ANN CLEEVES
The Darkest Evening
Contents
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
For my new friends in the North.
Acknowledgements
Thanks, as always, to the teams of publishers, editors, copy-editors, marketeers and reps who support my writing and bring the books to readers. They are too many to acknowledge in person, and now they’re based all over the world, but they have become friends, they make the books better and I couldn’t have the fun of storytelling without their hard graft. They know who they are. A special mention to Angela McMahon and Jill Heslop, who joined us last year. And of course, the team wouldn’t be complete without my fabulous agents, Sara, Moses, Rebecca and Jill.
Thanks to Anna and Charlotte at Pan Mac, for supporting my whim to target a new audience, and to Lou and her Bristol bus drivers for making it possible and sharing their stories. Let’s hope we can use The Darkest Evening to spark equally exciting projects. With the support of the Old Low Light in North Shields and the Literacy Trust, this has already started.
Constance Browne, Karan Pabla and Joanne Simmons Wright either gave large amounts to charity or won a competition to allow me to use their names in the novel. Thanks to them for their generosity.
I wouldn’t still be published without the support of public libraries and independent book shops. Again, there are too many to mention, but please know how much I appreciate your hard work and enthusiasm.
This is a Vera book, and in the tenth year of the TV drama I’d like to share my appreciation for the people at Silverprint who have brought the character to the screen: the execs, producers, cast and crew, and most especially the magnificent Brenda Blethyn.
Of course, a huge thank-you to my fellow crime-writers. We joke that people who write crime are the friendliest and most welcoming people in the business, and it’s true. Many have become close friends. Again, I can’t mention everyone, but Louise Penny provided help, support (and a rather lovely bed for the night) when I most needed it and has been there during the bad times. Also, this is the twentieth anniversary of Murder Squad and we continue to do what our founder Margaret Murphy intended, to raise the profile of individual members and the genre in general, to enjoy each other’s company and lift the occasional glass to the craft.
Finally, a shout-out to the readers who pay our wages and encourage us to continue writing. We need you a lot more than you need us.
Chapter One
LORNA LIFTED THOMAS FROM HIS HIGH chair and held him for a moment on her knee. She still couldn’t quite believe he was real. In the darkest days of her illness, she’d been warned that a child of her own might never be possible. Now here he was, more than a year old, walking a few steps, the centre and the love of her life. She tickled his tummy to make him giggle and held him tight. She would fight for him, with all the weapons she had. She’d fought the illness and come back stronger, done that by herself, and this was far more important.
Outside, the light had almost gone, and in the street light’s beam she saw flakes of snow. In a house further along the street, there was a tree in the window, artificial, strung with gaudy baubles. Soon, it would be midwinter, the longest night of the year. There was a temptation to stay where she was, to turn up the heating and decorate the room for Christmas. She’d bought sticky coloured paper to make old-fashioned paper chains, silver foil to turn into stars. Perhaps she’d invite her parents to come for wine and mince pies. It was the time of year for reconciliation.
She knew, though, that any sense of celebration would have to wait. Still with the boy on her knee, she pulled on his snow suit and his little red wellies, then set him on the floor while she found her own outdoor clothes. She took a set of keys from a hook on the kitchen shelf, looked around the room, distracted for a moment by thoughts of decoration, the presents she still had to buy for her son, then she stepped out into the cold.
Chapter Two
IT WAS DARK AND FREEZING and Vera was starting to panic. Halfway home, she’d known the journey was a mistake. She should have listened to the team and spent the night in Kimmerston, waiting for the storm to blow over, but she’d thought she knew better. She’d mocked her colleagues for their anxiety, told them that extreme weather was unusual this early in the winter, even in rural Northumberland. And when was the weather forecast ever accurate?
She’d left the police station in a light dusting of snow, a gusty wind blowing it away from the street and into tiny drifts at the kerbs and in shop doorways. Now, on the higher ground, there was a blizzard and the flakes were so big and so thick that she had to lean forward and peer through the windscreen in an attempt to see her way. There were no lights, and even with four-wheel drive she was anxious that she’d come off the narrow road. She’d seen no other traffic since leaving the last village and felt completely alone, disorientated. She drove this route most days, had told her sergeant Joe Ashworth she could do it blindfolded, but now she was lost and felt bewildered and scared.
She came to a crossroads and changed gear, preparing to stop, so she
