BURY ME DEEP an utterly gripping crime thriller with an epic twist (Detective Rozlyn Priest Book 1) JANE ADAMS (fox in socks read aloud TXT) 📖

held out his hand, but not to shake. Rozlyn recognised the voice of the gate keeper as he asked formally to see her identification and he studied it carefully, glancing several times from Rozlyn to the photograph as though hoping to find something amiss.

Finally, he handed it back and turned towards the double doors. “This way,” he said and Rozlyn followed obediently, leaving the autumn sun behind and passing through the shadowed door. She found herself in a tall, square hall, the floor of which was tiled with coloured marble. An impressive staircase leading to a double landing lay straight ahead. Her guide led the way upstairs and to the left, finally pausing at the third identical wooden door and knocking lightly. He went inside leaving Rozlyn out in the cold. Rozlyn was getting heartily tired of this. Grasping the smooth brass handle, she pushed the door open and followed the gatekeeper. The man in the black blazer was standing by a desk talking to a younger man. They both looked up as Rozlyn made her entrance, the older one frowning in annoyance and making to move towards her, hand outstretched again, this time to chide and then dismiss.

“It’s all right,” the younger man rose and came around to the front of the desk. “You must forgive Albert,” he apologised. “He knows how much I hate being disturbed when I’m working. You must be Inspector Priest?”

“Working?” Rozlyn queried. This man actually did something to earn all this.

“Yes,” Richards indicated a laptop sitting atop the desk. Open but with the screen turned away from Rozlyn. He didn’t elaborate. “What can I do for you, Inspector.”

“I was given your name as someone who might be able to help me with a little information.”

“Oh?” Mark Richards raised an eyebrow. “Always glad to help the police, of course, but what kind of information?”

“I understand you’re a collector of antiquities. Dark Age antiquities?”

Mark Richards frowned. It didn’t suit him, Rozlyn thought. He was the sort of man that relied upon good humour for his looks. Though, maybe with his money, that didn’t matter. “I collect many things. Why?”

“Items like this?” Rozlyn withdrew the printouts of the spear from her pocket and laid them on the table. She got the feeling that neither Mark Richards nor his guardian appreciated her getting that close . . . to them? To the laptop?

Richards picked up the images and skimmed through.

He laughed. “I’d love to own a piece like that,” he said with feeling. “I take it that’s a replica?”

“What makes you think so?”

“Well, the condition, for one thing.” He lifted the pictures closer to his eyes and peered at them, then reached onto the desk for his glasses before holding the pictures away and studying them again. “It’s too good,” he said. “Nothing stays in that condition after a thousand years or so.”

“Unless it was never in the ground?”

Richards looked up sharply, then laughed. “Not very likely, Inspector. This isn’t the kind of thing people keep in their ancestral attics.”

“Was it in yours?” Rozlyn couldn’t be bothered to pussyfoot.

Again, that sharp look and, she sensed, a sharper intake of breath — albeit metaphorical — from Albert. Disapprobation at her unrefined manners, Rozlyn wondered, or something more?

“Why would you think that?”

“It was found not far from here. You’ll agree it’s an uncommon item. You’re known to be a collector.” Rozlyn shrugged. “So, logic dictates it might be yours. I’ve heard there’ve been a number of thefts in the area. Unusual stuff taken.”

This last was a pure fiction so far as Rozlyn knew but Mark Richards nodded slowly. “I understand that’s so,” he conceded. “Which is why I have a very expensive security system here, Inspector. I like to protect my interests . . . and my privacy.”

“That, I can understand,” Rozlyn told him. “May I ask what kind of security system you have in place. Aside from the walls and fence, of course.” And Albert, she added silently. The man was watching her with predatory attention.

“No doubt you noted the cameras?”

“Outside, yes. What about in the house itself? Perhaps I could get one of the crime prevention team to come and give you some advice?”

Albert straightened and began to move towards the door. Clearly, he felt it time for Rozlyn to leave. “I really don’t think that’s anyone’s concern but Mr Richards’,” he said. “You may be assured that it is more than adequate.”

Mark Richards was still examining the pictures. “What’s the staining on the tip,” he asked. “It’s a shame when the rest is so pristine.”

Rozlyn took the picture from him and looked at it as though for the first time. “Oh,” she said. “That would be blood. The spear was used to kill a man.”

CHAPTER 13

Rozlyn left after another half hour. She had finally been granted reluctant access to Richards’ collection, housed in a first-floor room that extended practically the width of the house and whose tall sash windows gave views out onto rolling grassland and aged stands of trees. At some distance away, Rozlyn could just glimpse the wall that she had followed along the road.

Richards’ collection gave the impression of being a private museum, glass cased and catalogued. Albert, acting as escort, pointed out the items from the period Rozlyn was interested in and stood over Rozlyn as though afraid she might touch. Rozlyn found herself putting her hands behind her back in unconscious response as she admired the pot shards and mangled metalwork. It reminded her of the stuff she had seen at the dig site but there was nothing even remotely like the spearhead.

Rozlyn glanced about, hoping to see something in the room that might look as if it were worth stealing. “Any of this stuff actually worth anything?”

Albert bristled. “To an educated individual, yes.” He avowed. “These pieces are of great historical significance.”

“I’m sure they