The Secret: The brand new thriller from the bestselling author of The Teacher

Copyright

Published by Avon

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

The News Building

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016

Copyright © Katerina Diamond 2016

Katerina Diamond asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008172213

Ebook Edition © March 2016 ISBN: 9780008172220

Version: 2017-07-05

Praise for The Teacher

‘A terrific story, originally told. All hail the new queen of crime!’

Heat

‘A web of a plot that twists and turns and keeps the reader on the edge of their seat. This formidable debut is a page-turner, but don’t read it before bed if you’re easily spooked!’

Sun

‘A page-turner with a keep-you-guessing plot.’

Sunday Times Crime Club

‘Diamond neatly handles a string of interlocking strands.’

Daily Mail

What the reviewers said:

‘This is a story that immediately pulls you in and doesn’t let go until the last page … The story flowed so brilliantly and made me keep turning the pages; a thriller from beginning to end. Each scene was rich and vivid; highly recommended.’

‘It stands out a mile with its poisonous cover and the story within refused to let go of me.’

‘A truly page-turning, somewhat gruesome read. Well written, pacy and with great characters.’

‘The Teacher is a fast-paced grisly page-turner and an extraordinary debut from Katerina Diamond.’

Dedication

For my husband, without whom I would think about murder a lot less.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise for The Teacher

Dedication

Chapter 1: The Pro

Chapter 2: The Survivor

Chapter 3: The Hunted

Chapter 4: The Traitor

Chapter 5: The Case

Chapter 6: Just a Boy

Chapter 7: The Fixer

Chapter 8: The Goddess

Chapter 9: The Lover

Chapter 10: The Scarred

Chapter 11: The Boat

Chapter 12: The Video

Chapter 13: A Boy Alone

Chapter 14: The Good Girl

Chapter 15: The Detox

Chapter 16: The Request

Chapter 17: The Intruder

Chapter 18: The Child

Chapter 19: A Boy and His Sister

Chapter 20: The Comedian

Chapter 21: The Forgotten

Chapter 22: The Connection

Chapter 23: The Question

Chapter 24: Inside

Chapter 25: The Third Wheel

Chapter 26: The Husband

Chapter 27: The Waiting

Chapter 28: The Lighthouse

Chapter 29: The Artist

Chapter 30: Best Laid Plans

Chapter 31: Sweet Air

Chapter 32: The Face

Chapter 33: The Girl

Chapter 34: The Player

Chapter 35: The Victim

Chapter 36: The Club

Chapter 37: The Blade

Chapter 38: The Host

Chapter 39: Loose Threads

Chapter 40: The Transfer

Chapter 41: The Admission

Chapter 42: Resolutions

Chapter 43: Locked and Loaded

Chapter 44: The Convict

Chapter 45: The Guest

Chapter 46: The Boyfriend

Chapter 47: The Deal

Chapter 48: The Hand

Chapter 49: The Hunter

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

Chapter 1: The Pro

The present

Bridget could hear cars passing on the wet roadside below the windows of the listed Victorian building where she worked. The traffic around Exeter’s Quadrangle started to change at this time of night, from people making their way back from work, to people seeking something a little more interesting than what they had going on at home. She looked down from her window. The rain had abated for a few moments and the streets were empty, aside from the occasional vehicle. The only other sound she could hear was her flatmate, Estelle, in the room next door, ‘entertaining’ her client, headboard banging against the wall. She stared at the illuminated face of the clock tower a few hundred yards from her house and waited. Her visitor was late. He was never late.

There was a knock on the door and before Bridget had a chance to answer, Estelle burst in, half-naked and out of breath.

‘I need a solid.’

‘Sounded like you were getting one.’

‘Good one.’ She adjusted her bra and flicked her hair extensions back. ‘I mean I need a favour.’

‘What kind of favour?’ Bridget didn’t want to know; Estelle’s favours were always a little extreme.

‘I’ve got Hitchcock with me and he wants extra time. I need you to take the Baby.’

‘No way, Estelle, he’s your problem, not mine. Besides, I’m waiting for someone.’

‘Come on, please, Bridge! He doesn’t even do anything, he just needs a cuddle and he sleeps the whole time. I’ll be ten minutes – tops!’

Bridget looked at her watch.

‘Fine, but just this once, Estelle, you know I’m not into all that.’

‘I’ll owe you one, big time.’

‘You will.’

Estelle blew her a kiss and disappeared. Bridget couldn’t help but keep looking out of the window, waiting for Sam. He would usually let her know if he couldn’t come, and the silence was making her nervous. The city of Exeter was strangely quiet tonight. Generally, everyone went to bed early during the week, preparing for another hard day at work, but on a Friday it was usually busier than this. Tonight definitely had more of a Wednesday feel. She watched a car approaching. It was slowing as it got near. The rain made it hard to discern the make, so she held on to the hope that it might be Sam. But as the black four-by-four pulled on to the battered forecourt, her hope faded. Through the rain, she saw a man step out of the car and rush to the front door. The buzzer rang, Estelle’s buzzer; they had one each, so each girl could tend to her own clients. Two girls per floor over two floors, with a communal kitchen and lounge at ground level. The sound went off again. It was frowned upon to open the door to someone else’s bell, but Bridget went downstairs through the communal hallway and looked out of the spy hole in the shared front door. It was too dark to see the man, and his face was shielded from the rain by the collar of his trench coat. She took one last look through the spy hole and opened the door. The man kept his face covered and walked in, shaking off his umbrella.

‘Where’s Estelle?’ the Baby asked.

‘Come in, Estelle asked me to take care of you today,’ Bridget said nervously, stepping out in front of the man. The Baby must have come straight from the office – she hoped he had his own nappy on underneath that bespoke Savile Row suit because there were some lines she just would not cross, even in the line of duty. As she led him up the stairs and to her room, she got the feeling he didn’t much care who was looking after him, just as long as someone was. He was one of the less perverted of Estelle’s clients, and that was saying something.

Bridget slowly undressed him, hanging each item carefully on a mahogany clothes horse. She pushed him on to the bed and sat down next to him, pulling him close to her and wrapping her arms around him.

‘I’m hungry, I need milk.’ He nuzzled into her.

‘Oh, um … I don’t …’

‘Estelle usually keeps it in a bottle in the fridge. You need to warm it up though.’ He seemed annoyed at having to tell her these things.

‘OK, sorry, just wait there.’ She rushed out of the room, silently cursing Estelle. This was not the deal.

She found the milk in the fridge and put it in the microwave. She pushed the button and stared at the red digital clock counting down. When it got to zero, the clock went back to the actual time and looking at it, she realised with a pang that she ought to be with Sam right now. All week she looked forward to her Friday visits with Sam. They would drive out to the Double Locks pub and huddle together in the corner. She began to worry again; it wasn’t like him to be late, he was never late. That feeling was creeping under her skin, the feeling that if she didn’t hear from him soon she may never hear from him again.

She took the bottle and shook it to disperse the heat. As she walked back to the bedroom, the door to Estelle’s room opened and out walked the man they all referred to as Hitchcock. Bridget had never seen him up close before; he was fiercely private. She could only just see Hitchcock’s eyes, very dark, staring at her with a mixture of disdain and scrutiny. There was something familiar about him. She had always assumed that he was called Hitchcock because he looked like the famous director – no one used real names in this game – but he was tall and slim, his dark hair peeking out from under his fedora. He looked nothing like the original Hitchcock. He turned away quickly and Bridget ducked into her room to find the Baby curled up on the bed in a babygro, sucking his thumb. She rolled her eyes and walked towards him. She could hear Estelle and Hitchcock arguing at the front door before it slammed shut. A moment later, her bedroom door opened and Estelle walked in. Flustered, she took the bottle from Bridget and sat down next to the Baby, beginning to stroke his hair.

‘I can take over now; he had to go.’

‘What were you fighting about?’

‘He wasn’t happy about bumping into you, that’s all. I told him earlier I had the place to myself. I thought you would be out. Come on, Baby.’ She lifted the Baby’s head on to her lap and put the bottle in his mouth – he suckled away. Bridget supposed as kinks went, it was a pretty harmless one.

‘I’m going to take a shower, then,’ Bridget said, before quickly exiting the room.

Their hot water wasn’t working again so Bridget gathered her things and went to ask Dee, who lived upstairs, if she could use her shower.

‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’

‘No, it’s cool. I was just getting ready to go out. What do you think of this?’ Dee did a twirl in what was obviously a stolen dress: blue sequins with a low neckline. She was a notorious shoplifter; some of the gifts she had given Bridget in the past attested to that. Dee was in between flatmates – previous tenants always looked for another house share after spending a few weeks with Dee and her sticky fingers.

‘You know those earrings of mine you like, the vintage blue crystal ones? They would look really nice with that dress. They’re in our bathroom downstairs, if you want them.’ Bridget smiled at Dee. It was always better to offer her things before she took them anyway.

‘You’re a star. Maybe tonight I’ll meet my millionaire,’ Dee said, blowing Bridget a kiss as she made her way down the stairs to the floor below.

Bridget loved the feeling of hot water. Living in this house felt dirty, everything felt wrong. She wished she could be back home with her family, or even call her mother, but that wasn’t an option at the moment. She washed her hair for the first time in a week, feeling the filth and grime hidden underneath the layers of hairspray. Dirty hair held a style better. Estelle would make her hair pretty again with rollers and a curling iron. Bridget was never any good with that stuff. Luckily she was naturally quite appealing, in fact she looked better without make-up on, but the men here weren’t interested in natural beauty. They wanted the hot plastic on their arm, with the push-up bras and the fake tans; they wanted the glamour-model look, not the girl next door. Mostly Bridget just provided dates, unlike Estelle, who was all about the extra-curriculars – that’s where the real money got made, that’s where you got to meet the important men. Bridget hadn’t proved she could be trusted yet.

She turned off the water and ran her fingers through her hair, it squeaked between her hands as she worked through the tangles. It felt so good to get all that shit off her. She threw a towel around herself and headed into Dee’s lounge, where she spotted several things of her own that had gone missing in the last few days. She didn’t begrudge Dee; she knew it was something she had no control over, and none of those stolen things meant anything to her anyway. Nothing in this life meant anything to her, except Sam.

She walked down the stairs back to her flat, wearing just her towel. The door was ajar. Something was off. She pressed her back against the wall and peered through the gap. She could see Dee’s foot, her blue patent shoe hanging off at the heel. Bridget crouched down and peered in further, she could hear a noise coming from inside. Don’t panic, she thought to herself. You know what to do. Still, her stomach twisted as she saw what was inside the room.

Dee was laid out on the ground, eyes wide open, her face frozen in an expression of surprise. Bridget could see her body moving as she struggled for breath. Blood pooled beneath her, and her legs were wet with red. Bridget could see a five-inch slash mark high up on the inside of her thigh. Her femoral artery had been cut; she would be dead within minutes. One thought entered Bridget’s head.

Shit. They know who I am.

Bridget started to move forward into the flat, knowing she had to get her phone. It was barely six feet away. Dee’s eyes moved towards her, flashing her a foreboding look, a warning. She saw a tear falling from the side of Dee’s head on to the floor as her eyes filled with an emptiness Bridget was all too familiar with. This wasn’t the first dead body she had seen, but it was the first time she had actually witnessed someone die. She couldn’t think about that right now. Remember. What do you do now? Whoever had done this was still in the flat. She couldn’t risk it. You need to warn Sam. Bridget needed to get to a phone. Sam would know what to do.

Chapter 2: The Survivor

The present

First of all, Bridget needed some clothes. She backed up the stairs, trying to make sure she didn’t make any noise; she knew whoever had hurt Dee was still in the building, probably hurting Estelle.

She looked through Dee’s clothes hurriedly, grabbing a black velour Hooch tracksuit. It was the only thing that went down further than the thighs and higher than the nipples. She crept down the stairs again. She could hear a man talking on the phone, with an accent she couldn’t quite place.

‘What do you mean it’s not her? There’re two women here and one bloke dressed as a fucking baby … Yeah, one of them has black hair and the other is blonde. I sent you the pictures … Well, she’s not here then, is she … All right, all right, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disrespect you. I’ll find her … Don’t worry, they’re all dead … No, no one saw me … There’s definitely no one else here … OK.’

She peered through the crack in the door again. The man was in her bedroom, his shadowy figure facing away from her. She could see her mobile phone on the side table, right above where all her shoes were kept, but she couldn’t go in. Slowly, she backed away from the bedroom, back into the communal hallway. Her breathing was fast and erratic but she tried to be quiet, tried not to disturb anything as she walked.

She opened the sash window in the hallway, wincing at the slight sound, and ran quickly down the fire escape. The cold, wet metal was a shock to her feet. She was trying hard not to make noise on the rickety iron staircase; in places the metal had completely eroded, so she had to be careful not to cut herself or put her foot through the steps. She ran down the side alley that was parallel to the back of the building, stopping at a yellow road-gritting salt box. The weather had been mild enough lately that she hadn’t needed to worry about it being disturbed for a while.

Bridget opened the box and reached inside. She dug around, the sound of the dirty chunks of rock salt scraping against each other setting her teeth on edge. She felt the leather strap of her backpack between her fingers and tugged hard. The salt displaced with a crunch, making more noise than she’d anticipated. She shot a look behind her to make sure no one was there. She was alone. She opened the bag and checked the contents. A roll of bank notes, a phone, a Leatherman multi-tool, an emergency power pack and a spare phone battery. The battery in the phone was dead so she switched it to the spare. There wasn’t a lot of battery left on the emergency one either. If this didn’t qualify as an emergency, she didn’t know what did. The only number on the phone was Sam’s. She pressed the screen.

Straight to answerphone.

‘Sam? It’s Bridge. Where the hell are you? Are you in trouble? A man came to the house while I was using the shower upstairs, but when I came back down they were all dead.’ She tried to keep the panic out of her voice, whispering furiously so as not to attract any attention. ‘I only saw Dee’s body. I didn’t see the others, but I heard him talking. It was me they were after … I didn’t see who it was though. He had a slight accent, I think, and he didn’t sound young, but that’s all I can tell you for now. I’m going to go to our meeting spot. Please be there.’ She checked over her shoulder, paused and took a deep breath. There was a feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her she wouldn’t be speaking to him for a while. ‘I love you, Sam.’

Bridget hung up, swinging the bag on to her back. She began walking towards the town centre, keeping one eye on a few drunks on the corner of the street. She wondered if they were who they appeared to be. Were they watching her? She surveyed the cars along the road, searching for a model more than twenty years old, as they were easier to get into. It was a long way to her usual meeting place with Sam. She needed a car.

Her eyes landed on a J-reg Vauxhall Cavalier. She dropped behind it and got to work, removing a paracord bow from the bag. Bridget kept one eye on the road as she worked, and ducked further down behind the car as she saw a man, walking in her direction. She didn’t have long. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw another, younger man emerge from the building behind him. The two men paused in the street, a few cars down from where she crouched. She could hear the rumble of raised voices as they began to argue.

Now was her chance.

She made a slipknot in the cord. She leveraged the door a fraction with the Leatherman and slid the string through the space, moving it slowly from side to side with one hand either end of the string until the loop connected with the bobble on the plastic door lock. She pulled each end of the string until the knot was tight around the lock then yanked the ends quickly upwards, unlocking the door.

The men both turned at the clunk, their faces hidden in the darkness. There was a beat of silence. Bridget waited a few seconds until they turned back to face one another, then carefully opened the car door. She reached under the steering column and unscrewed the cover, telling herself to keep calm. You’ve done this a million times before. She pulled out the wire bundle and stripped the two red battery wires of their casing, exposing an inch of copper with the knife on her Leatherman, then twisted them together. She stripped the brown ignition wire before getting in the car to crank the starter over. The moment that exposed ignition wire hit the battery the two men would know where she was; she had only seconds to get away. She took a deep breath and touched the wires together. As soon as the engine started, Bridget glanced through the window to see the two men moving, running to get to the car before she could drive away. She threw the backpack on to the seat beside her and pulled out into the road, turning the wheel so hard her hands hurt. If they had any doubts before they heard the wheelspin, they certainly didn’t now. Looking through the rear-view mirror, she was just in time to see the pair jumping into a car, ready to follow her.

Chapter 3: The Hunted

The present

Bridget took the road to St David’s station, wishing she had told Sam that she would meet him there, where there were people and places to hide in plain sight. She carried on driving, aware that the men were not far behind her. She saw them turn each corner as she reached the other end of the street, their car jolting on to the kerbs as they chased her. Bridget thought briefly about Estelle, and what must have happened to her. I should have called an ambulance. She couldn’t think about what she should have done, all she could think about was getting away from these men. Her eyes flitted between the rear-view mirror and the road ahead. As she drove down Bonhay Road she felt so exposed; there wasn’t enough traffic to get lost in.