,’ Gabriella said. ‘Tonight’s a bit of a celebration and commiseration all in one. It’s been too long.’

  Loxton nodded. ‘Sounds good.’ She marvelled at how easy it was to fall back in with them all.

  Loxton spotted Sarah coming into the bar at the same time as Sarah saw her. They had always been strangely in tune. Sarah nodded at her and hurried over, sitting down heavily as if she was carrying the world on her shoulders.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ Sarah said. ‘It was tricky getting out of work, but this was too important to miss.’ She looked gaunt, with grey shadows under her eyes poorly concealed by make-up. Her hair was tied up, and there were a couple of inches of dark roots showing through her normally immaculate blonde highlights. Despite Sarah’s strong perfume, Loxton could smell unwashed bodies and grime, and she wondered if she was doing undercover work. Sarah was normally so glamorous, never seen without lipstick and mascara on.

  ‘Your sergeant said you weren’t going to make it,’ Jane said, then paused for a moment. ‘God, girl, you look a mess. I thought I looked rough after four months of maternity leave, but you look terrible.’

  Sarah glared at her. ‘Look, it’s my new job role, okay? It’s quite involved. Let’s leave it at that.’

  ‘What hours are they making you work?’ Emma asked.

  ‘Never mind that. Have they got you working down a mine?’ Gabriella said, her eyes wide at the state of her friend. ‘You don’t look like you’ve seen the sun for years.’

  ‘I can’t talk about it,’ she said with finality, shutting the conversation down. Sarah wouldn’t look them in the eyes, instead picking up the wine menu and studying it.

  So, she was working in undercover. Loxton didn’t like it. It was dangerous work. She decided to leave it, though. She hadn’t seen Sarah for months; who was she to start telling her what to do?

  ‘We’ve got a bottle of fizz coming,’ Gabriella said.

  ‘Great.’ Sarah put the menu down and her eyes met Loxton’s. ‘Alana, how are you? Long time no see after all that Alec Saunders shit. I heard he caused you some more bother a few months ago, too.’ Sarah shook her head, her eyes kind, but Loxton didn’t want to talk about it with any of them; she was still too embarrassed.

  It was inevitable that Alec Saunders would be mentioned, she supposed. The journalist who had masqueraded as an A&E doctor and got into her bed. She’d trusted him, talked to him about her work, and he’d nodded along, telling her in turn about his ‘critical patients’. But it had all been lies. He was a reporter trying to get a story about a domestic murder trial she was working on, and she’d been an idiot to believe he was a doctor.

  He’d published what she’d told him, which caused enough confusion for the trial to be thrown out. She could have lost her job, but instead she’d been demoted from the murder squad and sent back to borough CID.

  ‘I’m all right,’ she said. ‘Southwark CID is keeping me busy and I’ve got good colleagues.’ She smiled as she thought of the team she was with now, of Kowalski and the way he could make her laugh.

  Sarah raised an eyebrow and smiled. ‘Is there someone at work?’

  ‘No one.’ She shook her head, but Kowalski’s pale blue eyes came into her mind. He’d given her a spontaneous pretend kiss in front of Alec Saunders a few months back, but it hadn’t meant anything to him; it was just to show Saunders. Kowalski was her best friend at work; did she really want to risk that? Wasn’t it a cliché – not being able to have a male best friend without it becoming romantic and then, inevitably, everything falling apart?

  The other women glanced at each other and then back at her and, as if on cue, burst into laughter.

  ‘What?’ Loxton said, irritation in her voice.

  ‘Sorry,’ Jane said. ‘You just got this dreamy look in your eyes when you talked about work. It’s so obvious.’

  ‘There’s no one,’ Loxton said. ‘You know I avoid dating colleagues.’

  ‘Seems you’ve forgotten that rule,’ Gabriella said with a smirk.

  ‘Leave her alone,’ Emma said. ‘She’s still taking her time getting over that dickhead Alec. When you’ve had a bad breakup you don’t exactly leap straight into another relationship. Ignore them, Alana.’

  Emma looked sad for a moment and Loxton leaned towards her to ask what s
he meant. It wasn’t like Emma to be so cautious about love; she was the hopeless romantic, whereas the rest of them were more cynical. Police work made you more wary of your fellow humans, but Emma had always seemed immune to that, until now.

  Loxton wondered what could have happened and why Emma hadn’t talked to her about it. That wasn’t like her, to keep things bottled up; it was strange. Before Loxton could ask her, a waiter bustled over with the Prosecco and elaborately poured them out five glasses.

  Sarah held up hers and the others followed. ‘To new beginnings, ladies. To new loves. And to old friendships. Let’s not wait so long to get together again.’

  Loxton chinked glasses with them all and sipped the crisp, cold Prosecco gratefully.

  Once they were settled, Jane looked at each of them in turn. ‘So… how are you all doing?’ It was a general question, but Loxton knew she was talking about Edward Barratt. The serial killer who had been the last case they’d all worked on together two years ago. Emma and Sarah had left murder after that, needing a break from homicide and to get Barratt out of their heads.

  Barratt had been the case that had tested them all. It was a unique time in Alana’s career, when it was the right people, in the right place, at the right time. And they had stopped him with a single piece of hair that linked him to one of the scenes. He had been so careful – forensically so – and had never thought he’d get caught.

  Barratt had sworn he would make them all pay. It was the best work any of them had ever done, but it had taken a piece of all of them, and she normally tried her best to forget about it. But tonight she couldn’t. Someone had tried to break him out of Broadmoor Hospital three days ago.

  ‘I’m not all right, really,’ Loxton admitted, at last letting her guard down. She’d always been able to around these women. ‘Who would try to get Barratt out? And it sounds like they nearly managed it.’

  ‘He was found in the woods to the east of Broadmoor Hospital. He’d made some good distance,’ Gabriella said, sipping her drink. ‘He’s had quite the fan following since he’s been in prison. There are a lot of freaks out there. I reckon it was probably one of them that helped him.’