Read Heart of the Demon (D.S.Hunter Kerr) for Free Online Page B

members, adorned the walls, together with photos of A list celebrities snipped out from magazines. Coloured ‘post its’ and paper arrows, with handwritten personal comments, such as ‘gorgeous’ and ‘luv u’ covered some of them: She had stamped her own identity on this room.
    Amongst them, in the centre of the wall, opposite the foot of the bed, was a pin board filled with photographs. Many were of Rebecca in different poses and in different periods of her young life. All happy scenes. On the beach. At fun parks. Pulling faces. On rides. With family and with friends. He scanned them for the up to date ones. And they were there. Her brown hair longer, and styled, blue glistening eyes, a nose that was a little prominent. The word cute came to mind. These were more serious poses – more grown up. A smiling face amongst her friends, and he wondered for a second which one of those she had confided in. As he took a last look at them he knew in his mind that these would be the last treasured memories Mr and Mrs Morris had of Rebecca.
    He and Grace separated and began to move methodically about the room, checking under the bed, dressing table, wardrobe, and bedside cupboard. Opening drawers, and rifling through her clothing. They picked up books, CDs, DVDs, opening, shaking them and then replacing them. The two detectives had done this many times before and were on autopilot as they went about the task. Hunter caught a glimpse of Mrs Morris, motionless in the doorway, hands clenched together, prayer-like and stifling a sob. He wondered if she could feel the presence of her cherished child as they disturbed Rebecca’s things. He fired off several questions about her regular habits and then asked, “Did she have a computer?”
    “No she shared the one downstairs,” replied Mrs Morris, “so we could keep an eye on her, what with these chat room perverts you read about.” Then she checked herself and her voice faltered.
    “Did she keep a diary, that you know of?”
    “No. Not to my knowledge. If she did it was more than likely in her school bag. She did the odd scribble in her school planner, but I’ve not checked that for weeks. She recorded most of her stuff on her mobile. Those are with her.” She paused. “Who could have done this to her?”
    He saw that her face looked tired, care worn, and that dark lines were etched around her eyes from lack of sleep. He wished he had an answer for her.
    As he finished he gave the room a final, once over look. He just knew that this would probably remain untouched for many years to come. It would be the Morris’s’ dedication to Rebecca’s memory. A shrine to their beautiful daughter. He felt a cold shudder move down his spine. Someone had walked over his grave.
    Hunter finally closed the bedroom door with a sense of foreboding. He had hoped for an early breakthrough. Some sort of discovery. A name, or an indication why such an innocent girl had met a brutal death. But there had been nothing. If she had any secrets, they hadn’t found them in that room.
     
    * * * * *
    There was a deathly silence about the evening, broken only by the soft squelch of his rubber soled training shoes on the wet garden path as he moved through the fine drizzle. Despite the rain it was still warm. He glanced back up the garden where the lounge window of his home was illuminated in a warm yellow glow, and where he could see the flashes of light coming from the television. Looking at his watch he realised his mother would be fully engrossed in one of her favourite soaps. For at least half an hour he knew he would not be disturbed.
    Snapping back the padlock of the old shed he slowly eased open the paint-blistered door. It creaked slightly. The sound cascaded images around in his head from the many horror movies he had watched and he momentarily stiffened, frame upright, and gave another glance over his shoulder. The evening was still. The rain was keeping everyone indoors. He stepped into the