Read an exclusive extract from the dark, gritty psychological suspense crime thriller by Amy Jordan, The Dark Hours new for 2025!
2
1994
‘What do you reckon?’
Garda Adrian Clancy parked the squad car against the kerb and leaned forward, peering into the semi-darkness.
‘Turn the engine off,’ Julia suggested quietly.
‘Okay boss,’ he turned the key and both of them rolled down their windows a few inches. They watched the road in front of them for a few minutes in silence, noting it undisturbed.
‘It’s quiet as a mouse,’ Adrian murmured and Julia nodded her agreement, angling her head to look all around them, straining to see in the half-light. After a stiflingly hot day, the night was cool and still. She welcomed the chill air yet shuddered as it rolled over her skin.
The housing estate in Douglas had two parallel rows of neatly landscaped semi-detached houses and looked like a postcard for suburban bliss. Cars parked in driveways, the adjacent grass neatly trimmed, low hedges the only permissible demarcation of ownership. A skateboard lay abandoned on the grass nearest to them, its green logo glinting in the glow of an overhead streetlight. True, graffiti marred a nearby electricity box, but it all looked so ordinary.
Still, they were on high alert. Two teenage girls had been reported missing one week ago. Extensive searches had yielded nothing so far, and the frustration of each investigating officer was laced with fear. People had disappeared before, and some of them had never been found. But in this case, that was a reality the chief superintendent, Des Riordan, refused to accept. And it was why Julia and her partner were here; a resident had reported a disturbance that might fit with the disappearance of the two girls.
Or it might all be a total waste of time.
‘What’s this guy’s name again?’ she asked, and Adrian pulled a notebook from the glovebox, his eyes flicking over his scrawled notes. He did a bad job of stifling a yawn as he read.
‘O’Mahony. Jim. Says he can hear a girl crying for the last few hours inside number thirty-six. The chief is jumpy; he sent word to check it out. Problem with this guy O’Mahony is that last month he made several complaints about someone knocking on his living room window at the crack of dawn, which turned out to be a pair of hooded crows, so you know …’ His voice trailed away and he returned to watching the street in front of them, yawning again.
Julia rolled her window down further. ‘I suppose Molloy and Connolly will want an update in case we turn up anything linked to those two missing girls.’
Her lip curled as she spoke their names; one of them was younger than her, she was sure of it, and she hated that he’d been promoted while she felt stifled as a Garda.
‘Connolly said to let him know how this turns out. They’re in the city at a possible sighting; us lackeys get the grunt work, as per.’
The Garda station had a pressure-cooker feel to it and the chief superintendent was coming under increasing scrutiny. Julia was intrigued by the case, but as a rank-and-file Garda, she’d only been tasked with door-to-door interviews and searches of a football pitch behind the girls’ school. She walked past the conference room wistfully every day on her way to the canteen, catching glimpses of the girls’ photographs on the notice board. Julia knew everything about them – Louise Hynes and Jeanette Coyle were best friends, just sixteen years old, both from loving families that desperately wanted them home. Her hands itched to grab the file reports and study them, to be more involved in it all, but the detective inspectors, especially Jim Connolly, seemed to take great pleasure in shutting her out.
Adrian yawned again, loud and uninhibited. ‘Ugh … sorry.’
‘Is Audrey still not sleeping?’ Julia asked sympathetically. He rubbed his hands roughly over his face, his stubble rasping against his fingers. ‘That child has our hearts broken. Mary says it’s bound to be colic. There’s no let-up whatsoever.’
Julia smiled weakly; babies and their sleeping habits wasn’t something she could advise her work partner on. She cleared her throat.
‘Right. So, Jim O’Mahony and his nuisance calls. As I said, what do you reckon?’
‘Well, that behaviour isn’t unusual for crows actually, they were probably pecking at their own reflection. I told him to close the bloody curtains, or failing that, to hang a few CDs on a string to confuse the birds, and lo and behold—’
Julia suppressed an exasperated groan; ‘Not the birds, Adrian, the crying from the house next door. Do we know who owns the house?’
‘Oh, right, yeah.’ He sounded sheepish. ‘O’Mahony said the house is between tenants at the moment; the owners live in Dublin. Says he tried knocking at the door but got no response. He also said we’re not to disturb him and his wife any further but to do the job the taxpayers are paying us for and make the noise stop.’
‘He sounds like a charmer.’ She grinned at him.
Adrian knocked his knuckles on the dashboard and sighed; neither of them relished the thought of wasting their time on yet another false lead. Julia peered into the stillness of the estate again. ‘Come on; this is creeping me out. Let’s get it over with.’
She was reaching to the back seat for her jacket when Adrian’s whispered ‘Holy Christ!’ gave her pause. She looked towards the house, her pulse immediately racing. It looked at first like a streak of white light rushing at their car. Realization came fast – it was a young woman, a girl really, dressed in a white string vest and underwear, running barefoot towards them. Her long dark hair billowed around her face as she ran. Her legs jerked unsteadily but her arms pushed the air at her sides, desperately propelling herself forward.
Away from number thirty-six.
Julia pushed the car door open so hard it bounced back onto her legs as she leapt onto the footpath. She reached the girl within seconds, Adrian at her side, and together they grabbed her as she collapsed into their arms. Her skin felt wet, slick and slippery, and in the semi-light from a nearby streetlight, Julia realized it was blood – the girl’s arms and legs were covered in blood.
The young girl staggered against Adrian’s chest and he gripped her around the waist, trying to keep her upright. ‘I’ve got you pet; I’ve got you.’
Panic thickened his voice and Julia’s eyes met his; she could see he felt the same dread she did.
‘Ambulance,’ Adrian said, nodding at Julia. Then, to the girl, ‘Can you stand?’
She sagged further against him. Julia’s eyes roamed over her arms and legs, her torso, looking for wounds. All that blood and no obvious sign of any injury … as though the blood wasn’t hers. When her eyes reached the girl’s face she gasped; it was one of the two missing teenagers.
‘Louise? It’s Louise, isn’t it? We’re here to help you.’
The girl’s eyes were rolling in her head as she slumped against Adrian’s chest. Julia gripped her arm. ‘Are there others inside the house?’ she asked, leaning closer. ‘Is there anyone else inside? Is Jeanette in there?’ She wanted to tell Louise that she was safe now, that whatever ordeal she had endured was over, but she couldn’t get the words out. The girl nodded and gasped, half-collapsing again. Heaving with the effort, Adrian scooped her into his arms and turned to the car.
‘We need to get her to hospital, we can’t wait. Can you get the radio and … where are you going?’
‘She nodded; just now she nodded! There’s someone else in the house,’ Julia said, backing away from them. ‘It could be Jeanette Coyle, Adrian! All that blood … I have to get to her!’
He looked frantic, his eyes bulging in his face. His mouth opened and closed while he staggered a little with the girl in his arms. ‘Jesus, Jules, no!’ he cried, aghast, ‘Don’t you dare!’
‘Stay with her.’ Louise Hynes was unconscious now, her head lolling back, dark hair swinging in the air. ‘Call for help! But I have to, Adrian. If Jeanette’s in there, or anyone else, they could be bleeding out.’
‘Are you mad? We have to wait! Jules!’
She knew it was reckless, to go into number thirty-six alone, but adrenaline fired inside her; she had no choice. Adrian was still shouting but his voice was muffled, easy to drown out. She crossed the road in a quick jog and crouched a little lower to the ground as she ran up the driveway, her eyes alert for movement. The front door of the house was still open. Julia pushed it wider with one hand, the fingers of her other hand flexing behind her back, feeling nothing there. She thought of her baton on the back seat of the car with her jacket and closed her eyes, cursing under her breath. But she couldn’t turn back – she could hear it. Weeping, followed by loud, anguished wails; someone inside this house was terrified, crying for help, begging for help.
Gritting her teeth she stepped inside.
3
1994
The hall light was on, the narrow space illuminated by a bulb that hung limply from the ceiling, a short magnolia- coloured corridor in front of her. Julia moved forward, shoes squeaking on a plastic carpet runner. The hallway was piled with old newspapers and boxes, stacked against the walls. She stood still to listen, to figure out where the crying was coming from. Downstairs: she was sure of it. But it was difficult to pinpoint exactly from where; it seemed to be coming from all around her. It sounded like a woman was crying from inside the very walls, the sound engulfing the whole house. And she was hugely distressed, begging and sobbing.
Julia leaned one hand on the wall, trying to ground herself – the instinct to help this person was so strong she felt light-headed. She wondered if she should shout out but abandoned the idea. There was every chance the perpetrator was inside this house and without her baton, all Julia had was the element of surprise and some self-defence manoeuvres she had been shown during her training. She was sure Jeanette Coyle was in here … but where?
She would have to search the whole house.
She gripped the handle of the nearest door and pushed it open, her fingers flicking on the light. The room was stripped bare of all furniture except a bookcase, every shelf piled with books in haphazard stacks, some piles threatening to fall over. A worn, faded red carpet showed indents where chair legs had once pressed into it. But the room was otherwise empty.
Moving on, heading further down the hallway, Julia stepped into the next room and found it a mirror of the first; the same red carpet but no furniture save for a floor- to-ceiling bookcase that was full of candelabras, framed photographs and stacks of paperwork. There was a radiator against the wall and she rested a hand on it; it was freezing cold to touch. She shuddered; the house had an emptiness about it, as though it was stripped of life except for the loud cries of someone trapped inside.
She moved to the kitchen at the back of the house and turned on the light. The room was empty. Leaving the light on, better to banish the dark, she moved back to the staircase. Panic was rising further inside her, the incessant cries for help pulsating inside her head. The cries reminded her of training videos at the Garda college, of drug addicts in interview rooms, of distressed parents being given bad news. Moaning and weeping; it was the sound of desperation. She felt an urge again to call out I’m here!, to scream Where are you?
But she carried on in silence.
Back in the hallway, she wiped her damp palms on her thighs before gripping the wooden banister and hoisting herself up the stairs. The landing was a small, narrow rectangle, set in darkness. She felt along the wall and flicked the switch – nothing. Perhaps the bulb had gone, or had been removed. She stepped towards the nearest door and pushed it open; the air inside the room reeked of something she couldn’t bear to think about. She reached for the light switch and exhaled in relief as a bright glare filled the small bathroom. Blinking in the stark light, she could see immediately that the room was empty.
The sound of crying seemed as strong here as it did downstairs. Julia turned in a full circle, confusion and fear making her heart thrash inside her chest. She had to keep searching.
There were three bedrooms, all with working bulbs in the light fittings, harsh glares that made Julia squint as she took in the emptiness. The first bedroom was dominated by a double bed in the centre of the room, while the others had single beds pushed against one wall, all lying like wooden skeletons stripped bare. There were bedside lockers and small wooden wardrobes; Julia rushed through each room, pulling open cupboard doors, checking under beds, quickly establishing each bedroom was empty.
If Jeanette Coyle was crying inside this house, where was she?
She raced back down the stairs, not caring about making any noise, just about getting out of here. A thought struck her suddenly – where was all the blood? The girl outside with Adrian had been covered in it, but the house was clean. Fear was a cold hand at her throat – she was not safe in this house.
But the cries were still loud and she couldn’t abandon whoever needed her. She moved quickly to the kitchen again – was there a utility room she hadn’t noticed earlier or a downstairs toilet maybe? She reached for the kitchen counter, to lean against it for a moment, but stopped, her hand suspended in mid-air.
This was all wrong.
No matter where she was in the house, the sound of the cries was the same and it was coming from everywhere. The same thing, over and over, as though it was on a loop.
Suddenly, the sound and the light seemed to surge and then everything stopped. Julia found herself standing in complete darkness and absolute silence, plunging her into heart-stopping terror. And she understood – the electricity had been cut. The light, the sound, cut off. Realization was a stranglehold. It hadn’t been a crying woman she was listening to. It had been a recording of a crying woman, playing throughout the house.
She gasped for air, fearing that the dark might suffocate her. She had to get out! The hallway beyond the kitchen seemed longer, the partially open front door frustratingly close yet still so far away. Saliva pooled in her mouth, the familiar warning sign before throwing up, and she swallowed hard. The only sound now was of her own heart in her ears, thudding a warning drill. She stood still, willing her eyes to adjust to the near-complete darkness around her, straining to hear any sound, anything at all. Any indication she wasn’t alone.
The silence was a deafening pressure in her head as her fingers twitched, wishing she were holding her baton, her flashlight, anything. But then she remembered where she was; kitchens were full of weapons. She and Adrian had attended enough domestic disturbance call-outs to know that.
She reached out cautiously. Her fingers connected with the metal lip of a drawer and pulled on it slowly; it slid open with a soft sigh. Barely breathing, she dipped her fingers inside, touching metal. A thick shaft with a sharp blade at the top … a box cutter, perhaps? It was enough. She pulled it out and gripped the handle, then forced her legs forward. With her hands stretched out in front of her, the box cutter hit the kitchen door with a soft tap. Julia moved around it, leaned against the wall briefly, steadying herself; now it was just the hallway to walk through, then the front door. To Adrian, to safety.
The darkness was less dense as she moved through the hallway, the streetlights outside, and the moonlight, offering a lighter shade of night. Her eyes found the shadows made by the piles of newspapers and she stepped carefully around them. Her shoes squeaked on the plastic carpet runner and she groaned inwardly, moving forward with a sense that someone was behind her, anticipating a touch on her shoulder at any moment.
Once she stepped over the threshold and her foot hit concrete, Julia sprinted from the house. The cold air stung her face and her vision clouded with tears. She blinked them away; the road was as quiet and still as before, mocking her, as though the terror of the last ten minutes hadn’t happened. The Garda car was still in situ, Adrian now in the driver’s seat. She focused on that as she ran. But something wasn’t right; he sat still and straight, staring at her through the windscreen. What was wrong with him? Why hadn’t he come to help her? He needed to know it was a trap, that whoever had hurt the girl was inside the house. They needed to get out of here!
As Julia yanked open the driver’s door, the car’s interior light flooded it and she stopped still, the box cutter slipping from her hand. Adrian gasped, a sickening wet gurgle, and his body began to shake. She watched as his hands clutched at a large slash at his throat, his fingers desperately trying to quell the pulsing dark blood that flooded his neck. His eyes met hers and a sob escaped her lips.
‘No!’ She crouched down and pressed her hands to his throat over his own weak fingers. Her face was close to his, close enough to see the fear in his eyes, pleading with her silently to save him. ‘Adrian!’ she whispered. Tearing her eyes away from his, Julia looked left and right, to the empty street, the dark houses. ‘Help me! Please!’ she screamed, but the only answer was a wretched gasping as Adrian struggled to breathe. He began to convulse violently and then, all too quickly, he stopped. In the backseat, the young girl lay on her front, her face hidden by her hair. In the weak light, Julia could see patches of fresh blood on her back and dark liquid dripping from her wrists onto the carpeted footwell.
Julia stood up. Her hands felt wet now, her palms soaked in Adrian’s blood. In the still and quiet street, in the semi- darkness, while she had been inside number thirty-six, someone had cut the power to the house and killed her partner and the girl they were trying to save. The night pressed in on her from all sides as she scanned the street, certain she wasn’t alone.
