Expectant, p.1
Expectant, page 1
PRAISE FOR EXPECTANT
‘From the opening pages, this story left me gasping for breath’ Michael Robotham
‘New Zealand’s modern Queen of Crime’ Val McDermid
‘Chillingly intense with a finely honed sense of place … Vanda Symon knows Dunedin and brings it vibrantly to life in this fast-paced thriller’ Craig Robertson
‘An excellent thriller, definitely one of the best of this year. Vanda Symon is a master of characterisation, plot and dialogue, and with every book, she exceeds expectations. I loved every moment’ Liz Nugent
‘From the ominous and shocking beginning to the heart-pounding ending, Expectant had me in its grasp … It was great to be back in Sam’s world again … an every-woman, witty, clever, hilarious, vulnerable and so extremely relatable … I’m fully invested in her’ Nikki Crutchley
‘I love this series. Sam Shephard is such a wonderful character, full of determination and bravado, down to earth and as witty as you could ask for … Emotional, tense, dramatic and just bloody good fun to read’ Jen Med’s Book Reviews
‘Full of tension, twists and great characters. A shocking crime shakes the community, but is this a one-off? Happy to recommend all Vanda’s books to crime-thriller fans’ Independent Book Reviews
PRAISE FOR VANDA SYMON
‘Fast-moving New Zealand procedural … the Edinburgh of the south has never been more deadly’ Ian Rankin
‘A sassy heroine, fabulous sense of place, and rip-roaring stories with a twist. Perfect curl-up-on-the-sofa reading’ Kate Mosse
‘If you like taut, pacy thrillers with a wonderful sense of place, this is the book for you’ Liam McIlvanney
‘All the thrills of a brilliantly plotted crime novel with some interesting moral questions woven between the words. Fast, furious and intense’ Helen Fields
‘Edgy, thrilling and terrifyingly realistic’ Lisa Hall
‘New Zealand’s answer to Siobhan Clarke’ The Times
‘It is Symon’s copper Sam, self-deprecating and very human, who represents the writer’s real achievement’ Guardian
‘An absolute must-have’ Daily Express
‘Vanda Symon’s work resembles Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum series. She knows how to tell a good story and the NZ setting adds spice’ The Times Crime Club
‘Grabs the reader’s attention with a heart-stopping opening and doesn’t let go’ Sunday Times
‘A deeply involving novel and a damn good thriller’ NB Magazine
‘Completely gripping’ Eve Smith
‘Fans of The Dry will love Vanda Symon’ Red Magazine
‘Atmospheric, emotional and gripping’ Foreword Reviews
‘Reads like the polished effort of a genre veteran. More, please’ Booklist
‘Another cracking story of life in the police down in Dunedin in New Zealand with our heroine Sam Shephard right in the thick of it’ J. L. Nicol
‘Real verve and personality … Excellent storytelling from an author who goes from strength to strength’ Mystery Magazine
‘Powerful, coolly assured, and an absolute belter of a read’ LoveReading
Expectant
Vanda Symon
To all of the loved ones lost
CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
PROLOGUE
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
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
COPYRIGHT
PROLOGUE
The group swaggered their way down Moray Place, voices loud, giving each other light-hearted grief. They were like any group of teenagers – full of themselves, finding their own fun, out a bit too late on a school night. They came around the bend, heading downhill towards George Street, but as if on cue, they took a left and ducked down the red-brick Victorian alleyway. The swagger dropped, hoodies were pulled up, and the banter pitch dropped to a soft murmur. The low lighting barely threw shadows as they descended the darkened, tunnel-like passage. One of them stopped as he entered, running a hand across the mural, tracing the line of a spindly leg.
‘What about here? Everyone will see it.’
The others slowed, turned back to consider the proposal.
Timi shook his head. ‘Nah, you can’t do that. That’s art. We don’t shit on other people’s art.’
The others turned and moved on. With a shrug, the youth followed them down towards the open courtyard, still running his fingers along the wall. It was late, and patrons of the hip bar along the side of the lane had toasted their last drinks and gone home. Apart from a couple of cars, the place appeared deserted. All angles and alcoves, the courtyard provided plenty of opportunities out of sight of prying eyes.
‘Over here – this one is perfect.’
They stood in front of the wall, a blank canvas awaiting their touch.
‘Sweet.’
The quiet was broken by the staccato rattle of ball-bearing peas clicking up and down as spray cans were shaken. They set to, arms sweeping and circling, the sharp tang of solvent and paint cutting the air. They worked in well-practised unison, their moves throwing choreographed shadows in the dim light. They worked quickly – being caught wasn’t an option – and the downside of their chosen alleyway was there was only one way in, and one way out. It was high-risk, but it would be worth the reward of having an epic tag here, right in the middle of town.
The schhhhh of the spray and shuffling and murmuring of the boys drifted into the night, but then, unnoticed at first, another sound infiltrated, a moaning, low and sporadic.
Timi stopped spraying, tilted his head, straining to listen. There it was again. His heartbeat bounced up. Had someone spotted them? Were they sprung? His head spun around, looking up towards the entrance, but there was no one there. Then he heard it again and realised it wasn’t coming from the street, and it didn’t sound human. It sounded like an animal, and it was coming from further down the alley. He placed his spray can down on the asphalt and walked cautiously in the direction of the noise.
‘Hey, whatcha doing, bro?’
Timi lifted his hand, signalling them to stop.
‘I heard something. I think there’s a dog or something down there.’
‘Well, don’t let it get ya. Might bite you, give you the rabies or something.’ The sentence was followed by a giggle.
Then he heard the sound again, and there was some quality about it that set every nerve on high alert. It was the sound of suffering, it was the sound of pain, and it was a sound that compelled him forward, urgency overcoming fear. He rounded the corner of a small alcove and stopped dead, his mind grappling to come to terms with what he saw.
The dark stains had to be blood, so much blood. She was lying on her back, both hands clasped around her gaping, oozing belly. The light and shadows must have been playing tricks on his eyes, because he couldn’t be sure, but it looked like she’d been sliced in two. His nose was assaulted by a hot, sweet smell that left a metallic tang in the back of his throat.
‘Jesus,’ he uttered.
Her eyes lifted slowly to meet his, and she let out that primal groan, and everything about the fucked-up sight before him triggered the urge to run.
He stepped backward. ‘Guys,’ he yelled, ‘come here.’
‘What is it, bro? A cute puppy dog?’ More giggling.
‘You got to get here now.’
The panic in Timi’s voice must have got them moving, because moments later three figures appeared behind him.
‘What’s the prob—. Holy fuck.’ Hands grabbed at Timi’s arms. ‘We got to get out of here, bro. We got to get out of here now. We will be in so much shit if they find us here with her. Come on. We have to go.’
Timi staggered backward with the pull, backing away from the woman sprawled before them.
‘But we can’t just leave h
‘Nothing’s going to help her, and if they find us with her, they’ll think we did it. Come on, Timi, we gotta go.’ Desperation laced his mate’s voice, and the others echoed it. ‘Come on’ and ‘Let’s get outta here.’
‘But what if she dies? And we didn’t help. We’ve got to do something.’
‘Jesus, Timi, she’s gonna die. No one’s gonna survive that, and if the cops find us, they’ll think we done it – they always think people like us done it. Don’t be a dick. Come on, man.’
‘Yeah, move it, Timi.’ The others turned and took off, the sounds of their retreating footsteps echoing off the brick walls.
But Timi stood there, staring, torn. He looked over his shoulder after his mates bolting for freedom, then looked back to the woman, to those exhausted, fading eyes. Decision made, he made his move.
He stepped forward and knelt down beside her, angling his body as close as he could get. Fuck, there was so much blood, and he could feel the wetness of it seeping into the fabric of his jeans. He placed one hand over hers, and with the other reached up and gently cupped her face.
‘It’s okay. I’m here, I’m gonna get you some help,’
She closed her eyes and a big tear rolled down the side of her nose.
‘You’ll be okay,’ he said, softly rubbing his thumb along her cheek, keeping his eyes fixed on her face, resisting the pull to look further down.
‘I’m here,’ he whispered. ‘You’re not alone.’
CHAPTER 1
‘Are you Timi’s parents?’ It was a rhetorical question really. The incandescent man before me was the spitting image of the boy, but with about twenty-five years’ extra wear and tear. The woman with him looked a seesawing tussle of upset and ropable.
‘Where is he? Where is the little shit? I can’t believe we’ve been called down to the police station at this hour.’ This was delivered with a fair amount of gusto, and given the fact he was at least a foot taller than me and clearly agitated, it was rather intimidating. ‘Wait till I get my hands on him.’
No one was going to be getting their hands on Timi anytime soon. Given the circumstances, we’d taken the exceptional act of letting him use the showers, and found him some clean clothing – although, alas, it was police-custody issue. Our youth-liaison officer was still with him, having accompanied the poor young lad through the process of being photographed, swabbed and examined for forensic evidence, before finally being able to cleanse himself of the woman’s blood. He hadn’t been formally interviewed yet – that was still to come, and in the light of day – but we knew enough to realise he’d had the kind of night you wouldn’t wish upon anyone, let alone a teenage boy.
‘Hi, I’m Detective Sam Shephard.’ I reached out to shake Thomas Felipo’s hand, and as my arm extended his eyes dropped, took in my extremely rotund midriff, and with an almost apologetic look cautiously took my hand. Whoever thought a pregnant belly could so effectively defuse a pissed-off parent. In fact, there had been a number of occasions when my condition had helped calm a situation, which was a good thing, because if it came to beating a hasty retreat, I was now in waddle rather than run mode.
‘Come through, let me explain the situation.’
The stark lighting in the family interview room did nothing to soften the expressions of anger that morphed into horror, then disbelief, on the faces of Timi Felipo’s parents. It was now 1.00am, and I was quite sure the lighting was doing me no favours either. Sina Felipo sat silent, her hands clasped in her lap as she struggled to absorb the events of the night and what it meant for her son. Her husband for the most part was fixated on why Timi was out in the first place and was barraging me with questions about the tagging. I don’t know if it was a deflection thing, but he was completely missing the point about the extraordinary actions of his son, and the profound effect it was likely to have on him. I was tired and borderline hangry, and it took immense patience to calmly redirect his focus away from the fact his teenager had been out vandalising public places with his mates, to the fact that he had committed an act of incredible bravery and humanity.
‘Yes, he was down the laneway with a group of his friends tagging, and there is no way I can condone that,’ I said, for what felt like the millionth time. ‘But what he did was remarkable. When all his friends ran off because they were scared of what they had seen and of being caught and potentially blamed, he chose to stay. He chose to stay with a horrendously injured woman, who he knew was probably going to die, right there and then. He offered her what comfort he could, he made sure she didn’t die alone. That is an incredible thing for anyone to do in those circumstances, let alone a sixteen-year-old boy. You should be very proud of him.’
‘But he shouldn’t have been there in the first place. We brought him up better than that.’
‘We thought he was at his friend Oscar’s house to study, not out on the streets. He lied to us.’ It was the first time Sina had really participated in the conversation, and I felt disappointed that she too chose to take the offended-parent angle.
‘True, he was doing something wrong. But when it came to the crunch, he made the courageous choice.’
‘So, what will happen to him now?’ she asked.
‘Well, for a start, the most important thing is that he is supported and looked after. He’s had a big shock. He witnessed the result of an awful, vicious crime, and he was alone with a dying person. That is a lot to deal with, so he’ll have our counsellors spend time with him and talk him through all that. There was no way he could have prevented her dying, so we have to make sure he knows that in his heart of hearts. That is where it will be really important for you to support him and keep an eye on him.’
‘But will he be charged for the tagging?’ Thomas asked.
‘That I can’t say for sure. The circumstances are pretty unique, and the trauma he has suffered will be taken into account, I’m sure. Before all that, though, he’ll have to make a statement about tonight, and ultimately, when we do find out who was responsible for this heinous crime, he may have to appear in court to testify. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, take him home for some sleep, and bring him back in the morning so we can take his statement.’
I hoped to God they had listened to my words about support, and focussed on how brave their son had been and what an awful experience he’d been through. Although I suspected there would be harsh words about why he was in the alleyway in the first place.
What that boy needed was hugs not hassle.
CHAPTER 2
Dunedin was waking up to the news of the horrendous crime committed on its streets overnight, and I was waking up to the shocking details the media and general public still weren’t party to – details we didn’t have last night. Courtesy of my expanded girth and imminent popping I always got a chair at the briefings these days, and, man, was I glad of it this morning. Even The Boss, who usually revelled in the drama of standing front and centre, looked sickened by the report being delivered by Detective Malcolm Smith, AKA Smithy.
‘The woman who was murdered last night was thirty-one-year-old Aleisha Newman. Her partner has been spoken with, and he is still contacting family, so her name has not been released to the media. What he was able to tell us – and this changes the case completely – is that Ms Newman was thirty-eight weeks pregnant.’
There were some confused looks about the room, but the relevance of that statement hit me immediately, and I felt a wave of cold rush its way down my face. My hands immediately wrapped themselves around my own very pregnant belly as I braced myself for what I knew would be coming next.
Smithy released a large breath and continued. ‘Last night, before this information came to hand, and based on a first report from the attending ambulance staff, we thought we were looking at a homicide by stabbing. It is now apparent that the victim died as a result of the massive trauma and blood loss of having her unborn child cut out of her. That child is now missing.’
A collective gasp went around the room, followed by a stunned silence. I couldn’t help the swell of tears that sprung into my eyes. A large hand reached over and clamped onto mine. I turned and saw my horror reflected in Paul’s eyes.
When I looked back to the front of the room DI Johns was staring in my direction. Usually in team meetings a stare from The Boss, AKA Dick Head Johns, meant I was going to get called out for special attention of the unwanted kind, but this time he gave a tight-lipped, almost apologetic frown and then looked down at the floor.
