Read a chapter of Click by Sarah Bailey

Read a chapter from the latest crime thriller Click by Sarah Bailey.

'One of the most masterful crime fiction writers in the country, Bailey has done it again. Timely, absorbing and full of suspense, you will not be able to put this book down.'

– Jessie Stephens, author of Something Bad is Going to Happen

Read on for a sneak peek at Click by Sarah Bailey.

2020

Monday, 20 January

Text from Yvonne Gilchrist to Lyra Makris, 9.02 am

Hey L, I tried to call you but it went straight to vm. Just wanted to make sure everything is okay because you weren’t at brekky. No big deal, we can reschedule. Speak soon xx

Text from Yvonne Gilchrist to Lyra Makris, 1.17 pm

Heya. Where are you? I’m getting worried. Let me know you’re okay x

Voice message from Lyra’s mother 6.56 pm

Lyra, honey? Are you all right? I got a text from your friend at work saying you’re not there. Are you sick? I can pop over later and bring some food if you like. Call me when you get this. Love Mum

Text from Yvonne Gilchrist to James Delway, 7.34 pm

Hi James, it’s Yvonne. Long time no speak. Hope ur good. I know this is weird but I’m trying to get on to Lyra and I just want to check she’s not with you? Long shot I know but I’m getting worried.

Reply from James Delway to Yvonne Gilchrist, 10.05 pm

Hey Vonnie. All good with me. Sorry I haven’t seen her since my xmas party at the bar. Maybe she lost her phone, she’s pretty good at doing that. be good to catch up sometime x

CHAPTER ONE

The photo is sent via a bogus Instagram profile while the city sleeps, save for some enthusiastic joggers, exhausted shiftworkers, and early-bird media types fuelled by caffeine and the slim possibility that today might be the day they catch the worm. The message

lands in the Instagram inbox of Melbourne’s largest newspaper, Melbourne Today, where it sits unread for over ninety minutes.

Brian Pocock arrives at the office, hungover and rumpled, having stayed at his mate’s house after an unexpectedly long session at a Fitzroy pub the previous evening. Brian didn’t wake early enough to go home and get either his literal or figurative shit sorted, and now he perches at his desk with remnants of beer and the coffee he just drank churning ominously in his stomach.

Swallowing down the threat of vomit, he scans the subject lines of the emails that landed in the ‘hot tips’ inbox overnight. His bleary eyes catch on the occasional word or phrase. Suspicious. Probably nothing. My neighbour. Promised I wouldn’t say anything.

Brian lifts his hands high above his head, attempting to stretch the god-awful feeling out of his body.

‘Good morning.’ The new cadet sashays past, her eyes glowing

with amusement.

‘Hi,’ Brian mumbles, a beat too late.

She and her hips disappear into the kitchen, and Brian drags his eyes back to the screen. He reads an email about a dangerous dog that Jan from Melton believes is a threat to society and another about a neighbour who might be growing ‘illegal smoking plants’.

He checks the Melbourne Today Instagram profile, pleased to see the followers have gone up by over one hundred since yesterday. Then his eyes lock on a message from an account called ‘Click_Click’ with three followers. The preview of the message shows the first

three words: Photo of #2.

Brian yawns, laces his fingers together and cracks his knuckles. ‘Here we go.’ Before he took this job, he was vaguely aware there were a lot of nutty people in the world, but he didn’t realise how much weird shit actually happened or how many people were hellbent on sharing it with the media.

Rubbing his eyes, he opens the message.

Good morning. Please find attached a photo of victim #2 just after

her death at 9.40 pm yesterday. Regards, The Photographer.

Brian huffs out a nervous laugh. He shouldn’t open the attachment; he should wait until his boss gets in. It could be a virus or a scam, like the ones the IT team are always warning everyone about. He glances at his watch. His colleagues are starting to trickle in, but his boss won’t arrive for at least an hour, and what if he makes a big fuss and it turns out to be some dickhead sending a nude?

Fuck it. Brian wants to know what this weirdo is on about. He squares his shoulders and summons bravado; nevertheless, he experiences a sharp flare of apprehension as he opens the attachment.

It’s a close-up of a young woman’s face. Strands of long dark hair. Vacant, made-up eyes and puffy, mottled skin, wet with tears. An ugly gash at her throat, so deep it almost separates her head from her décolletage. Blood.

In his peripheral vision, Brian registers that the cadet and her hips are on their way back from the kitchen. He glances at her, desperately hoping that when he looks back at his screen the awful image will be gone. But it’s still there— and somehow, it’s even more obscene than before. Vomit surges in his throat, and this time there’s no stopping it.

An extract from Click by Sarah Bailey, available now in all good bookstores.

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Click by Sarah Bailey

Melbourne is gripped by fear after a body is found with a cryptic note, and two more women vanish without trace. When photographs begin to arrive in the inboxes of the media and police, it's clear the killer isn't hiding - they are performing.

Journalist Oli Groves knows the story could make or break her. Rookie detective Penelope Kibbs, still trying to prove herself, is desperate to stop the violence. But they soon realise the danger runs deeper than one killer - and closer than they want to believe.

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