I am delighted to share an extract with you today on blog tour for Murder Me Tomorrow by Keith Wright
‘I do not know what second it will be, what minute it will be, what hour, or even day. But it will come. You may see it coming. You may not. Regardless, I can guarantee you; there will be a moment like no other when you will draw your last breath. Like it or lump it. And at that moment you will see your final view of the world. However, what I do not know, is whether your last glimpse will be the sympathetic countenance of a loved one or the grotesque, contorted, teeth-clenched face of a crazed killer. Nor do you. That is yet to be determined. Other options are available.’Paul Masters, a family man, awakes to find his wife and daughter murdered. But how? It seems impossible. He is arrested for the crime. As he suffers a breakdown, Paul admits to the killing, but DI Stark and his team have serious doubts. When another horrific rape and murder takes place, these doubts seem well-founded, and the race is on to catch the maniac who will stop at nothing to feed his depravity. In his fifth crime thriller, critically acclaimed author, Keith Wright, once again regales the stark reality of murder, derived from his hands-on experience as a CID detective sergeant working in an inner-city area. All Keith’s books are set in Nottingham in the 1980s – a time before political correctness and mobile phones. It was a different world.
Steph had put the radio/alarm on in her bedroom, as she took a shower. It was playing ‘You Sexy Thing’ by Hot Chocolate.
Orlando Welles padded towards the window from the outside, having seen his chance from the shadows. He pulled the open window further ajar, put his leg through, and within a second he was inside. Welles had his knife in his hand, just in case, but he wanted to delay interaction for now; he wanted to experience this little adventure for longer. He was sick of just going in all guns blazing; it was like wolfing down a good meal. The killer wanted this to touch the sides; to draw out the experience and savour it for once. He now knew he would be on the run again after this one, and the next opportunity might be some way off. Maybe he could stay the night there, once he had finished with her? The prospect of sleeping with a corpse or indeed just the head, or better yet, a headless body, was something he had pondered many times. It was part of his fantasising ritual over the years. These fantasies seeped into reality; a sick and twisted mind knows no boundaries and his constant thirst for gratification and to some extent notoriety, expanded his repertoire. The realm of humanity which most of us live in does not begin to comprehend a brain malfunctioning to such an extent that no empathy is possible. Where depravity fuels repeated savagery, just to feel something, anything. In reality, after the deed, Welles was often spent, and on an adrenalin low, so he would leave and slink back to his flat. Now, he had nowhere to go.
He paused at the en-suite door and caught a glimpse of the woman’s bare backside with soap suds arching over the curve. Nice. Might he take her now? No. Be disciplined—time to hide, to listen, to watch.
Welles quietly moved across the carpeted floor and slowly twisted the door handle to the adjacent spare room. It had a small bed in it, but there were also quite a few boxes and random clothes thrown on top of the mattress. It smelt of old man.
Steph turned off the shower and bent over, using a small towel to rub at her long hair which she then wrapped around her head. She then got the larger sheet towel, dried her body and walked into the bedroom. This alerted Welles who had a view as she lay on the bed, the towel underneath her. The monster could see that the woman had shapely hips and a full bosom with big nipples. Her legs were open and her knees raised – she was letting it all hang out – he was getting triggered. Steph sang along to ‘Living On A Prayer’ by Jon Bon Jovi. She felt much better after her shower, if not a little drained. She swung her legs over the bed and balancing the head towel with one hand, walked naked into the living room. She bent over and picked something up off the floor.
Welles backed away from the door as she approached the spare bedroom. Steph paused momentarily. Wasn’t that door closed earlier? It can’t have been. She pushed it open, and Welles stood behind it, knife raised, as she threw a pair of old slippers on to the bed and then backed away. He was a fraction of a second from striking. He remained motionless and didn’t see Steph falter, pause outside the door once more. She shook her head, muttering to herself, ‘Don’t be silly.’ And Steph returned to her position on the bed after disposing of the head towel on the bedroom floor.
She had left the door ajar, and this enabled Welles to continue his voyeurism. His original plan was to let her drift off, take a bit of cash for his journey, before waking her up to violate her. What he had planned was going to be so shocking, it would surely surpass anything else in the annals of depravity. It was hard to resist; she looked beautiful lying there, a ‘real’ woman. There was still something about her that resonated, something different. It was something that while he couldn’t identify it, made him feel just a little wary. Suddenly the telephone rang at the side of her bed. It made both her and her killer jump, and she put her hand on her heart before answering it. ‘Jesus Christ!’ She said.
Welles moved back from the crack in the door and listened intently to the one-sided conversation.
Keith Wright is the Author of the crime novels in the ‘Inspector Stark series’ available on Amazon, Kindle and Kindle Unlimited|Audiobook on Audible and iTunes.
Visit website: Keithwrightauthor.co.uk
Follow on twitter: @keithwwright