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Requiem in E Sharp

A Serial Killer Thriller
Joan De La Hayeerschienen am01.07.2019
Immerse yourself in the heart-pounding thriller, 'Requiem in E Sharp' by Joan De La Haye. Set against the backdrop of Pretoria, this captivating story follows a troubled detective locked in a deadly dance with a tormented serial killer. Brace yourself for a world where carefully selected women fall victim to a murderer haunted by a chilling past.


As the sadistic spree of The Bathroom Strangler escalates, Detective Nico van Staaden races against time, battling not only the relentless killer but also his own personal demons. With seemingly unrelated murders intertwining in a treacherous labyrinth, Nico faces mounting pressure from his superiors, amplifying the urgency of his mission.


Prepare for a heart-stopping climax, an eruption of bloodshed, brutality, and a merciless reckoning. Will Nico prevail against an enemy whose twisted psyche knows no bounds, or will he succumb to the deadly symphony orchestrated by the Bathroom Strangler?


'Requiem in E Sharp' is a spine-chilling thriller that will leave you breathless, gripping the edge of your seat until the very last nerve-wracking note. Joan De La Haye skillfully crafts a tale of suspense, psychological torment, and the delicate balance between good and evil. Embark on a gripping journey into the depths of the human soul, where redemption and vengeance collide in an explosive crescendo of violence. Get ready for an unforgettable exploration of the darkest recesses of the human psyche.mehr
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BuchKartoniert, Paperback
EUR17,80

Produkt

KlappentextImmerse yourself in the heart-pounding thriller, 'Requiem in E Sharp' by Joan De La Haye. Set against the backdrop of Pretoria, this captivating story follows a troubled detective locked in a deadly dance with a tormented serial killer. Brace yourself for a world where carefully selected women fall victim to a murderer haunted by a chilling past.


As the sadistic spree of The Bathroom Strangler escalates, Detective Nico van Staaden races against time, battling not only the relentless killer but also his own personal demons. With seemingly unrelated murders intertwining in a treacherous labyrinth, Nico faces mounting pressure from his superiors, amplifying the urgency of his mission.


Prepare for a heart-stopping climax, an eruption of bloodshed, brutality, and a merciless reckoning. Will Nico prevail against an enemy whose twisted psyche knows no bounds, or will he succumb to the deadly symphony orchestrated by the Bathroom Strangler?


'Requiem in E Sharp' is a spine-chilling thriller that will leave you breathless, gripping the edge of your seat until the very last nerve-wracking note. Joan De La Haye skillfully crafts a tale of suspense, psychological torment, and the delicate balance between good and evil. Embark on a gripping journey into the depths of the human soul, where redemption and vengeance collide in an explosive crescendo of violence. Get ready for an unforgettable exploration of the darkest recesses of the human psyche.
Details
Weitere ISBN/GTIN6610000145133
ProduktartE-Book
EinbandartE-Book
FormatEPUB
Erscheinungsjahr2019
Erscheinungsdatum01.07.2019
Seiten210 Seiten
SpracheEnglisch
Dateigrösse565
Artikel-Nr.4133929
Rubriken
Genre9200

Inhalt/Kritik

Leseprobe
1

 

Sunday, 23 June

His hands shook. He wanted them to stop; he wanted everything to stop.

All he could hear was her banging on the piano. It reverberated along the passage, through the tiled floor of his childhood bathroom and into his brain. The feel of the cold, smooth surface of the bath beneath his small curled-up body was soothing and calmed him. It was safe as long as she banged on the piano. The moment the music stopped the real nightmare would begin. Urine ran down the insides of his legs causing his jeans to cling to them. The music stopped. She would be coming soon.

He closed his eyes and tried to shut out the memory.

The car boot slammed shut and brought him back to the present. The street lights above his head flashed on and illuminated the quiet street. A slight, though cool, breeze played with crisp brown leaves on the ground around his feet; a dog barked down the street, disturbing the quiet suburb. The owner of the dog yelled at it to shut up. Why did people keep dogs to protect them, and then stop them from doing their job? It was something he would never understand.

He watched her from the safety of his patrol car. She looked good in her jeans. She was well put together for a woman of her age, but it was on her face that time and alcohol told their story. Her short curly hair was tousled by the wind. He d watched her for a few days, just as he d watched the others. The memories flooded and overwhelmed him. They excited and horrified him. They all reminded him of that Bitch. She'd turned him into a monster.

The woman tried to pick up all the boxes piled around her feet. She hadn't had the brains to pack them flat, and her hands shook too much for her to be able to put them inside each other. Probably needed another drink. Getting out of his car, he slung his rucksack over his shoulder, checked that no one was around to identify him and walked through the open gate towards her. She never remembered to close the gate, probably to the disgust of the other inhabitants of the complex, but it suited his plans.

His hands stopped shaking, and the noise in his head grew silent. All he saw was the woman who would soon be joining the others.

His footsteps crunched on the grass. He saw her back stiffen and heave as she took a deep breath before turning around. He sensed her fear and apprehension about being out alone in the dark. She looked around furtively, betraying the usual victim mentality in her every move. She was vulnerable and knew it, which excited him. Her body relaxed the moment she turned around and saw him coming towards her. The uniform always put them at ease. It was almost too easy.

He smiled, flashing his perfect teeth and asked: Hello Auntie, can I help you with those boxes? His voice was calm and didn't betray the excitement he felt. He'd been taught that calling an older woman Auntie was a sign of respect. Although he wasn't sure who'd taught him that - it certainly hadn't been his mother.

She nodded and smiled at him.

You gave me a bit of a fright, she said with her hand over her thumping heart. He could see her willing it to slow down.

I'm sorry. Didn't mean to, he said with his most sincere smile.

Adjusting the strap of his rucksack, he picked up most of the boxes, leaving two for her to carry and followed her towards the flats. The swimming pool in front of the block needed attention. Brown and gold leaves crunched under their shoes as they walked past the pool. The entrance of Queenswood Gardens was dark. The light above the door had blown, and the caretaker hadn t replaced it yet. The pot plants on either side of the door had long since died. The sky turned from a dark blue to black and the thin crescent of the moon reflected in the pool.

They took the lift to the second floor. As the lift travelled slowly up, she told him that she was moving to Cape Town and was looking forward to starting her life over. Getting away from all the bad memories would help in her recovery. Her high-pitched, sharp voice irritated him. Shutting her up would be a pleasure. He pictured her begging for her life. But then the woman's face turned into hers. He resisted the urge to kill her then and there. Anger welled up in the pit of his stomach. Only seeing her blood would keep that deep-seated anger and hatred from consuming him without pity or remorse. Not being shown compassion was something he was used to. No-one had ever shown him pity before, so why should he be any different on himself or anybody else.

Are you new to the block? she asked. I haven't seen you before.

He nodded. His mouth was dry, and his hands were sweaty inside his gloves.

Did you hear about what happened on the fifth floor? she asked, sounding nervous.

He shook his head. He didn't trust himself to speak.

Mrs Oosthuizen in five-oh-five caught her husband with the maid. I always thought he was one of those. She threw him out and now he's living with the maid in Mamelodi with the rest of the monkeys.

With that comment, she'd made it a lot easier for him to kill her. One less narrow-minded, racist old cow was a service to the universe.

The lift door opened, he held it for her while she stepped out. She turned right into the passageway. The wind buffeted against the passage windows. She lived five doors down. He didn t take much notice of what number it was, but the door was in dire need of varnish. Inside, the walls needed a fresh coat of paint, and the curtains demanded to be washed. The smell of stale cigarettes and booze hung in the air. The flat could also do with a bit of dusting. She was just like her: too lazy to clean up after herself.

She switched on the hall light. The bright light highlighted the dirty walls that hadn't been washed in years. Dirty handprints seemed to be her wallpaper of choice. He closed the door quietly behind him. Boxes in the lounge were in various stages of being packed. Piles of old newspaper littered the floor.

Where do you want me to put these boxes for you? he asked, his voice controlled.

Just put them in the kitchen, or you can just dump them here, please. I ll go take my jacket off and then make us a nice cup of coffee.

Thanks, he replied. But you really don t have to. He didn't want to drink her crappy coffee from her dirty, chipped mug.

Nonsense. I can t have you leaving here without having some coffee to warm you up first, she said, handing him the boxes she was carrying before walking down the narrow passage to her bedroom.

He turned left into the kitchen and dropped some of the boxes on the kitchen counter and some on the floor. An empty bottle of brandy lay comfortably on the top of her rubbish. His upper lip twitched as he scowled at the bottle and wondered how many more empty bottles were in the rubbish bin. While he waited for her, he surveyed his gloved hands and tried not to look at the empty bottle. She had given him the gloves for his birthday. They were one of the very few things she had ever given him. They were cheap black imitation leather and were starting to crack. He didn't know why he kept them, probably because they were a gift from her. The reason for hating them was also his reason for wanting to keep them.

He remembered one of the first presents he'd bought her with his own money as a child. It had been a pink fairy statuette for her bedroom. She'd thrown it away. He could still see the porcelain shards lying at the bottom of the trash can.

The woman returned to the kitchen while he was staring at the gloves. He hadn t noticed her come in. He snapped his head up and stiffened. He felt her watching him, judging him. Her eyes burned into him the same way that Bitch s eyes had burnt his soul. They had the same cold fish eyes, only hungry for the next drink. She turned to put the kettle on. His hand reached into the pocket of his jacket and felt the wire. He could feel the grooves and notches through his cheap gloves. He caressed it. He could feel his cock harden and his breath quickened in anticipation. He pulled the wire out of his pocket, savouring every second. He felt himself rushing the moment. He wanted to slow it down and enjoy every detail. But she would turn around any moment, and things would get messy. He didn't want that to happen again. He wrapped the ends around his hands and pulled it taut.

He watched the back of her head bob up and down as she made the coffee, humming happily. The kettle was too loud. Her humming was out of tune and pulled his last nerve. She chatted about how rare it was to come across someone as polite as he was, but all he could hear was the sound of the piano clanging in his head. He crossed his wrists and slipped the wire over her head and pulled it around her throat. His heart lurched and the beat quickened. The excitement of the impending kill made him a little light-headed. A surprised groan escaped from her mouth. She tried to grab the wire, but her chewed fingernails were too short to dig in. She tried to grasp his gloved hands at the back of her head, but she was too slow. Her arms flailed around trying to hit him. Her foot connected with his shin. That would leave a bruise, he thought. He pulled the wire tighter. Its sharp edges cut into her flesh, slicing into her like a hot knife through butter. Her breath came in gasps; the more she struggled for breath the bigger and harder his erection grew. His breathing became harder and faster. The wire was swallowed up by her larynx. Blood ran down the front of her clothes. Her end was very close now, he could feel it. It...
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