The Dead Voices: A London Crime Thriller (DCI Arla Baker Series Book 10)

Deadly secrets of the past collide in the clear light of present day. A woman's skeleton is discovered in the basement of a house in North London. Detective Chief Inspector Arla Baker is called in to investigate. No one knows who this woman is.

Arla finds a clue - a bank account number engraved on a toe ring.
It leads her to the woman's mother, and there Arla makes a shocking discovery.
The woman has a photo with a friend whom Arla recognizes instantly.
Her own mother, who left her as a child...

Who is the woman who knew Arla's mother?

And why has she lain in an unmarked grave for so many years?
As The Dead Voices from the past start whispering in Arla's ear, her own life begins to unravel...

This is a spine chilling crime thriller that will set your heart racing...get it today so you don't miss out!

CHAPTER 1


The tall, white spire of St Mary's church gleamed in the sun. The greystone church building dated back to the mediaeval times. There was an abbey next to it, which had recently been redeveloped into a glass fronted building that served for wedding receptions. Ornamental stained-glass windows framed the church wall, the more fragile ones protected by wrought iron grills.
A glorious sun loomed over the festive scene, shining down from a spotless blue sky. The church was the main congregation in the small town of Claygate in Surrey. The courtyard was full of people gathering for the bride to arrive. A liveried guard directed the flow of traffic into the parking lot.
The bells tolled the hour of midday, and Detective Chief Inspector Arla Baker sailed in through the gates in the vintage 1930s Bentley, decorated with silver strings from the windshield to the front bumper.
Elation and apprehension clutched in her stomach as the throng of people in the courtyard came into view. Her father, Timothy, was sat next to her. The Bentley’s driver made a circle round the water fountain and stopped at the stairs that led up to the church door. Several hands waved at Arla, and she waved back at the laughing, expectant faces. She gathered the hem of her dress, and hoped like hell her hair looked okay. Timothy turned to her.
"You look gorgeous, darling. Just perfect," Timothy's normally dull grey eyes sparkled with affection. His weathered and lined face had borne the ravages of time and fate, but today his expression was one of undiluted happiness. His lips split into a smile. He swallowed heavily, and the emotion in his voice was clear.
"I'm so glad to be here."
Arla touched her father's hand. "So am I, Dad." A brief and silent exchange passed between them. Arla didn't have her mother and sister here. The words of loss and regret didn't need to be uttered. But loss had mingled into union, and today, regret would be transformed into joy. Arla blinked, swallowed back the tears, and looked down. It was Timothy's turn to give her hand a squeeze.
"It's going to be a great day darling. Let's go. They’re waiting."
Arla gave her father a tentative smile, and he patted the driver on the shoulder. The driver opened Arla's door. A group of women, all splendidly dressed, surged up to her car. Lisa Moran, Arla’s trusted detective sergeant, was one of the bridesmaids. She wore a purple sleeveless dress with a bow tie in the middle. The freckles on her nose and cheeks seem more pronounced in the sun. She grinned, then knelt down to help lift the hem of Arla's dress.
Arla thanked her. Geeta and Rosslyn, the two other bridesmaids, came forward to sure Arla inside. Arla leaned to words Ross. "Where's Nicole?"
Before Ross could answer, there was a familiar squeal of excitement. The small crowd that had gathered around Arla separated to allow a rosy cheeked four-year-old come bouncing down the gravel path. She was pulling on the hands of her grandmother, Rita Mehta, who visibly struggled to keep up.
"Mummy!" Nicole said, running up to her. Arla used her arms to stop Nicole from squashing her dress. Nicole's big eyes travelled up and down her mother, inspecting her seriously.
"Are you okay sweetheart?" Arla asked.
Nicole nodded solemnly. She had never seen her mother like this, and she was surprised. Arla gave her a peck on the cheek. "You stay with grandma, okay?"
Nicole nodded. Rita, who was wearing a burgundy dress with a light-coloured, matching cardigan, leaned it into give Arla a peck on the cheeks. "You look fabulous," she murmured.
“Thank you,” Arla grinned
She was hardly the blushing bride. She was over 40, and her life had been convoluted to say the least. But she had dreamt of wearing white one day, and finally, the dream had come true.
The guests were moving in swiftly, taking their seats on the pews. Soon, the crowd had dispersed, leaving only Arla, Timothy and the bridesmaids.
Rob Pickering, another member of her team that Harry had chosen as his best man, came down the stairs. His eyes flicked from Arla to Rosslyn. He was wearing a three-piece suit with coattails, and perspiration beaded on his forehead.
"All ready inside. The organ player is expecting you in exactly 1 minute from now. When you're at the gates, one of us will signal to him, and he'll start the music."
Rob cracked a smile. "You look great, guv."
"Don't call me guv today, please," Arla grinned.
"Okay Arla." Rob smiled, and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.
"That's better."
Rob turned and jogged back up the steps. He spoke to a couple of men at the gates, who nodded. Timothy held Arla's hand, as her bridesmaids lifted the dress, and Arla navigated the steps carefully. She had decided to wear heels, and change them later on.
Her breath caught when she stared inside the church nave. Harry had a big family. Rita had three sisters, and their families had turned up. Timothy had a brother and sister in America. They had travelled down as well. Several heads turned, and a ripple of whispers spread through the congregation. Andy Jackson, normally a uniformed inspector, but today looking splendid in a dark suit, leaned in towards Timothy. "At my count of five, you start walking down."
Timothy nodded. Arla smiled, looking nonchalant, but her heart was thudding loudly. She grabbed Timothy's elbow, and he placed a hand over hers. They walked down the aisle, and the wedding march started.
As she approached the pulpit, Harry held her eyes. She couldn’t keep her eyes off him. Easily the tallest man in the church, Harry was resplendent in his coattails and three-piece navy-blue suit. His hair was gelled back, and there was a red rose in his left breast pocket. Timothy shook hands with Harry, then took his seat next to Rita and Harry's sister, Smita.
The priest smiled at them, and started the service. Arla stared into Harry's eyes. His chestnut brown eyes swirled with affection. His coffee brown cheeks were smooth as marble, and his full expressive lips appear to twitch in anticipation. She smiled.
She almost cried when Harry slipped the ring on her. He had saved a month's salary for that ring, she knew. He had shown it to her, then together they had travelled down to Hatton’s Square, the jewellery district in London's East End. It was a perfect fit.
The priest said, "now you may kiss the bride."
Harry leaned in, reeking of cologne as usual. "At last," he whispered in Arla's ears. Then he kissed her, and the congregation burst into cheers and applause. Some even whistled from the back seat. Arla closed her eyes, holding onto Harry's hand, savouring the moment.

















CHAPTER 2

Pete Matson sucked on his cigarette, inhaling the smoke with the dust that flew around the building site. Pete had taken off his hardhat, and turned his face up to the sunlight. It was nice being out here, A relief from digging around in the old basement.
The loud groan of a ground breaking pneumatic drill shook the earth under his feet. The pillar he was leaning against the started to shake. It was an unpleasant feeling and he stood straighter, cursing. He walked down to the opening of the building, where some other builders were smoking.
An old terraced building was being torn down, making way for a new collection of flats. It was decrepit and hadn't been used for years. The stuff they had found so far in the tall four-storey building was amazing. Newspapers from the 1930s. Moth eaten skirts and jackets from a bygone era. Pete had shaken off the dust from a couple of newspapers. It was interesting to read about news coverage during the war. It was easy to forget, now, the reign of terror London had gone through during the Blitz. The faded front page photo showed the collapsed buildings, and the people gathered around it. He shook his head. If there was a war now, the entire city would be vaporised in seconds. That was progress, right?

Pete's friend, Luke was squatting on his haunches, cigarette dangling from his lips. He glanced up at Pete. "Couldn't stand the noise, right?" Like Pete, Luke had noise cancelling earphones slung around his neck. Pete squatted next to his friend. He took her lung full of smoke, then exhaled. He was trying to give up smoking, but not succeeding. At least he stopped the gambling. One vice at a time.

"I better get 120 a day for this," Peter grumbled. He was quite skilled now, in basement and foundation work. His company specialised in it, and Pete had worked with them for three years. Luke joined last year, and the two had struck up a friendship.
"Better you than me. I'm getting 90."
"That's standard for a day labourer. But the gaffers left me in charge, and I should really get 150 at least. They're paying my taxes and pension, so I'll settle for 120."
They chatted for a while longer, then put out their cigarettes and went inside. Although terraced, these buildings were large. They were designed as apartments, and each floor was big enough to house a family of four. At the back, there were extensive grounds which was shared by the entire row of terraced houses. No one had a particular garden, but this house had its own section of land fenced in for some reason.
Peter grimaced, then put his ear protection on. He could see the lawns through the large glass window at the rear. Most of it was well maintained, and the people who lived here had money. He wondered why this building had become derelict. It stood like a rotten tooth in an otherwise well maintained shining set of dentures.
He went down the stairs to the basement. The basement was always present as a living area, but the dereliction here was even worse. Damp covered every wall, and rotten furniture layover rotten floorboards. The entire floor had to be removed, because it was a hazard to walk on it. New foundations had been laid where subsidence was discovered. That was the reason for the drilling, and it was driving Pete insane. One of the guys came up to him, asking to go on break. Pete allowed it, but that meant he had to go on the drilling cabin.
He swung inside and shifted the levers. He switched the engine on and it came to life with a growl. He moved the arms, and the drill lowered into the ground ahead. At the rear, lights building through the entrance into the garden upstairs. A couple of men were fixing the staircase. Pete concentrated on lowering the huge drill bit into the ground. Then he pressed the red button, and the machine started. He kept a close eye on the ground as the drill worked. They had dug down to 1 m already. And soon there would have to use shovels, because they didn't want to disturb the neighbouring buildings foundations.
The packed dark earth was uniform in colour. But something else caught Pete's I. He frowned at it, then shook his head. Yellow halogen lights were on above his head, but he couldn't make out the foreign object. He switched off the drill, then moved it out of the way. Taking his torch and shovel, he hopped down into the hole.
He shown the torchlight at the round, light coloured object. It it seemed like a brass pot in an excavation site. He got excited. Buried treasure wasn't uncommon in London. Many people had hidden their family's wealth during the Blitz. Also, old Roman ruins were often discovered while excavating the foundations of buildings.
Pete called a couple of guys, and they joined him with shovels. Pete warned them to be careful, and they worked around the object, slowly exposing it.
As the object came into view, Pete stopped. It was too small to be a pot. A guy who was working about a metre to his left called out to him. The guy had a shocked expression on his face. He pointed to the ground. Pete looked, and his heart was suddenly in his mouth, his breathing laboured.
A skeleton foot was buried in the ground. The earth had been loosened around it, but it was firmly impacted within it. The foot was clearly visible, up to the ankle level. And there was no doubt it belonged to a dead human being.
"Oh shit," Pete whispered.