Condemned R.C. Bridgestock (good fiction books to read TXT) 📖

footsteps. His face was aghast as he started to release her leash. ‘You can see by how much rope she’s taking, this tunnel goes on forever!’ he shouted.

After treading through several turns of the tunnel passage, over and around boulder-sized rocks strewn across their path, Ted turned once more. Eventually, all became quiet and still. ‘She’s stopped. She’s barking. Can you hear her?’

Charley nodded. Her face pensive. ‘At what though?’

‘I have no idea lass, but I think we’re going to have to find out aren’t we?’

Ted hollered down the tunnel, then whistled for the dog to return. ‘Nell is trained to locate and follow the scent of decomposing human remains, even if the remains have been buried for years, or are deep underground, or have been lying at the bottom of a body of water for some time.’

Nell started to bark incessantly. ‘Hear that still?’ said Ted.

Charley nodded.

‘That bark tells me she’s found something and she wants me to go to her.’ Ted commenced to pull Nell’s leash back in. ‘I’ll contact the rest of the team members tonight when I get home, and we’ll be back here tomorrow morning, with the proper kit and do the necessary.’

It was ten past nine when Ted exited the tunnel. His fingers touched the walls slightly, his eyes searching intently for any sign of instability.

‘I’ve been told that there’s a few reasons why tunnels connect buildings,’ said Charley. ‘One being that the building is associated with religion.’

Ted bent down to pat a panting Nell, as before, the springer spaniel now sitting obediently by his side, nose in the air, panting and sniffing.

‘The tunnel does appear to go in the direction of St Anne’s Church,’ her voice quickened. ‘Do you think it could have been built as a concealed entrance to the church?’

‘The only other reason I can think of is that it may have been used for the movement of black-market goods. That was the case in the caves under New Brighton, and apparently connects old houses beneath the streets of Rottingdean in Sussex,’ answered Ted.

‘You think that the tunnel is long enough to reach other buildings further afield?’

‘Who knows as we’ve not reached the end yet. Don’t underestimate our predecessors. Look at York, there’s a whole network of tunnels and passageways beneath the city’s surface. A whole series of Roman roads built over and forgotten after the ancient empire fell. Have you never heard of that famous ghost story?’

Charley shook her head. Politely, Ted stood aside to let Charley go through the stone door. He halted, and turned.

‘As the story goes, in 1953, a local apprentice plumber had been working at the Treasurer’s house, on Church Street, York when he heard some strange music, followed by apparitions of Roman soldiers appearing out of one wall and walking straight through another. The plumber reported that the soldiers were cut off at the knee, and sure enough, when the cellar was later excavated, archeologists discovered a Roman road around eighteen inches beneath the ground.’ Ted stopped. Charley turned to see a puzzled look on his face. ‘Wait a minute though. Crownest isn’t as old as Roman times. If my memory serves me right this house was built in the nineteenth century by the infamous Jeremiah Alderman.’

‘Ah, but what you obviously don’t know is that Crownest was built on the site of a sixteenth-century farm croft, that was also subjected to a fire when Jeremiah inherited it on the owner’s death.’

Before Ted’s Land Rover had disappeared over the horizon, Charley had left a message on the answering machine of St Anne’s Church, with a request to view the premises in the hope of finding out if there was anything known about the old site where Crownest was built, and how the two buildings could possibly be linked.

Leaving the scene protected overnight by uniform personnel, she ensured that the perimeter was secure.

It had been a long day. Charley headed back into the office. A quick de-brief at ten o’clock for those still working brought them up to date with her meeting with Ted, and she requested that they reassemble for a briefing at seven o’clock the next morning, when she would update them, and the rest of the team fully. Still, as the others took their leave, she was aware that her working day was not yet done. Sitting at her desk, with nothing more than a desk light for company, she composed a message to Connie Seabourne, the Press Officer. It was brief, but to the point.

During the planned demolition of the unsafe property locally known as Crownest, Stoney Lane, Marsden, and after an unexplained fire, the skeletal remains of two humans have been discovered. The enquiry has only just begun, but it appears that one may have been there for a number of years, whilst the other, only months. Neither of these deaths was accidental, and murder investigations are underway, led by Detective Inspector Charley Mann.

It was midnight when Charley found herself driving out of Huddersfield, onto the open country roads and she struggled to stay awake. She turned on the car radio as loud as she could handle, and wound down her window to let the cold air blow through her loosened hair. She forced her eyes open wide and focused on the cats’ eyes that guided her on the dark road ahead. Once or twice she considered pulling into a lay-by as she felt herself falling asleep, but instead she pushed on, swaying to the music, tapping the steering wheel to its beat, in the hope it would help.

When she finally reached home, and turned off the car engine, the silence in the car was all-consuming. Once out of the car, she walked briskly to her door. The beeping of the car alarm rang out into the night air and she looked up to a cloudless sky. The stars were bright, and one in particular twinkled strongly, the North star, the one that Granny had told her was really