The Lost Boy E-Book

Rachel Amphlett

• Herausgeber: Saxon Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

Run. Don’t look back. When a young teenager is stabbed to death at a busy fairground, Detective Mark Turpin is assigned the task of finding the boy’s killer.

But this was no random murder. Mark knows the victim, and the man who ordered his death.

As he sifts through the young victim’s final days, he uncovers a powerful crime syndicate that will do anything to protect its interests.

Then tragedy strikes, and suddenly Mark isn’t just trying to solve a murder – he’s fighting for his own survival.

The Lost Boy is the third book in the Detective Mark Turpin series from USA Today bestselling author Rachel Amphlett.

Praise for The Lost Boy:

"Beautiful writing and a great read" Goodreads

"Another brilliant, fast paced read that concludes in some very dramatic, pulse pounding moments" Goodreads

Leseprobe

THE LOST BOY

A DETECTIVE MARK TURPIN CRIME THRILLER

RACHEL AMPHLETT

The Lost Boy © 2021 Rachel Amphlett

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. While the locations in this book are a mixture of real and imagined, the characters are totally fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead is entirely coincidental.

CONTENTS

Reading Order & Checklist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

About the Author

Missed a book? Download the FREE Official Reading Order and Checklist to Rachel Amphlett’s books here

Also available in audiobook

CHAPTERONE

Run.

Matthew Arkdale gritted his teeth as his ankle rolled, then stumbled and kept going.

His breath escaped his lips in gasps, the cold October breeze slapping at his ears and cheeks while he ran past a bright yellow security barrier and pushed a middle-aged man out of his way.

He ignored the glare from the security crew loitering at the fringes of the crowd. The man’s loud curse was lost within seconds, drowned amongst a cacophony of shouts from the people lining the street and cluttering the road.

Don’t look back.

There were no vehicles here, no risk of being run over. The whole of the town centre had been closed off for the fair, save for a scant number of diversion routes that snaked around the periphery.

His pace slowed to a fast walk – the pavement was cluttered by parents with pushchairs and toddlers, teenagers walking four abreast in the middle of the street, older people strolling at leisure.

A thumping bass accompanied the roar of a commentator over the heads of the people in front of him, calling them to the more expensive rides, the ones with spiralling metalwork that curled up into the night sky and carried the screams of excited thrill seekers across the town centre.

A prickling sensation crawled between his shoulders and up his spine, settling at the base of his neck. Goosebumps spread across his arms, the fine hairs itching against the long-sleeved sports top he wore under his hooded sweatshirt.

Eyes darting left then right, he threaded his way between a couple with twin boys next to the dodgems, the kids bickering about which coloured car they wanted to ride in, and then ducked into a side street.

A gloom enveloped him, a blanket of grey light that made him blink to counteract the night blindness caused by the bright lights of the rides over his shoulder.

Stumbling into the covered doorway of one of the Regency houses that crowded the narrow road, Matthew leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees, panting. His lungs ached from the effort to stay ahead of his pursuer – a deep pain that wracked his chest and was echoed by the pounding of his heart.

A heaving sigh escaped his lips as he peered towards the throng lining the main street.

He had no idea where he was, where to go, or what to do next.

This wasn’t his town.

He had never seen the man until this morning – but he knew.

Knew now that coincidence had nothing to do with spotting him a second time only moments before his eyes had widened in recognition.

Moments before, Matthew had seen the knife in the man’s hand and fled.

Shaking from hunger, fear, and the damp chill that seeped through his clothing, he held his breath as the man appeared at the apex to the T-junction, one side of his face in shadow, the other a flickering concoction of colour caused by the strobing lights from the funhouse to the left of the street.

Voices, similar in age to his, rang out within the four-storey structure as they navigated sloping floors and rope bridges while calling down to their parents from barriers that prevented them from falling out of the windows carved into the painted frontage.

The man sniffed the air, then moved away out of sight.

A hollowness permeated Matthew’s slight frame as he cowered back into the shadows, fatigued. He blinked to counteract a sudden dizziness that seized his vision, and clenched his teeth as a painful cramp clawed at his stomach.

He cried out at a movement behind the door where he cowered, voices on the other side reaching his ears before the latch turned.

He couldn’t stay here.

Keep moving.

Matthew flipped up the hood of his sweatshirt, pulled it forward until it left his features in shadow, then shoved his hands in his pockets and jogged along the pavement until he was level with the main thoroughfare once more.

The noise assaulted his ears, numbing his senses and creating a disorientation that unnerved him.

A young child, no more than six years old, started bawling beside a stall offering prizes of soft toys, her teary gaze watching as a pink helium-filled balloon, having escaped her grasp, lifted into the air. Her cries of anguish blended with an argument that broke out between four teenagers queuing for the gravity wheel ride, the raised voices making him jump as he passed.

He lowered his chin, ignoring the cat-calls that trailed in his wake as he became the new focus for the teenagers’ disdain, and pushed into the shadows cast by the dimmed lights of a home interiors shop closed up for the night.

Pausing a moment, he craned his neck and peered amongst the crowd but the man who was hunting him was nowhere to be seen.

A cheer rose from another stall, the sound effects from a laser gun game driving him forward with a renewed urgency.

Run.

Hunkered low, his slight frame weaving left and right, he negotiated the busy street and dodged around discarded coffee cups and soft drink cans.

The road widened out into a marketplace, and Matthew turned his attention to the children’s rides that crowded the uneven cobblestones. A long line of people encircled a brightly lit carousel, jostling for space beside a large roundabout with teacups for seats.

He passed by all of it, his thoughts a blur as his fingers wrapped around the small bag in his left pocket. He could feel the hard round pills pushing against the plastic, and swallowed to lose the sour taste in his mouth.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Easy money.

Freedom.

A sense of taking back control of his life.

And now look at him – a fugitive, on the run in a town where he had no friends, and pursued by someone who would kill him, of that he had no doubt.

The entrance to an alleyway caught his eye, a darkened maw that led out of the market square, away from the bright lights and noise.

Matthew shot a glance over his shoulder, saw no-one observing his movements, and ran the final few metres to reach it.

The shadows welcomed him, the neon lights trailing after his silhouette until he outpaced them.

He winced as a stitch tore into his ribs, and slowed to a walking pace, his breathing laboured.

Don’t stop.

A groan escaped his lips as he passed a side door into the café that bordered one side of the alleyway, the sound of a radio playing carrying through the woodwork.

He was so damn tired.

Exhausted.

Scared.

Three large industrial-sized bins lined the wall opposite the doorway and Matthew edged past them, gagging at the stench of rotten food and waste.

The fine hairs on the back of his neck prickled a split second before he heard the voice.

‘Where d’you think you’re running to, Matty?’

He threw himself against the wall behind the last bin and brought his fist to his mouth, holding his breath in a desperate attempt to conceal his whereabouts.

Heavy footsteps approached, the man unhurried.

Run.

I can’t, he thought.

I’m tired.

I want to go home.

Except he couldn’t, could he?

There was no home.

The footsteps drew closer.

He could hear the man breathing, hard.

‘Come out, Matty. There’s nowhere to go. Doesn’t matter if you run. We’ll find you. He’ll find you…’

He could smell him before he saw him – a fetid stink of unwashed clothing, body odour, sweat.

Matthew gagged, then broke cover.

He didn’t stand a chance.

The man reached out, snatched hold of the back of his jacket and jerked him to a standstill.

A burst of pain shot into his back, driving into skin and muscle, burning into sinew.

Crying out, Matthew gritted his teeth, his heart pounding as he squirmed and tried to loosen the man’s grip.

It was no use – his attacker was older, bigger, stronger.

Desperate.

The man let him go for a moment, then placed a heavy hand on his shoulder and spun him around until they faced each other.

His eyes widened in fear as the man raised the knife, his lips peeling back to reveal rotten teeth. He took a step back, tried to wriggle away, tried to escape…

The knife plunged into his stomach, fire spreading up into his ribcage.

Then the man shoved him away as if he couldn’t bear to touch him, and Matthew was falling backwards.

Fine mist clung to his hair, a shocked breath escaping his lips in a cloud of condensation as the warmth left his lungs.

It hurts.

A single tear rolled over his cheek, the salty water tracing its way across the grime that slicked his skin.

Matthew’s knees buckled, his legs shaking moments before his shoulder crashed against the hard pavement.

Then, darkness.

CHAPTERTWO

The twelve-year-old girl leapt back and emitted a strangled scream at the sight of the skull’s grinning jaw.

Flashes of light blinded her vision, highlighting the criss-cross of bones that lay under the skull, arranged so that she could spot the ribs, the fingers, the legs.

A pumping beat thundered in the air, decibel levels thumping in her chest and deadening her senses from all but the nightmare vision that lurched from the shadows.

Shivering, eyes wide with terror and oblivious to the light rain that peppered her slight frame, she blinked, and then swallowed as the skull’s jaw opened wide and laughter cackled from a speaker above her head.

Behind her, a chorus of screams pierced the night, and a hand wrapped around her arm.

Her sister’s voice bellowed in her ear.

‘I can’t believe you fell for that.’

Anna turned away from the animated display welcoming people to the ghost train ride, forcing a smile at her older sibling. ‘I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘Stop teasing her, Louise.’ Detective Sergeant Mark Turpin reached out his hand for his younger daughter. ‘All right, Anna?’

‘I’m fine.’ Her voice defiant, she glared at her older sibling and shrugged off his touch.

‘Did you want to have a go on this ride?’

‘No. I was just looking.’

‘Right, then. I’m starving. Who wants hot dogs?’

‘I do.’ Lucy O’Brien grinned at Anna, and then pointed to the scruffy dog at her heels. ‘And I’ll bet Hamish won’t say no to a sausage, either.’

Anna’s face brightened as the dog tugged at his lead, and Louise rolled her eyes before holding up her phone to snap a photograph of the colourful fairground rides along the road beside them.

Mark paused to let the two girls go ahead, then winked at Lucy. ‘Disaster avoided.’

She laughed, slipped her hand into his and gave it a squeeze.

The aroma of onions cooking on an open grill teased his taste buds, his stomach rumbling as they followed the two girls towards a line of catering wagons that had been parked outside a busy pub. Ruing the diet he had been trying to maintain since the summer, he ran a hand over black curly hair and sighed.

At thirty-eight, he was all too aware of his forties approaching and with it all the health issues he could see in many of his older colleagues.

‘You’re thinking too hard,’ said Lucy over the noise of the crowd. ‘I can hear the cogs whirring from here.’

He pointed to the prices listed on a blackboard next to the Ferris wheel. ‘It was only fifty pence when I was their age.’

‘It’s called inflation,’ she said, and grinned. ‘Think yourself lucky we came tonight – they put up the prices on some of the rides at the Michaelmas Fair on Tuesday last week. Anyway, I saw your face on the waltzer earlier – you’re enjoying yourself.’

He smiled, conceding the point, and then they reached the front of the food queue and he decided to stop worrying about the cost of everything. His daughters were here, they were having fun – and if the size of the burger Anna held in her hand was any indication, they were hungry.

‘Move over here, out of the way,’ he said, leading them to the doorway of a darkened clothing store. ‘Does anyone want to go on the dodgems after this?’

Louise wrinkled her nose. ‘Dad, we haven’t been on those since we were little. What about the big swing at the end of the street instead? We could walk back there.’

A shiver ran down Mark’s spine at the memory of the tiny swings suspended on top of an enormous rotating pole, and he shook his head.

‘Maybe next year. Anna needs to be a bit taller. Mind you, the way that burger’s just disappeared, it isn’t going to take long before she grows.’

That raised a laugh, and his youngest daughter hiccupped before balling up her paper napkin and shoving it in her pocket.

He finished his hot dog, held out the last morsel for Hamish, and then wiped his fingers. ‘Okay, time for one more ride at this end of the street, and then we’ll head home. You two might have an early holiday pass from school, but you still have homework to hand in tomorrow morning, right?’

‘Thanks for the reminder, Dad,’ said Louise, scowling.

He shook his head as she flounced away from the doorway, Anna in tow as they worked their way towards Market Place, and then felt Lucy’s arm loop through his.

‘Cheer up,’ she said. ‘When she was helping me wash up after lunch, she told me how good it was to be spending some time with you.’

‘Really?’ He’d taken the girls to visit Lucy on her narrowboat, and they hadn’t stopped talking about it all afternoon. ‘That’s good to know. Anna seems happy enough, but it’s hard to tell what’s going around in Louise’s head sometimes.’

‘Well, I’m sure she knows she can talk to you if she needs to. Have you heard from Debbie?’

‘She’s arrived in St Helier and called me when she got back to the hotel after going to the hospital.’

‘How’s her mother?’

Mark shrugged. ‘Not good. She had a stroke, and they’re still trying to work out what damage has been caused.’

Lucy murmured a response, and then froze as a piercing scream cut through the noise from the fairground rides.

It rang out over the excited shouts and screeches from the rides, different in pitch, and full of terror.

Mark craned his neck, spotted his daughters a few metres ahead, and hurried to join them.

‘Dad?’ Anna’s voice wobbled.

He held up his hand to silence her, straining his ears to hear over the thudding bass-heavy music from the ride next to him.

Then he saw her – a woman in her late twenties, bundled up in a dark-coloured anorak against the elements, running from an alleyway beside a café.

Another scream carried on the breeze.

Mark watched as the woman tore across the cobblestones, weaving between the carousel and swings before she reached one of the security personnel and began pointing towards the direction from which she had appeared.

He frowned as the security guard paled and brought a radio to his lips.

‘Lucy? Can you wait here with the girls?’

She pushed her curls from her face, her eyes quizzical. ‘Of course. Why?’

‘I want to find out what’s going on. Back in a minute.’

He didn’t wait for an answer, and instead strode to intercept the woman and the security guard as the pair pushed through the tide of people flooding the market square.

Her eyes wide in shock, the woman kept one hand on the security guard’s arm as she led him towards the entrance to the alleyway.

Mark caught up with them beside the carousel, ignored the children’s excited cries as the machine spun them around, and cupped his hands around his warrant card.

‘DS Mark Turpin, Thames Valley Police. What’s going on?’

‘There’s a boy in the alleyway,’ said the woman, her voice catching in a sob that wracked her body. ‘He’s been stabbed. I think he’s dead.’

CHAPTERTHREE

Loud music and excited shouts from the rides merged into a white noise that filled Mark’s ears, creating a vacuum as his mind processed the woman’s words.

Oblivious to the colourful procession of umbrellas that were being raised into the air as drizzle turned into a shower, he ran through all the possible scenarios in his head, and then––

‘Have you phoned for an ambulance?’ he said, pulling out his mobile phone.

She hugged her arms to her sides. ‘I-I’m sorry. No. There’s so much blood…’

‘Did you check if he was breathing?’

The woman shook her head, eyes wide.

‘What’s your name?

‘Clare. Clare Baxter. I work in the café.’

‘And you’re…?’

‘S-Simon Carmichael,’ said the security guard, his voice shaking.

‘Clare, how far along the alleyway is he?’

‘About halfway. The service door opens out next to those bins. I was putting out the rubbish, and the light from the kitchen––’

‘Wait here, both of you.’

Mark hit the dial button, gave his credentials and requested an ambulance and a uniformed patrol to attend the scene, then shoved his phone in his pocket and squinted into the darkness of the alleyway, aiming the light from his phone at the ground.

Hurrying forwards, he could see the open door from the café swinging in the wind that buffeted him along and ruffled his hair. The bins Clare had described were lined against one side of the wall, leaving a narrow gap on the left. Beyond those, streetlights shone at the end of the alleyway.

Nothing moved.

No-one called out.

Holding his phone aloft, he swept the beam back and forth, his mouth dry. He pushed the door closed so he could pass easily, and then strained his ears over the thumping music. The light from his phone swept past the bins next to the door, across the ground – and then picked out a crumpled form lying further along.

The teenager was dressed in a hoodie and jeans, his feet covered with off-white branded sneakers.

‘Christ.’

Mark dropped to a crouch, took one look at the pool of blood under the slight form, and then pulled aside the hood that partially covered the boy’s face.

Shock ricocheted through his body as he took in the pale features obscured by blood that had smeared across the boy’s cheek, followed by a desperate urge to make this right. He took in the closed eyes and reached out with his fingers to check for a pulse.

Nothing.

‘Shit.’

Placing his phone on the concrete beside him, he turned the boy so he lay flat on his back, clasped his hands together, and began chest compressions.

He raised his gaze to the boy’s face and frowned at a memory that nagged at the fringes of his thoughts. Adjusting his hands, his movements followed a beat that had been drilled into him at regular first aid sessions.

Sirens wailed in the distance, creating an eerie backdrop to the pulsating bass from the rides beyond the alley.

As sweat began to bead at his forehead, Mark’s breaths became ragged while he tried to maintain the same rhythm.

‘Come on, come on.’

He paused a moment, holding his fingers to the boy’s neck, before continuing with a renewed urgency.

His stomach contracted as a stark reality set in, and then there were voices at the end of the alleyway, shouted commands, running footsteps.

A firm hand gripped his shoulder. ‘We’ll take it from here.’

Mark staggered backwards, exhausted, and leaned against the café door while the two paramedics swept into action.

He tried to tune into their murmured conversation as the boy’s sweatshirt was snipped away, exposing a faded T-shirt that soon met the same fate, and then watched as his body jolted with the shock from the defibrillator.

‘He’s been stabbed,’ said one of the paramedics over his shoulder.

‘Any sign of the weapon?’

‘No.’

Mark hauled himself away from the wall and stood beside him as his colleague sat back on his heels and shook his head.

‘Sorry, mate.’

Blood rushed in Mark’s ears as he took in the pitiful figure lying at his feet, and he reached out, placing his hand on the side of the bin to steady himself.

‘Thanks for trying,’ he said, his training taking over. ‘Get yourselves to the end of the alleyway. I’m closing this off as a crime scene.’

He followed in their wake, grateful to see two uniformed constables hovering at the entrance to Market Place.

Beyond the small crowd of professionals grouped beside the abandoned tables outside the café’s entrance, a few passers-by walked past with children in tow, the kids’ attention on the rides while the adults gaped with open mouths at the scene unfolding in the square.

‘Get a cordon set up,’ said Mark to the two officers. He turned to the security guard. ‘I’ll need you to help coordinate until I get more help.’

The man nodded. ‘Anything you need.’

‘Okay. Stay away from the alley, but anything else these two ask you to do, please follow their instructions.’

After ensuring they taped off both the entrance from their position near the rides as well as the rear exit from the alleyway that led to the loading areas for the shops, and arranging for additional backup, he checked the signal on his phone then dialled a name from the contacts list.

‘Sarge?’

Detective Constable Jan West’s voice bubbled through a background noise that sounded similar to that near Mark.

‘Where are you?’

‘The boys are on the dodgems. I heard sirens.’

‘Can you get yourself along to Market Place? We’ve got a fatal stabbing.’

‘Bloody hell.’

She lowered the phone, and he recognised the voice in the background as that of her husband, Scott. Then she was back.

‘I’ll be right there.’

He hung up, and then heard a familiar voice.

‘Dad!’

Mark’s head snapped around at Anna’s call, to see his two daughters beside Lucy, frightened expressions on their young faces.

He followed Anna’s stare, taking in his bloodied hands, his stained jacket and trousers.

His shoulders slumped.

Hurrying across the square towards them, ignoring the shocked stares from passers-by, he shoved his phone in his pocket and tried to work out what he was going to say.

‘Is someone dead?’ said Louise, stepping forward, her brow furrowed.

Mark nodded. His daughters were no strangers to what his job entailed, and he would never lie to them.

‘Yes. A teenager.’

‘Was it an accident?’ Anna’s eyes were wide as she peered up at him.

‘I don’t think so.’ He turned his gaze to Lucy, but she shook her head.

‘The girls can stay with me tonight. I’ve got plenty of spare bedding. They can have my bed, and I’ll sleep in the cabin.’

‘I’m sorry––’

‘It’s okay, don’t worry.’ She forced a smile and placed an arm around Anna. ‘That all right with you two? Shall we head back to mine and let your dad do his job?’

Louise reached out for his arm and squeezed it. ‘We’ll be fine, Dad. Lucy’s right.’

His throat tightened at the sincerity in her voice, at the thought of the dead boy in the alleyway who must surely be the same age as her, and fought back the tears that pricked at his eyes.

They were both so young.

He didn’t know what he would do if he lost them.

Kissing his daughter’s cheek, he hugged Anna, and then managed a smile as Lucy squeezed his arm.

‘I’ll wait up for you.’

‘Thank you.’

He watched as the three of them wove their way between the rides, Hamish at their heels, until they were gone from sight and then turned at the sound of footsteps hurrying towards him.

Jan West sounded out of breath, but she was here, and she was ready if the look on her face was anything to go by.

‘Are you all right?’ she said as she joined him.

‘It’s a kid, Jan. A teenage boy.’

CHAPTERFOUR

Half an hour later, the café had been closed, and Clare Baxter’s statement taken.

Jan sent the woman home after making sure there was someone available if she needed to talk, before turning her attention to the police officers maintaining the cordon that stretched from the corner of Bury Street and around the back of the children’s rides.

She pulled up her coat hood against the persistent rain that filled the air and tried to ignore the stream of parents hurrying past with their children in tow, the adults wearing frightened expressions as news spread about the boy’s murder, while the kids were having tantrums at their night out being cut short.

Turning away, she raised her gaze to the flickering lights and neon signs that flashed above her head, the cheerful colours strobing against the buildings a stark contrast to the blue lights from the emergency vehicles crowding the entrance to the High Street.

The aroma of candy floss and doughnuts wafted on the breeze that chased the rain, a cloying smell that turned her stomach.

Her phoned pinged, and she glanced down at the screen. A message from Scott, to say he and the boys were home and that he’d get them to school in the morning.

She shoved it back in her pocket, thoughts of her own children tumbling together with the pitiful sight of the reversing lights from the coroner’s vehicle at the far end of the alleyway before it braked to a standstill near the exit.

A group of journalists huddled at one end of the cordon, far enough away from the alleyway to alleviate the risk of any photographs being obtained that could be shared online within moments, and a drone operator had already been given short shrift.

While she continued to walk around the perimeter of the square, the crime scene investigation team began erecting a screen at the end of the alleyway and a white tent was manhandled into place to afford them privacy while they worked.

Over on the far side of the square, Turpin had his mobile phone to his ear, his face grim as he relayed an update to Detective Inspector Ewan Kennedy, his finger in his other ear as he tried to block out the noise around him.

One by one, rides in the Market Place ground to a standstill as the square filled with uniformed officers and security guards.

They had done their best in difficult circumstances, creating a funnel from the steel security barriers that had been used to block off traffic from the town centre. Now, the public had to pass through it in order to leave the square so that names and contact details could be gleaned before sending them away into the night.

Tempers had frayed, frustration bubbling to the surface of some people until a murmured response from one of the officers implied that someone had died. Their expressions turned from indignant to horrified to chastened, their heads bowed as they scurried away.

Panic threatened – Jan had never dealt with so many potential witnesses, so many ways in which a killer could disappear into a crowd or leave the scene via streets that were dark compared to the snaking line of fairground rides along Ock Street.

She gave herself a mental shake, and continued her circuit of Market Place, noting where CCTV and privately owned cameras were placed, creating a list of businesses that would have to be contacted in the morning. To this, she added the name of a bank’s logo displayed across the top of an ATM in the hope that something might be caught on that camera to help the ensuing investigation.

Her uniformed colleagues would walk the routes from the square and carry out a similar exercise, but she wanted a head start.

A voice called her name, and she turned to see Turpin approaching.

‘Jasper has cleared a path to the crime scene. Do you want to walk it with me?’

Following him back to the cordon, she dipped under the blue and white tape after scrawling her signature on a form and handing back the clipboard to a young plainclothed officer with traces of face paint on her cheeks.

She saw a flicker of recognition in the woman’s eyes. ‘Were you here with your kids, too?’

‘Yes. Sent them home with my mum as soon as I heard. Figured I’d try to help.’

Jan clenched her teeth as the tall CSI lead handed her a pair of coveralls and bootees to cover her shoes, then followed Turpin as Jasper pulled the screen aside and led the two detectives to the scene of the boy’s death.

‘I didn’t hold out much hope for him,’ said Turpin, his voice breaking. He coughed, then said, ‘There was too much blood. I checked for a pulse, then tried CPR before the ambulance arrived. He didn’t stand a chance.’

Jan swallowed.

A few metres ahead, the coroner’s team zipped closed a sleek body bag and hoisted the victim onto a gurney. They wheeled it away without a backward glance.

Despite the businesslike way the two men busied themselves loading the gurney into the back of the van at the end of the alleyway, she knew they would be affected by the teenager’s murder.

They all were, particularly when a death involved one so young.

‘Did you find the weapon used to stab him?’

Jasper shook his head. ‘Nothing yet. We’ve extended our search into the road beyond the alley, though – there are more bins for the shops that need to be checked for a start.’

‘I’ll have a word with uniform and request a search of bins along the roads leading from the town centre as well,’ said Turpin. ‘They can coordinate with your team if anything comes up.’

Jan let their voices wash over her as she took in the dark stain on the ground, now floodlit by high arc lamps that the CSI team had erected on tripods to assist in their work.

‘How old do you think he was?’ she said.

‘Thirteen, maybe fourteen,’ said Turpin.

Jan exhaled as she ran her eyes over the blood stains that trailed away to the rear of the alleyway. ‘So, he was attacked, and then didn’t make it far enough to get help.’

‘Looks that way,’ said Jasper. He pointed to where a second team of CSIs worked. ‘There’s a lot of blood nearer the café’s bins that would indicate where he was stabbed, with the resulting blood from both the wound and the weapon used. We’ve got a smear on the wall just over there, as if he got that far after being stabbed and paused to steady himself before trying to make his way to the rear of the alley.’

‘Except he didn’t, and died here.’ Turpin’s head was lowered, his mouth set as he looked at the floor. ‘Any way of identifying him?’

‘No identification,’ said Jasper. He put out a hand to a colleague standing nearby with a collection of small plastic bags on the ground by her feet and called her over. ‘We did find something that might interest you, though. Gareth found these in his pocket.’

Turpin frowned as the CSI handed over the bag, three yellow pills at the bottom.

‘Ever seen something like this before?’

‘I don’t recognise it. You?’

Jan watched while her colleague turned the bag in his hands then tilted it so it fell under the glare of the floodlight.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Is it new?’

‘We’ll run some tests when we get them to the lab. It could take a while though,’ said Jasper.

‘I know.’ Turpin sighed. ‘Anything else?’

‘We’ve bagged up a couple of receipts and a bus ticket for processing that we found scrunched up in his pocket,’ said Gareth.

‘What about a mobile phone?’

‘Nothing yet.’

‘All right, thanks. Jasper – can you let us have your report as soon as you can? You’ll let us know if the weapon turns up?’

The CSI lead nodded. ‘And I’ll call you if we find anything else that might help you.’

‘Thanks.’ Turpin turned on his heel.

Jan stood for a moment, her gaze roaming over the blood stains that slicked the ground.

What had brought him here?

Where were his family?

Why would someone want to kill him?

Turpin nudged her with his elbow and jerked his chin towards the entrance to the alleyway.

‘Come on.’

She nodded, her throat tight. ‘Sarge.’

Following him back towards Market Place, her heartbeat thudding in her ears as loudly as the beat that still pounded from the fair’s sound system, she wondered what had gone wrong in the youngster’s life that had ended with him dying alone, here.

Ahead of her, Turpin waved over a police sergeant she recognised as a local, and brought him up to date with Jasper’s findings.

‘We’ll head to the station now. Kennedy’s already there setting up an incident room, so we’ll assist with that and then go through what we know to date.’ Turpin peered over the police sergeant’s shoulder towards one of the ride operators and raised his voice. ‘And will someone turn that bloody music off?’