Ritual Demise Read online

  RITUAL DEMISE

  SALLY RIGBY

  Copyright © 2020 by Sally Rigby

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This story is a work of fiction. All names, characters, organisations or places, events and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any persons, alive or dead, events or locals is almost entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Emma Mitchell of @ Creating Perfection.

  Cover Design by Stuart Bache of Books Covered

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  Contents

  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

  Read more about Cavendish & Walker

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Forensic psychologist Dr Georgina Cavendish’s stomach rumbled as she pulled up to a traffic light. Her students at Lenchester University had broken up for the summer, and she was busy doing the admin involved in marking late submissions and loading final grades for all of her courses into the system. She also had faculty meetings to attend and needed to do some preparation for a paper she was presenting at a research conference in a couple of weeks’ time. All of which meant she had little food in her cupboards, as there’d been no time to go shopping for dinner.

  She turned into her street and frowned. A crowd of people were outside her Victorian terraced house.

  What on earth was going on?

  She leant forward. Beside the gate, holding a camera, was a young woman dressed in jeans and T-shirt. Next to her stood an older woman, with steel-grey hair and more smartly dressed. She had a microphone in her hand. There were at least ten other people milling around, including several more with cameras. She muttered under her breath and kept driving, for once hating that she had such a flash car. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice as she drove past and stopped in the next road, unsure what to do next.

  Were they there for her? And if so, why? She wasn’t going back to find out. But where should she go?

  Ross’s place was out of the question as she hadn’t spoken to him since their relationship had ended a few months ago. He’d proposed and she’d turned him down. It still weighed heavily on her mind, but she’d done the right thing. He’d wanted them to continue seeing each other, but she’d said no as she believed it would be impossible for things to go back to how they were. She’d had a disastrous experience living with someone before she met Ross and didn’t wish to repeat it. Even so, she still missed him. Especially at times like this.

  She’d have to contact Whitney, a detective chief inspector in Lenchester CID. They’d worked together on several murder cases and were more than just colleagues. In fact, Whitney was the closest friend she had, which wasn’t hard as she’d never been one for having lots of friends. Acquaintances, yes. Friends, no. She much preferred her own company.

  She pulled out her phone.

  ‘Hi, George,’ Whitney said, answering almost immediately. ‘How are you? We haven’t spoken in ages.’

  ‘It’s chaotic with the end of the academic year and getting grading completed. And, obviously, we haven’t had any cases.’

  ‘I hope you’re not jinxing it,’ Whitney said, laughing.

  George shook her head. One day she might be able to convince Whitney there was no such thing.

  ‘I’ve just driven past my house and there are an inordinate number of people waiting outside. It’s the media.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Cameras. Vans. People with notebooks in their hands.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s you they’re waiting for?’ Whitney asked, sounding puzzled.

  ‘They were by my gate. Who else would it be?’ She winced. She hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. ‘I can’t imagine what they want.’

  ‘Do you have anything major coming out in your research? Something to do with serial killers, maybe?’ Whitney asked.

  ‘No. Nothing’s been published recently and there’s no reason for them to be waiting for me at home. All PR is done through the university. It’s definitely not that.’ Her body tensed. She hated not having control over a situation. ‘What shall I do?’

  ‘Come over here. We’ll have dinner and a catch-up. Lucky for you, I’ve recently bought a bottle of your favourite wine. I must have had a premonition. I don’t usually splash out.’

  George breathed a sigh of relief, ignoring the premonition remark. ‘Okay. I’ll be with you shortly.’

  Twenty minutes later she pulled up outside Whitney’s small, semi-detached house. Her friend was waiting at the door, her arms folded tightly across her chest and her lips set in a thin line.

  ‘You’d better come in and sit down,’ Whitney said, before she’d even made it up the short path to the front door.

  ‘Do you know what’s going on?’ She followed Whitney into the lounge, worried by the tone of her friend’s voice.

  There were two full glasses of wine on the coffee table.

  ‘I think you’re going to need this,’ Whitney said, as she handed one to her.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ve been online and know why the media was waiting for you. It’s to do with your dad.’

  Her body stiffened. ‘My father? Is he okay? No one’s been in touch. Has there been an accident?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Whitney said, leaning forward and resting her hand on George’s arm. ‘He’s fine.’

  ‘What is it, then?’

  Something important enough for the press to be tracking her down ought to warrant a phone call from her family. Even with their distant relationship, she didn’t deserve a media invasion in order to learn what was going on.

  ‘He’s all over the internet. According to what I’ve read, he’s involved in some financial irregularities relating to tax.’

  ‘Irregularities? That’s ridiculous.’ Her father was many things, including being a world-renowned cardiac surgeon, but a crook he wasn’t. He was much too concerned with his reputation and social standing. He revelled in being the go-to person for anyone requiring heart surgery. Anyone, that is, who could afford his services.

  ‘It’s not only him. There are many celebrities involved.’

  ‘This makes no sense. I’m going to look.’

  ‘Okay, but you won’t like it,’ Whitney said.

  George took out her laptop and began a search. A headline screamed out at her. ‘The Rich Get Ri
cher’. She scrolled down and there was another. ‘Celebrity Tax Dodge Exposed’. She swallowed hard as she read the article. It was poorly written, and the three typos made her cringe, but the content was clear. Her father and a group of high-profile people had invested in a scheme devised deliberately for tax avoidance and now HMRC were after them. The scandal had been uncovered by one of the tabloid newspapers and now everyone had jumped on the bandwagon. There wasn’t a single media outlet not reporting it. Looking at the list of celebrities and high-profile people involved, including government ministers, she wasn’t surprised it was receiving such attention.

  She shut her laptop and rubbed her brow.

  How the hell could her father be involved in such a scheme?

  ‘I can’t believe this. He’s got an accountant. Surely he wouldn’t allow Father to act in this way,’ George muttered.

  ‘And you haven’t spoken to him about it?’ Whitney asked.

  ‘No. But that’s not unusual. We rarely speak or see each other. I’ll try to get hold of him now.’

  She tried her father’s number, but it went straight to voicemail. She then tried her mother. The same. Finally, she called her brother, and he answered.

  ‘Hello, Georgina,’ he said.

  ‘What’s going on with Father? I have the media camped outside my house.’

  ‘Don’t tell them anything.’ His infuriating pompous tone sounded remarkably like her father’s, and her grip tightened around the phone.

  ‘I’m not going to, and I resent you thinking I would. I need to know what’s going on.’ She dragged in a breath. Losing her cool wasn’t going to help.

  ‘Father’s with his lawyer at the moment, and that’s all I know. It’s a case of marking time and remaining tight-lipped. Can you manage that?’

  She didn’t believe for one moment that he had no idea what was going on. Knowing more than her gave him a sense of superiority, despite him being younger.

  ‘Do you know anything about these financial irregularities?’ she asked, not prepared to let it go.

  ‘I’m not going to elaborate, especially on the phone. We can’t risk it. Also, you have your connection with the police to consider. It’s not appropriate.’

  So that was it. Her parents hated that she was mixing with Whitney and her team. They saw them as below her station. Now her brother was using it against her.

  ‘How am I meant to find out what’s going on? Through the sensationalism in the media?’ she challenged.

  ‘You should come here. Mother and Father will need your support. We have to create a united front.’

  ‘I can’t drop everything and be there. I have work commitments to consider.’

  ‘You need to think about your priorities, Georgina. Some things are more important than what you’re currently undertaking.’

  ‘If that’s the case, why didn’t you warn me that the shit was about to hit the fan?’

  ‘Not telling you was a mistake. None of us realised it would have this impact.’

  That was as near to an apology as she was likely to get from her brother.

  ‘Keep me informed and I’ll make a decision.’ She ended the call, not wanting to discuss it further.

  ‘Well?’ Whitney said, sitting forward in her chair and staring directly at her.

  ‘It seems there is a situation and my father is with his lawyer. My brother wants me there, but I’m not going. At least not until I have a fuller picture.’

  ‘You can stop here. Stay the night. There are clean sheets on the bed, and I’ll lend you a nightdress. Although I expect it will be more like a T-shirt on you.’

  ‘If you’re sure it’s not too much bother,’ George said as she lifted up her glass and took a large swallow.

  ‘Of course, it’s not. I’ll be glad to have the company. Now Tiffany’s gone back to Australia, it can get lonely here.’

  Whitney’s daughter, Tiffany, had been overseas since the beginning of the year, recently returning for the trial of the psychotic twins who’d attempted to murder her. At least now they’d been found guilty and the trial was over, the young woman could put it behind her.

  George had assumed her friend was too busy to get lonely. She always had so much on her plate. Her job was demanding, and her mother and brother were both in residential homes as they needed constant care. Whitney liked to visit them as often as she could.

  ‘If you’re sure,’ George said. ‘Thank you very much for your hospitality. It’s much appreciated.’

  ‘Yes, I am sure,’ Whitney said, laughing. ‘I’m not sure about the being hospitable bit, though.’

  George frowned. ‘What you’re doing is hospitable.’

  ‘If you say so. Although I do have pizzas in the oven for us, so perhaps you’re right. ’

  ‘Sounds divine. I’m starving.’

  ‘They’ll be ready in fifteen minutes. While we’re waiting, tell me what’s going on with you,’ Whitney said.

  ‘Nothing out of the ordinary. Up until now.’

  ‘What about Ross? Have you heard from him?’

  George’s insides clenched. ‘Can we not talk about him, please?’

  Whitney had been against George ending it from the start. Her friend had thought Ross the perfect match. Maybe it was true, but it was pointless dwelling on it. Her time with the sculptor was over.

  ‘Does that mean you’re regretting it?’

  ‘I didn’t say that. I just don’t want to talk about him. It’s been three months now and I’m getting along fine.’

  Whatever fine meant.

  ‘Okay. I won’t mention him again,’ Whitney said, though somehow George didn’t believe her.

  ‘What have you been up to? How’s work?’ George asked, pleased with herself for remembering to engage in a bit of small talk, despite it not being something she did naturally.

  ‘Work’s been good, apart from Jamieson. He’s still not come to terms with being passed over for promotion and is being a pain in the arse. But, when isn’t he?’ She laughed. ‘To be fair, he’s been keeping out of the way, most of the time. That’s all I can ask.’

  George admired Whitney’s skills in her job, but she had a problem with certain authority figures, and it often got in the way. Not that she’d ever bring it up with her friend. Even she realised that some things were best left to sort themselves out.

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be offered a promotion soon. Something’s bound to come up. It always does.’

  ‘I’d like to think so, but I’m not holding my breath. I got so excited at the thought of him leaving, and when it didn’t happen it took me weeks to get over it. I’d even decided on the leaving present I was going to give him.’ Whitney smirked. ‘A police manual.’

  The ongoing battle between Whitney and her boss, Superintendent Jamieson, was mainly due to him coming through on the fast track scheme and Whitney didn’t have a lot of patience for officers who hadn’t worked their way up through the ranks, like she had.

  ‘I don’t think that would have gone down well,’ George said.

  ‘I’m joking,’ Whitney said, shaking her head.

  ‘I know that.’

  She didn’t.

  ‘Let’s not talk about work,’ Whitney said. ‘We’ll have something to eat, a few drinks and then settle down for the night. It makes a change for us to meet and talk without there being a murder, or five demanding our attention.’

  ‘I’ll drink to that,’ George said as they clinked glasses, determined to put her father’s issues to the back of her mind for a short while. It would still be there in the morning and she could deal with it then.

  Chapter Two

  Whitney woke and glanced at her watch. It was only five-thirty in the morning. She was wide awake and knew she wouldn’t get back to sleep, so decided to go downstairs and grab a coffee. As she walked into the kitchen, she glanced at the invite she’d received for the forthcoming school reunion. She’d never been in the past and wasn’t sure why she was considering this one. She
still had a few days to make a decision.

  While waiting for the kettle to boil, she switched on the TV and perched on the edge of the sofa. Crap. The story of the day was still George’s dad and the other high-profile people. The media was going to town on what they’d done and how they’d tried to defraud the country. There were calls for knighthoods and OBEs to be rescinded. She doubted this was going to disappear any time soon. Millions of pounds were owed in taxes, and the government was gunning for them.

  She made herself a coffee and one for George, which she took upstairs. As she got to the top, George was coming out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. Looking so tall and model-like, her sleek short blonde bob, accentuating her cheekbones. Whitney grimaced. Why had she got the short straw where height was concerned?

  ‘Morning,’ she said. ‘You’re up early.’

  ‘I want to go home to collect a couple of bits and pieces for work. I’m banking on them not waiting for me.’

  ‘I made you some coffee.’ Whitney handed her the mug. ‘You’ll need to pick up some clothes as there’s no way you can stay at home yet.’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘I’ve been watching breakfast TV and that’s all they’re talking about. It’s the story of the day. If you go home now, they won’t stop hounding you.’

  ‘I can’t stay here indefinitely. I’ve got work to do.’

  ‘It won’t be forever, but for now I think it’s best for you to remain here until they get fed up with not being able to find you. It’s safe. They’ll move on to a different story soon. Give me ten minutes to shower and get dressed and we’ll go.’

  ‘You don’t need to come with me,’ George said, running a hand through her hair.

  The dark circles under her friend’s eyes were evidence she hadn’t slept much. George was usually on such an even keel, but this had clearly affected her more than she was going to let on.

  ‘It’s best if we go in my car, in case the media’s already there, which I wouldn’t put past them. They’ll most likely know your vehicle.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really. They’ll have connections with the police and would have found out overnight. Rest assured they’ll know all about you by now.’ Whitney gave a wry smile.