Michael Wood - The Hangman’s Hold - A gripping serial killer thriller that will keep you hooked

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2018

Copyright © Michael Wood 2018

Cover design by Dominic Forbes © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2018

Cover photograph © Shutterstock.com

Michael Wood asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © August 2018 ISBN: 9780008311612

Version: 2018-08-31

To Christopher Schofield

A genuine life saver, a good friend and a huge supporter. He doesn’t only support me, but The Asses and Donkeys Trust too. Pomegranate anyone?

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-One

Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Three

Chapter Sixty-Four

Chapter Sixty-Five

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

If you enjoyed The Hangman’s Hold, try the previous book in the series…

About the Author

Also by Michael Wood

About the Publisher

Day One

Thursday, 9 March 2017

The pale grey, or the sky-blue tie? The grey one would go with the jacket, but the blue would match the shirt. Maybe no tie at all.

With a sigh, he threw both ties at his reflection in the wardrobe mirror and fell backwards onto the bed behind him. He turned to the alarm clock on the bedside table. The harsh digits in a terrible Day-Glo green, which wouldn’t match anything in his wardrobe, told him it was almost six o’clock. He still had time.

He pulled himself up and looked at his tired reflection once more, something he’d been doing quite a lot of in the last couple of weeks.

‘Look at the state of you,’ he said to himself. ‘Forty-five years old and you’re panicking over what to wear. It’s a few drinks, that’s all. Just two people having a drink together. Where’s the harm in that?’ He gazed deep into himself as if expecting an answer. His face was red. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead and a gleam in his eyes.

Of course, it was more than just a few drinks. It was a date. An actual date. A trial run to see how two people, who, according to a computer seemed ideal for each other, would get on in reality. It was also his first in more than twenty-five years.

Following his divorce, and a long period of adjustment, Brian Appleby had thought he’d been left with a life of singledom, a life dedicated to himself and the things he enjoyed doing. He’d go on holidays with friends, trips to the theatre, and when he fancied being alone, he could watch a film on the sofa with his feet up and his socks off.

Unfortunately, life hadn’t worked out that way. All his friends had abandoned him, as had his family. He could understand that. He would probably have done the same in their position. At first, he’d tried to tell himself he didn’t care. Screw them. Yes, he’d made a number of mistakes, but he’d paid his price. Shouldn’t he be able to move on and continue with the rest of his life? Why couldn’t other people see that? Their loss. If they didn’t want him around, he’d find new friends.

That had been easier said than done. New friends were hard to come by; especially when you were a stranger with a past you refused to talk about. Again, he hadn’t cared, in the beginning. He enjoyed his own company. But evenings in front of the TV eating pizza and not talking to anyone had soon begun to take its toll. The tipping point had come when he’d walked into Domino’s and the young girl with greasy hair serving had looked at him and said: ‘Good evening, Brian. What are you in the mood for tonight?’ She knew his name. He knew her name. He knew the name of every member of staff. How far had he fallen that he personally knew the people who worked in his local takeaway? He had quickly ordered and made his escape, returning home to examine the pathetic existence his life had become.

His light at the end of the tunnel had come in the form of an advert on late-night television. A new website had been set up for the recently single looking to meet new people ‘for socializing, et cetera’. He hadn’t been too bothered about the ‘et cetera’, but he’d missed having someone to share his interests with.

He’d logged on, created a profile and spent a full evening trying to find a decent enough photograph of himself. That had been a task in itself as he hadn’t been able to remember the last time he’d had his picture taken. Actually, that wasn’t true. He could remember, but a police mugshot wasn’t something you used to attract a lady. Eventually, he’d resorted to taking a selfie, his first (and hopefully last) one. He’d surprised himself by how smart he looked in his suit and his neatly combed hair. Fingers crossed he looked completely different from the picture of him that had been slapped all over the tabloids.

After a week, he had chatted to eleven different women. None of them were his type; he didn’t have a type as such, but he knew that the ideal woman would jump out of the screen at him. Eventually, she did – a professional single woman named Adele Kean, a few years younger than him, attractive, ‘enjoyed the theatre, eating out, and a good film’. She ticked all the right boxes. She was the one.