The Lighthouse Murders by Rachel McLean, book 8 in the Dorset Crime series - Chapter 1

“Just give me five minutes, love. I want to watch the news.”

Gina O’Toole didn’t wait for her husband to reply before making her way from the kitchen into the living room. The TV was already on in the corner; she’d turned it on as soon as she’d got the text from Hattie.

There’s been an escape.

Gina had almost choked when she’d read that.

An escape.

There were hundreds of prisoners in His Majesty’s Prison Service. Thousands.

It wouldn’t be him.

But it might be.

Clutching her hand to her chest and still holding a tea towel, Gina lowered herself to the sofa.

The images of the prison were designed so as not to show anything you might want to see. HMP Portland was one of the UK’s highest security jails, after all. Containing the most dangerous prisoners.

“Who is it?” she muttered. “Just give us a name.” She chewed her bottom lip, ignoring Danny’s calls from upstairs.

Poor Danny. He’d been neglected the last three years, after what had happened to his sister.

Gina crossed herself. She glanced at the crucifix above the mantelpiece and said a quick prayer. She kept one in each room of the house, so she could do this every time she thought of her daughter.

Of him.

And what he’d done to her.

She swallowed – bile, making her gag – and blinked.

Focus, woman. She needed to know.

A name. Just give us a name, for the love of God.

More images of the prison. She’d gone straight to the BBC News website when Hattie had texted. She knew better than to look at the tabloid websites.

Bastards, all of them. They’d plastered Susie’s face all over their front pages, along with those other girls. And boys.

Once again, Gina crossed herself. A quick flick to the crucifix and she was back, focusing on the TV.

“We had reports about an hour ago of an escape during a prisoner transfer on the Isle of Portland.”

Gina knew little of the Isle of Portland. Had never been there, certainly never intended to. She rarely ventured outside Weoley Castle these days. It wasn’t Birmingham’s most salubrious area, but it was home. Anywhere else…

Well, anywhere else might be unsafe for Danny. Look at what had happened to Susie when she’d got that job in the city centre.

Gina should never have allowed it.

She put her hand to her chest, about to cross herself again, when the image changed on the screen.

A photo.

A photo of the escaped prisoner.

It was him.

“Police have launched a manhunt on the peninsula and across Dorset. With so little time having passed since the escape, they’re confident the escapee will be found.”

Gina shook her head. He was cleverer than that. He’d be halfway across the country by now.

Maybe in Birmingham.

Her eyes went to the door just as it opened. Rick, scratching his chin. “What’s going on? Danny’s hungry.”

Gina nodded at the TV. “It’s him.”

The photo of the man was still onscreen.

Rick turned pale. He put a hand on the wall. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph.”

“Don’t.”

He ignored her. “It’s him.”

Gina turned to him. “That’s what I said, didn’t I?”

“He’s escaped?” Rick slid onto the sofa and sat next to her, their thighs not quite touching. Rick’s gaze was fixed on the screen, his face pale and his mouth open.

“Where is he?” he breathed.

“I don’t know, do I? He could be anywhere.”

“How long ago… how long ago did he escape? And how? That place is supposed to be fuckin’ Fort Knox.”

Gina nodded. Her mouth was dry. “I don’t know. But he did.”

She reached out a shaky hand. Rick grabbed it and put it on his thigh.

“We’re going to get doorstepped again,” he said.

She nodded.

“They’ll send us one of those bloody liaison officers,” he continued.

“Unless they find him.”

Rick squeezed her hand. “They won’t find him.”

Gina took a shaky breath. He was right. Men like Trevor Hamm didn’t just break out of prison on the spur of the moment.

They planned. They had associates. They disappeared, never to be found again.

She looked at her husband. “I don’t think I can go through all this again, love.”