No Deadlier Time: Darker Minds Crime and Suspense

By Claire Ladds

A family with dark secrets. Will someone kill to keep them?

 

Neve Eldritch is pregnant, happy, and has one wish - to get her husband, Harry, to reconnect with his family. Neve has never met them - and with good reason. Now there's a chance to move into the family home and heal a long-standing rift. Going home can't be that bad. Can it? But something feels wrong from the moment they arrive.

 

When you've avoided the problem for so long, it's bound to rear its ugly head. All Harry ever wanted was to be worthy in his dad's eyes. There's a secret to success, one his dad has taunted him with as a boy, but now he's gone to drastic lengths to stop Harry getting hold of it. Desperate to prove himself, Harry takes matters into his own hands - with deadly results.

 

But Harry isn't prepared for what the horrifying key to his family's success really is, and it's spiralling out of control. When murder follows murder, he's sure he's committed them. How can he stop himself and keep his family safe when the secret he now holds won't let him - and he can't remember any of it?

Suspicions run rife in Neve. Her husband is lying to her. Is he crazy? Or is he a killer? Or maybe - just maybe - someone, somewhere, wants rid of him, and they'll do anything to get what they want. And she's sure they're here, at the isolated family home. Do they want to kill her, too?

 

Terrible choices lay ahead if anyone is to get out alive. One person can save them all. But time is ticking away… and it's proving to be deadly.

 

Be careful what you wish for... you just might get it.

 

This book is part of the Darker Minds crime and suspense thriller series: Dark minds are at work. Sometimes it takes a darker one to stop them.

Perfect for readers who like their dark crime mixed with a good dose of suspense.

The Darker Minds books can be read in any order.

 

Other books in the Darker Minds series:

Show Me Dead

That Killer Image

• Language: English
• Publisher: Claire Ladds Books
• Release date: Nov 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781913128258

Book preview

PROLOGUE

MAY, 1949

---

‘Come closer, Jonah. Come on. You’re not afraid, are you? Not of this. I can see it in your eyes. Are you afraid of me, then? You’ve got it the wrong way round, boy. Such the wrong way.’

The laughter that leeched out of the man was bitter. The teenaged boy clung onto the back of the hard chair, as if his young brain had decided to use it as armour. The man stopped laughing and sat up as straight as he was able, forcing himself to look powerful. He couldn’t have a barrier between himself and his son. He needed to show the boy. Let him know what his fate would be. It was the perfect sixteenth birthday present. It was everything he had. And the boy would have to take it, soon, whether he wanted it or not. Whether he understood it or not. And whether he could control it. Or not.

His reflection caught in the silver teapot, held captive and distorted there. His eyes didn’t look like they belonged to him anymore. He seemed more like a wild animal, bloodshot veins clambering all over his eyeballs, his mouth snarling and baying for blood. But whose? Did it matter anymore, after everything that he’d done?

‘Come and see its secrets.’ His palm lay outstretched, the fob watch perched in its centre. Tick, tick, tick. The sound filled his head and lingered in the air. It drowned out the ravens outside. Was this a blessing or a curse? As he looked through the window and across towards the other wing of the house, it was impossible to ignore that they were gathering on the roof of his wife’s bedroom, lining up, watching. Waiting. If the window was open, they would fly in and pluck him to pieces with their lethal, midnight-coloured beaks. They’d already devoured his mind.

His son crept forward, his face fixed on the white raven that sat at the top of the watch. He knew that was what Jonah was looking at because he’d done exactly the same, that day the watch had become his. You’re mesmerised by the raven; you hear the ticking of the watch; then life is there for the taking. And you can’t match yourself against the power of it all.

‘Do you know why this watch is special, Jonah?’

The mop of dark hair on the boy’s head shook a ‘no’ while his eyes grew wider as he got closer and his face became transfixed. All the birds were visible to his son now – one at every hour. The object in the man’s palm no longer looked like a watch, not to him. Just a conspiracy of ravens. The eleventh hour had come and gone. It was ingrained in his skin now, in his soul. Just the last hour to go – he felt it coming to an end. Felt the stare of the white raven.

‘This. This is the secret to our success. It’s been the driving force of the Eldritch family for, oh, who knows how long? It whispers things to the first-born son, gives us power. There has been a first-born son for generations. You’re the next one. The chosen one. You’ll have all the secrets. The watch will give you the power to build on everything this family has achieved. But there are rules to follow. Every man has to follow rules, doesn’t he?’

His boy nodded, his dark eyes still wide. Such a serious face.

‘Yours are written down. And the ones that aren’t, well, you’ll find them. Here.’ He screwed his finger end into the side of the boy’s head. Two eyes screwed up in a flinch, then stared back at him again.

‘Do you want this watch, Jonah?’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s the best thing I’ve ever seen.’

‘Yes. It’s the best. And the worst. But it belongs in this family. Only to this family. It would be useless – and beyond cruel – to give it to anyone else. Remember that, always. It will belong to you, soon.’

If it was possible for those two young eyes to grow wider, then they did. The reflection of the watch face caught in them. The ravens danced in his irises. It had started.

‘Really? Promise?’

‘Yes. I promise, son. And you’ll be able to do anything. Be unstoppable. Because the watch will let you. You’ll feel it, and you’ll also feel when it’s time to pass on your gift to a son of your own. Don’t pull a face. There will be one. This isn’t a family of first-born females. It can’t be. There’s a reason it mustn’t be. And I hope you never find out why.’

The knock came, soft but determined. He was prepared for it. The young woman entered and hovered awkwardly, like a butterfly weighed down with its fate.

‘Excuse me, sir. You said two minutes to midday, sir.’

‘Thank you, Rachel.’

He gripped his boy’s arm. ‘Remember what I said, Jonah. You are my son. Everything that I have will be yours.’ He shut his eyes, just for a second. He heard the ticking. ‘You have no choice.’

He nodded in the direction of the young woman, not much more than a girl really, who looked at him with tears in her eyes and an expression of last-minute hope that he’d changed his mind. He’d burdened her too much, and for that he was sorry. He wanted to smile at her. He tried. But all he felt were his bloodshot eyes fastened onto the unspoken terror in hers.

His boy left the room, his shoulder encased in Rachel’s arm. She would keep him occupied. Make sure he didn’t come back into the room until it was over. Then all of it – the boy would have no choice for it to be his. Oh, the way Jonah had looked at the watch. He was his father’s son. He would believe everything he told him in the letter, true or not.

He laid the pistol on his desk. Poured himself a whiskey, opened the window, hung out of it and made a toast to the ravens. One flew over and sat on the windowsill. Caw, caw, caw. There was the ticking, the time running out, the sound of the raven, caw, tick, caw, tick, caw, tick. They were one and the same thing now.

The whiskey went down in one swift slug. He shut his eyes and a raven grew up out of the ashes of a thousand others. It cawed in time to the chimes of the watch: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.

He didn’t hear the twelfth strike. No one in the house did. Just the sound of the pistol.

TODAY

---

Do you believe that a house is evil and that, because of it, everything and everyone inside becomes ingrained with it, too? I don’t mean the actual bricks and mortar. At least, I don’t think I do. The house is the family, and the family is the house, after all.

I mean that rumours infiltrate whispers as people sit in the pub and get drunk, or while they’re milling around the front door of the post office, waiting for the queue to die down and for it to be their turn. Or maybe someone sees something and spins a tale of intrigue and invents superstition, just for attention, or just to pretend to themselves that it could actually be true. And then people start believing all sorts. Is this how it works?

Is it inherited, the way things are in an old family with centuries of dubious deeds and lies buried inside the walls? Do old sins cast long shadows? Or, just possibly, is it those dreadful, unspeakable things we’re told – those family secrets – that stay festering in our minds until they feed on the unsuspecting, on the innocent? And then they make a home in those who are susceptible to their malign charms.

I’ve given you my best guess about the way this particular story started, but the rest of it is as accurate as I can make it, reading between the lines. Truth is like holding liquid mercury. It shifts, slides, and it can be poison. When someone doesn’t want to tell you their story, sometimes you just have to wait. Wait until it surfaces, and until you can make sense of it. Or you can try.

That’s where I come in, or otherwise you’d never hear about it. This is what I do. It’s my job, my livelihood. It’s a calling. I take someone’s story, and I try to give it the ending they want. Or that they need. I try so hard. But this is one I couldn’t help to make better. Because I am its ending, and its beginning. You’ll see what I mean.

ONE

JUNE, 1998

---

Harry’s mind got stuck in a loop. I thought people who did this wore a white coat thing, like a lab coat. I didn’t know they had other colours. It’s like she’s wearing overalls. Is she wearing overalls? His head refused to concentrate on the focused expression of the woman who sat on her stool, armed with her implements. He gripped hold of Neve’s hand. A wave of heat to match the June sunshine outside flushed his chest as she squeezed back.

He tapped the tips of the fingers of his free hand in turn against his thumb. Counting. The gel went on. Counting. Neve gave a high-pitched murmur. He wished on a non-existent star, and forced himself to believe he’d not accidentally walked under a ladder, or that he’d not done anything bad to someone so that it would come back at him three times worse. Then he forced himself to look at the screen.

‘There it is.’ The woman in the overalls nodded towards a fuzzy black and white image, all jagged lines and blobs.

He felt the squeeze of Neve’s hand again and heard her say, ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Everything’s fine, as far as I can see. There’s the heartbeat. Legs, well, a leg, just there, look. An arm.’

‘And there’s just one? Baby, I mean. Twins run in my family.’ Neve’s words. They hovered, and his brain tried to make them clearer, but everything seemed as fuzzy as the screen.

‘As far as I can see, yes. Sometimes one hides, especially in the early stages. Doesn’t happen too often, though.’

The room had faded out of Harry’s vision. All he could see was the black and white screen, flickering with something that looked like a jelly bean with added extras. It was the most incredible thing he’d ever experienced.

‘Can you tell whether it’s a boy or a girl?’ Neve’s voice again. It definitely wasn’t his. There was no way he could force words out of his mouth.

‘I can’t be absolutely sure. Do you want to know?’

The overall-clad lady, talking again. Hopefully Neve would remember everything she said. He was useless when it came to anything medical. His brain always flipped a switch and put up blocks to the words. Except, this time, he wanted to hear every single sentence, even if his stupid brain was trying to rebel against the disinfected walls and the knowledge that, right now, some medical practitioner was controlling his wife’s thoughts, feelings, even the confirmatory squeeze of her hand in his as she nodded.

‘Okay, well then, it looks like a boy to me. See that. There?’ The overall-clad lady jabbed her finger at the screen towards some kind of white flicker. ‘But, like I said, it’s early days. We’ll know for definite further down the line.’

There were lots more words, some laughter, other stuff that he only felt was happening around him. His mind wouldn’t process all of it. The next thing he remembered vividly was the woman saying, ‘I can do a second copy of the scan, but unfortunately you’ll have to pay for that one. Just a token amount. A pound is fine.’

He would have handed her his wallet and told her to strip it of every bank card he owned. He didn’t care. If only he could actually manage to speak. He stuffed his hand in his pocket and pulled out a ten pound note. What he remembered next was walking out of the building, his wife’s hand getting all soggy against his drenched palm, and a picture of his unborn child staring back at him in the other.

It was only because the sweat around his neck clamped cold that he realised they were outside, and that there was a breeze in the shade underneath the porch that was over the entrance to the anti-natal unit.

Neve gently prised her hand from his and sat on a bench. He watched her gazing at the little black and white picture, at her smile, and followed her hand as she took her Polaroid camera out of her bag and produced another copy of it. He smiled. She never went anywhere without that camera, in case either of them found some inspiration for their work, out in the wild.

‘That one for your parents?’ He noticed her sliding the new photo into an envelope and slipping it back in her bag, along with the camera and the picture of the scan. She smiled back, and patted the seat next to her. He sat down and laid his hand on her tummy.

‘I can’t quite believe that we’ve seen what we’ve seen. That there’s a little life in here.’ Neve had a strange smile floating on her lips. ‘And I’m his mum. Well, maybe him. Possibly her. Or them, if there’s a game of hide and seek going on.’ She looked at him. Her eyes were like a pot of sparkling blue paint, almost grey in the sunlight. He never had been able to resist those eyes. He took a stray strand of dark hair and brushed it softly behind her ear.

‘I know. It’s, well, wow.’

‘You still want to stick to the plan, though, yeah?’ The skin between her eyebrows bunched into a little knot.

‘Yep. No one need know yet. I’m not tempting fate. I’ve been picking up pennies I’ve seen in the street, and I bought an air freshener for the car in the shape of a horseshoe.’

Harry watched Neve’s grin and the expected roll of her eyes as she shook her head at him.

‘What are you like? I don’t think the somersaults this little one in here is going to perform against my ribs one day are going to be down to your oddball lucky charms and all that stuff.’

‘Didn’t anyone tell you to do any of that when you were a kid?’ Harry was in no rush to move his hand from her belly. ‘Didn’t you grow up with creepy tales and superstitions, or overhear stories of weird goings-on, and talk in whispers in the classroom about some old building, or something?’

‘No, I went to an inner-city comprehensive. The only stories I remember were those about which kids to steer clear of. And why.’ She looked away, into the hospital car park.

‘I get it. Being the oddball, the loner, at school. Although it’s not fair you took a hit just because your mum’s one of Dracula’s neighbours.’

His titter was short-lived. One look at her face told him that this had been a bad joke, at least today.

‘I kept that bit to myself. If I had to tell anyone anything, I told them she was Romanian. I never mentioned the other bit.’

‘The Transylvania bit, you mean?’ A light brushing of goosebumps flowed up Harry’s arms and reached his neck. It had been one of the many fascinating things that had first attracted him to her.

‘Yes. It is a real place, you know. Bram Stoker didn’t make it up, and it’s not full of bloody vampires, either. And it’s beautiful. You’ve seen the photos. I just wish I could visit, one day.’ Neve stood up and walked away from him. ‘There’s so much to do.’

Harry let her change the subject. Emotions were running high. The last thing he wanted was to upset his wife. Upset her any further.

‘I’ll make a proper list, now that we’ve seen this little one, up close and personal.’

The drive home was quiet. The atmosphere settled down and became a soft air of comfort between them, a kind of gentle feeling of expectation and bewilderment, laced with love.

‘Oh damn. I forgot. I’ve got those door signs in the back of the car.’ Harry huffed and pulled a face. ‘I’ve been carrying them around for two days. I’m just going to nip them round to the garden centre. Can’t be doing with losing one of my good clients.’

Neve nestled down into her seat as he stopped the car. ‘No problem. Baby and I will just have a little snuggle here while you go touting your wares.’

He stuck out his tongue. ‘You might be doing all the cuddling now, but eventually I’ll get my chance to get my hands on our baby. Doesn’t that sound amazing? Our baby. Our own secret.’

‘Yeah. It does.’ Neve’s smile made him melt. For almost fifteen years it had done so, even long before she’d agreed to go out with him on their first date. ‘Now, get those signs to poor Mr What’s-his-face. They look stunning, even more so after the varnish.’

Harry carted his beautifully carved door signs across the road. He doubted anyone who bought one realised how much time it took to burn the designs into the wood, or how much he enjoyed it. As a small boy, he’d always enjoyed bonfires. Any fire. It mesmerised him, the burning.

When he returned to the car, he found Neve sitting in the driver’s seat, grinning at him.

‘Better get used to me sharing your car. We’ll never afford to run two, once the baby’s here.’

Harry pulled a know-all face and watched her eyes light up as he responded to her teasing. ‘As it so happens, this one’s your car. So drive it all you want.’

Harry’s heart felt like it had hit the dashboard as Neve pulled away from the curb, then swerved violently to avoid something in the road. ‘Shit. What the hell was that you just missed?’

‘It’s a crow. That’s all.’ Neve stopped the car and blew several deep breaths into the steering wheel. ‘Bloody thing made me jump.’

‘You all right?’ He watched his wife nod and sit there, catching her breath. ‘Want me to drive?’

Neve shook her head. ‘I’ll be fine in a sec. I’m still just a bit keyed-up from the scan.’

Harry wound down his window, craning his neck at the creature that now stood there, watching them. ‘It wasn’t a crow.’

‘What was it, then?’

‘That was a raven. I’d know one anywhere. They look the same to most people but there are a few differences. Ravens are bigger, for a start. They’ve got more of a hook on their beak, and thicker feathers, and a bigger wingspan. Why’s there only one, though?’

Neve shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe its friends are all out annoying other drivers, or rifling someone’s rubbish.’ She wiggled her fingers at him. ‘Or haunting houses.’

Harry grabbed her hands. ‘They usually come in pairs. One is bad luck.’

‘Oh, don’t start that again.’ Neve’s hands landed with a thud on the steering wheel. ‘Everything’s fine. We’ve got pictures to prove it.’

Harry felt the colour draining from his face. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t drive back. Maybe I should—’

‘I’m perfectly capable of driving the car. There’s no queasiness before lunchtime. Only in the afternoons. So much for morning sickness.’ Neve shoved a packet on Harry’s knee. ‘Now fasten your seat belt and have some of these sweets, before I finish the entire lot all to myself and this baby starts thinking he’ll come out covered in sugar.’

Neve put on the radio and began singing along to the tunes. Harry didn’t recognise any of them, or barely. He certainly didn’t know the lyrics. Pop music had never really been his thing, and he’d not grown up with any in the house. When he was alone in the car, he usually listened to the classical music station. It was what his mum used to listen to, and it still lingered in his life. He wouldn’t have been singing, anyway. The image of that giant, black bird was lodged in his head and left a dull ache somewhere in his stomach.

When he was a boy, he used to see ravens everywhere. They perched on the roof, and sometimes they’d watched him from the tree that had been outside his bedroom window. There was one, once, that seemed to have adopted him and followed him everywhere he went, whether it had been to his mum’s greenhouse, or when he went to play outside, to school, or even all the way to Mark’s house.

It hadn’t bothered him then. It had felt like a kind of secret ally at home. But it bothered him now. The image of it lingered there, all the way back, right until Neve, luckily, managed to squeeze the car into a space almost outside their flat. It was usually difficult enough to find a spot during the daytime. By the time people came home from work, it was often likely that you’d have to park a couple of streets away. It made him grateful that they both worked from home. Thankfully, their flat had access to a garden and he could trail an extension lead out of the window to plug in his tools.

Neve had shot ahead to check their post box imbedded in the wall, and to unlock the front door, tossing him the keys and calling, ‘Here you go. Make sure it’s locked. I know how you freak out about it.’

He did precisely that, then followed her inside and up the stairs to their front door. Would Neve be okay, lifting a pushchair up and down these steps? They might have to start using the communal cupboard that they’d never much fancied leaving things in, if it was too much of a pain. She was bound to say she’d be fine, and that she was a woman, not a wet lettuce.

‘One for you.’

Harry watched Neve plop an envelope onto the armchair, then head into the kitchen to fill the kettle. The wavy darkness of her hair swished from side to side as she continued to sway about to one of the songs from the radio, which had evidently lodged itself in her vocal cords. He grinned. Luckily, she could hold a tune well.

He frowned as he picked up the envelope. It was rare anything much came through the post, other than bills. Normally, it was flyers and the local freebie newspaper.

Everything inside him tensed. He knew that writing. It was unmistakable. His body had gone cold on the inside, as if his blood was being replaced by ice water. He held the envelope so tightly that the skin behind his thumb nails went white.

The kettle boiled behind him; his wife continued to sing to herself; everything was perfect in his life. It could stay that way if he didn’t open the envelope.

‘You going to open that or use it as a coaster?’ Neve came back into the room with a coffee for him, and a tea for her. She’d not been able to bear drinking coffee for a few weeks.

He forced a smile, then opened up the letter, just to prove to her that everything was fine. This was a good day. It wouldn’t matter what it said on this sheet of paper. Nothing was going to stop him wrapping his wife in his arms and being happy. Nothing.

His stomach curdled as he read the words for the first time, then the second. It was only after Neve poked him that he noticed she was speaking.

‘Is it anything good? Important? We’ve won the lottery?’ She giggled.

‘There’s no way this could be anything good.’

Whatever kind of look it was he gave her made her grasp him by the elbow. Just for a moment he saw fear lurking in the beautiful blue-grey of her eyes, and guilt dug a knife in his stomach. He’d never wanted to bring that to her. He’d done everything he could to leave it behind.

‘Who’s it from?’ Neve shook his arm. ‘Harry, who’s it from?’

TWO

‘M y mum. That’s who it’s from.’

Harry was looking at Neve, yet it seemed as if he was anywhere but in the flat with her.

‘Oh, that’s good, isn’t it? That she’s sent you a letter? What does it say, then? Come on, don’t keep me in suspense. How often do you get a letter from home?’ In the years Neve had known Harry, she didn’t remember any. Neither did she remember him writing one, or phoning. Certainly not that he’d told her about.

She watched him freeze with it in his hand.

‘It’s not about how often. It’s why. This is a bad sign. I can feel it.’

Neve tried to suppress a roll of her eyes. Sometimes it was difficult not to get frustrated with Harry’s obsession with weird stuff. ‘You and your signs and omens and God knows what. I swear you’d believe anything. I’ve never known a bloke like you for this stuff. As our bookshelves will testify to.’ She reined in the eyeball roll, though, when she saw how Harry’s face had changed. The happiness of the hospital trip had disappeared completely. She rubbed the handbag that was still draped across her body, as if the joy given to them through the scan photo could somehow appear in the room by osmosis and grant her wish for everything in their family to just be, well, better. Harry held out the letter in a limp hand.

‘Here. Read it.’

She cocked her head at him and frowned, then took the letter and read it out loud.

---

My dearest Harry,

---

I hope you are well, and that you and your lovely wife are happy. Please forgive me writing, but I have no telephone number for you and I have something I need to tell you. Your father is not as well as he could be, and it is important that I ask this. Will you give serious consideration to returning home?

You can make the house as much yours as you wish. It makes very little difference to me. I still have my greenhouse and my library. You can have whatever you need to be able to conduct your own lives and for it not to disrupt everything you currently do. But having you here would mean the world to me. You have no idea. The last thing I want is for something dreadful to happen. It could all go bad, Harry. The family needs you. I need you now, more than I have done in my entire life.

---

With much love, more than you will ever know, and sincere hope that you will return home,

Clemency (your mother) xxx

---

‘Wow.’ Neve sucked in her cheeks and made a goldfish face. ‘That’s a big ask, right out of the blue.’ She handed back the letter, a half-smile hovering. ‘Doesn’t she write funny? A bit old-fashioned, I mean. And she’s put her actual name on it, like you wouldn’t know who she was. I doubt that would ever be the case.’ The smile stifled itself when she saw her husband gripping the paper and picking at it with his thumb nails until there were holes. She added quickly, ‘I hope your dad’s okay. I know you two haven’t spoken in forever, but even so…’

Her words tailed off as Harry’s eyes caught hers with the look of a wounded animal.

‘I don’t know why she’s sent this. I don’t know why she’s making concessions, giving me