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203 pages

English

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Newly promoted after successfully rising to the greatest challenge of her career, Angela Crossley finds herself once again facing evil head on , but this time her investigative insight is clouded by the burgeoning awareness of her increasing sensitivity to the paranormal. Newly installed at Scotland Yard, she s haunted by the past even as her torrent of inexplicable dreams foretells events and crimes to come with terrifying accuracy. Her new department s first task is to look into patterns of criminal behaviour find the correlations between crime and criminal, victim and violation, pick up the trail and solve the unsolvable. The past, therefore, is her constant companion , but soon the violent and bloody present intervenes and Angela must come to terms with who she really is before time runs out. What she finds out, about herself and the crimes themselves, no one could have predicted.

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Thriller

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Publié par	M-Y Books ltd
Date de parution	08 août 2012
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781907759345
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0180€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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REVELATION
by
VINCENT COBB
AN M-Y BOOKS EBOOK
© Copyright 2007 Vincent Cobb
The right of Vincent Cobb to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All Rights Reserved
No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with the written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended).
Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
ISBN 0-9556064-7-0 ISBN-13 9780955606472
Published by M-Y Books 187 Ware Road Hertford Herts SG13 7EQ
www.m-ybooks.co.uk
Front cover by David Stockman
PROLOGUE
I was still shaking my head after Jim Robbins had left me at Warwick University. To my astonishment, he had offered me a position as detective chief inspector with the newly formed National Serious Crimes Unit at Scotland Yard. I still couldn’t believe it, especially after the fiasco in Manchester, where Pauline, my lover, had unleashed her barbarous crimes on a serial killer.
After that terrifying episode I had virtually decided to end my career with the police force; I was even considering withdrawing my application to join Jack Crane at the FBI in Quantico as a profiler.
It was a devastating experience to accept that my lover was a murderer. On top of that, I was confused about my own sensitivity to psychic phenomena, given my recent exposure to it with Danny O’Brien. It had crossed my mind that, potentially, this was a gift that should be explored. What was puzzling me, though, was how to do it.
* * * * * *
So, there I was, in the cafeteria, sipping from a cold cup of coffee, and wondering how I should react to Jim’s offer; he had given me two weeks to make up my mind. It was, of course, flattering – there was no doubt about that. But did I really want to leave the comfort of the cloistered environment of the university for the cold, inhospitable world of the career criminals – the rapists, the paedophiles, the serial killers? At that moment I really didn’t know.
I strolled through the courtyards of Warwick, immune to the chill air of the cold snap that was successfully penetrating my inadequate clothing, and gave serious thought to Jim’s offer.
My mind was in turmoil, struggling between the horrors of Pauline’s plunge into the depths of criminal insanity and the plaguing thought that I too might have some psychic insight. Before I decided on anything this was something I had to resolve. I also had the feeling that it would determine which direction I should take in the future.
CHAPTER ONE
A few days later a thought came to me. I would try to arrange an appointment with Edith Morrison, the psychic aunt of an old friend from the West Midlands force, who I had met during the Connie adventures. This was assuming that, after all this time, she was still alive…
I was in luck. Not only was she still very much alive but also she announced that she had been waiting for me to contact her since our last visit. I was tempted to ask her why, but then I had second thoughts; I would wait until I came face to face with her before I asked the question.
I made my excuses with the dean, and a couple of days later I was setting off for Stourbridge to meet Edith. It was, once again, a cold winter’s day: the sun was shining, but it was almost as if it were bidding us goodbye, it was so watery. It gave way to a sharp wind that threatened to blow in some snow.
The avenue in which she lived had hardly changed at all during the intervening years. The detached houses were well kept and the trees looked as if they had been cultivated to ensure their survival; well-kept lawns sweeping down to the pavements hugged the trees, comfortable in their environment.
Edith met me with a smile and a friendly hug. Her face had aged since I last saw her and the lines had deepened around her mouth. I guessed she must be closer to 80 by now.
“I’m so glad you decided to come,” she said. “The years have passed us by and I thought you might never come back.”
“But…but…how…” I was shocked at her announcement.
“…Was I expecting you?” she asked, as she escorted me through into the parlour.
“Well – yes!”
She led me into the same comfortable lounge that I remembered from my last visit. It too had hardly changed, apart from a carpet that betrayed its age in signs of wear, and curtains that, though they no doubt had been expensive at one time, were now showing their years.
After we had sat down she said to me, “Do you remember, when we met, I told you that psychics do not suddenly wake up one morning to discover we have the gift presented to us, ready to deploy? Do you remember that, Angie?”
“Well, sort of… I mean, we were talking about Connie – so I thought that whatever it was you were saying to me was related to her.”
“At the time it was. And I was sorry to hear about her terrible misfortune. But, what I was really saying to you was that this gift we have been endowed with is an evolving blessing that can take years to reach maturity.
“I wasn’t talking about Connie at the time, Angie; I was referring to you.”
“Me?!” I said, surprised. “But my name didn’t even come into it.”
“Not at that moment it hadn’t. But I knew I was in the presence of an emerging invocation. There wasn’t anything I could say that might have encouraged its manifestation, but I knew, in my psychic self, that one day in the future you would come back to me. Isn’t that why you’re here – to seek the answers to your puzzle?”
“I…I don’t know, Edith. It’s true I wanted to ask you if I might have the gift – perhaps explore the possibility together. But it never occurred to me that it was preordained we should meet. I mean, I’m astonished – I just wanted to talk to you…”
“And isn’t that what we’re doing?” she asked in a gentle voice.
“Yes. Of course. But you’ve anticipated me.” I shook my head, unable to accept the reality of what she was saying. This was not what I had expected: talking about it – yes; discussing how, if the psychic gift was present in me, we might develop it – yes. But to have something like this hurled at me was pretty bloody frightening. I got up from the chair, following the impulse I had just to run away.
“And now you want to escape – is that it?”
“I can’t deal with this, Edith,” I exclaimed. I rubbed my forehead with the back of my hand as if I were trying to clear my thoughts.
“Yes. I know, Angie. It’s made you afraid, hasn’t it? It isn’t surprising, you know.” She laid her hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry if I startled you. So why don’t we sit down again and try to talk about it. See if I can’t give you some reassurance. I’ll make us some coffee.”
I didn’t reply. I was almost in the same state of shock that had consumed me at the university. All these years and Edith had waited, patiently, knowing that at some time in the future I would return to her. But what would she expect me to do now? I mean, here I was as she had foretold, but how on earth could I seize this gift and turn it to my advantage? That’s if she was right. I was still shaking my head in disbelief when she returned with the coffee.
“Feeling better, my dear?”
I wasn’t sure, but I nodded all the same. The coffee was strong and hot – just what I needed.
“Well, when we’ve finished our coffee I would like you to come with me.”
“Come with you? Where to, Edith?”
“To church. It’s only down the road.”
“I don’t understand. What has this gift to do with God?”
“Where do you think it emanates from, my dear?”
“I…I don’t know,” I gasped, astonished at her suggestion. “What I do know is that I am not the least bit interested in religion.”
She smiled. One of those perceptive and all-knowing smiles that used to freak me out. “You might have no interest in religion, as you say, Angie. But it certainly does have an interest in you. So what I would like us to do is to attend a local church, where you can pray to God for guidance in how you
might best evolve His gift.”
I stood up, almost spilling the coffee.
“Not fucking likely, Edith! I don’t really know who you are or what your objective is, but there is no way you’re going to get me inside a church. So, if you don’t mind, I’ll take my leave of you.”
“What?” Her face expressed surprise at my outburst. “You’ve come all this way to see me and now you want to leave? To run away?”
“Too right I do,” I said moving towards the door. “You’re not getting me inside a church.”
She didn’t try to stop me. All she said was, “Angie, please. If you won’t listen to what I’m saying will you at least take it away with you? And when the urge – the compulsion – causes you to question who or what you are, will you please remember what I have said and try to say a prayer to help you? I too will pray for you that you might see the light.”
* * * * * *
Was I glad to get out of there? All this business about praying and going to church, and seeing the light, was way over my head. I didn’t really know what she was after – perhaps to get to do a presentation to the Spiritualist Society. And I might or might not be a psychic; perhaps only time would tell. One thing I was convinced about was that Edith Morrison may have had some insight into my ephemeral qualities, but if I had followed her then God only knows where it would have led me.
I hastened my way back to Warwick University in the cold of winter’s day, still unsure about my decision to rejoin the police force. I had the feeling that, if I were to sleep over the events of the day, I might be able to come to a momentous decision by tomorrow.
I was troubled and spent a sleepless night, worrying about Edith Morrison and her beliefs and my own confusion about my supposed psychic qualities. Then,