Dig Your Own Grave

Dig Your Own Grave

How far would you go to protect the innocent?

Marie Ingram has come back to England with little time left. Diagnosed with acute leukaemia, she decides her remaining months should matter. When the man who drove her childhood friend to suicide prepares to move on to another victim, Marie takes justice into her own hands.

One murder was supposed to be enough.

But there are other predators hiding in plain sight, and the law does not always reach them. As Marie is drawn deeper into a pattern of revenge, each decision becomes easier to justify—and harder to undo.

With a small dog named Dash at her side, a journey to Scotland ahead, and the faint hope of survival suddenly within reach, Marie begins to wonder whether she still deserves a future. Because protecting the innocent may come at a cost, and every grave she digs brings her closer to losing herself.

Carmen Radtke’s Dig Your Own Grave is a dark psychological thriller about revenge, morality, and the dangerous line between justice and becoming irredeemable.

Read Dig Your Own Grave and follow Marie Ingram into a chilling story where doing the wrong thing for the right reason may still destroy everything.

Excerpt from the book

The soil hit the coffin with a muffled thud. Marie Ingram stepped away from the open grave.

Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, drowning out every other sound.

“If you ask me, the wrong person’s in that grave.” Detective Inspector Peter Bell chewed harder on his nicotine gum. His sleeve swiped over the beer-soaked ring on the oak table in the snug, but he didn’t notice. Or care.

“I know.” Marie put one hand on top of the other to stop the tremor.

The sunshine poured through the leaded windows, crisscrossing the table with flickering shafts of light.

The weather made everything worse. The heavens should have sent a deluge, or a hailstorm, to mark Ellie’s funeral. Instead, the small gathering had basked in an unseasonal mild December afternoon.

“He killed her, as good as if he’d slashed her wrists himself.” Peter reached for his third pint.

He and Marie were the only mourners left. Ellie hadn’t been close to many people when she took that final step into oblivion. Her husband had seen to that.

“If only –” Marie paused. “I should have called her as soon as I moved back home, but I was so busy with my own affairs I kept putting it off. And even before that. I should have realised something was wrong.”

“Don’t blame yourself. She kept it secret what happened behind closed doors. And you had your own problems. I was sorry to hear about your mum, although the death notice at least led me back to you.”

“But you knew about Ellie?”

Peter took another swig. “She asked me about restraining orders, must have been fifteen years ago. Her arms were black and purple. She tried to hide the bruises, but her sleeve kept slipping up.”

“Fifteen years?” The blood pounded in Marie’s ears as she imagined the pain and fear that her old schoolfriend must have lived in for all that time.

“Next time I met her, she waved it off,” Peter said. "There was nothing I could do to help her, without her cooperation. What do you think why so many bastards get away with abuse? Especially if they’ve got money and wear bespoke suits? The wives are convinced nobody will believe them and just keep quiet."

He took out his police ID card and turned it in his hands. “Makes me sick sometimes. Here I am, sworn to uphold the law and protect the innocent, and what happens? Nothing, that’s what. Every bloody week I see someone walk scot-free who should’ve been banged up. Or rot in a grave, like Ellie.”

He put the card away. “I’ve seen the body and her medical files. Scars from cigar burns, broken bones that hadn’t been set properly. Looks like every time a business deal went sour, she copped it. And he’ll do it again, to another one. I’ll stake my pension on that.”