Time To Play KA Richardson (best thriller books to read .txt) 📖

She couldn’t stop shaking, and her teeth chattered loudly together whenever she unclamped her jaw.

She felt a tear escape and roll down her cheek.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

When her grandmother, Noni, had died a couple of weeks ago, she was supposed to inherit the lean-to and the people of the village were supposed to look after her until she was deemed able to do it herself. That’s how it was done in her village.

She’d been asleep when the men had come. They had put a hand over her mouth and carried her out to a car, a knife sticking against her ribs warning her to be quiet. From the car she’d been put into a van, driven for a long time, and then placed inside the container with nineteen other women. They were all older than her, though. Elvie was only fifteen.

Nita Thress, another girl in the container, had quickly befriended Elvie, talking to her and telling her it would all be all right. Nita was older than her, and Elvie had happily let her take charge. But Nita was now ill. A lot of the young women were.

Elvie didn’t know how long they’d been inside the container, but it had been long enough for the women to drink almost all the water, and empty the tubs of rice and vegetables, even after they’d gone slimy and started to smell. Now the container was starting to smell like death. There were no blankets to keep them warm in the decreasing temperature, no fresh water to keep them hydrated, and no toilet. They had all been defecating and urinating, and it had got to the point where it was no longer confined to one specific area.

Hearing Nita moan for water, Elvie climbed to her feet, ignoring the pins and needles in her legs from being pulled up to her chin for so long. She grabbed one of the few cups and went to the last bucket with water inside. It held about an inch at the bottom, and Elvie had to use her hand to scoop a little into the cup. She took a small sip for herself, then walked back over to Nita. She picked up the girl’s head and held the cup to her parched lips, allowing her friend to drink the last dribble.

Elvie placed her hand on Nita’s head, checking for a temperature as her grandmother had done when she was small. Nita’s head felt hot and sweaty as she thrashed beneath Elvie’s touch.

The fear she’d felt at the start had faded. Now Elvie just wanted to get to wherever she was going. She had an ache in her head that had been a constant for days. Her hunger had eased today, and she felt tired. Whatever was coming she would deal with when she got there. She missed her Noni terribly. Her gran would never have let anything happen to her. Laying her head on top of her knees, she started to cry silently.

Footpath Along the River Wear, Durham – 2 November

Wallace Pemberton was following his normal route. He’d been to the corner shop to pick up his newspaper, as he did every day, and had progressed down the road and onto the footpath that ran alongside the river. His West Highland terrier, Poppet, was eagerly sniffing every plant and bush as they made their way leisurely along.

It was still dark, and the path was deserted: the joggers and dog walkers not yet braving the early morning. But Wallace liked the dark, and the walk kept his ageing muscles from seizing up. At almost ninety years old, his hearing was starting to fail, and his eyesight wasn’t the best, but he was definitely fitter than your average old man.

He had his paper tucked under one arm, his jacket collar was pulled up around his neck and the flat cap sat perched on his balding head keeping the skin warm. Poppet’s lead hung loosely beside him. Not that she would ever run off even without the lead. The dog was almost as old as he was, in dog years at least.

The sun was just starting to think about rising, and the sky to the east changed from black to blue slowly; Wallace was just approaching the cathedral. It stood on the opposite side of the bank to the path, lights illuminating the walls and turrets. It had stood for nearly a thousand years and was one of the main tourist attractions in Durham. He had visited once as a young man, trying to impress his latest flame. They had walked all the way along to the lovers’ chair and shared their first kiss. So long ago he couldn’t even remember when. Her name had been Lacey, and she’d ended up his wife so his wooing had obviously done the trick. Lacey had passed on several years before, but Wallace always thought about her when he passed the cathedral. He missed her a lot.

‘Love you, Lacey,’ he whispered with a nod as he passed.

The route Wallace took wasn’t short; it was probably five times longer than just using the normal streets to get home. But it was a nice walk, the odours of wild garlic and aniseed ripe in the spring and summer, and the crisp smell of winter approaching at this time of year. The leaves had started falling from the trees the month before, and Wallace trod carefully, mindful that he might slip.

He was just walking past the weir, when something caught his eye. It was trapped in the tumultuous water rolling at the weir itself, and it looked like clothing. Wallace pulled the hard glasses case from his inside pocket and placed the lenses over his eyes. The water ragged the object about a little more and suddenly, Wallace realised it wasn’t just clothing. It was a dead man. He should know; he’d seen enough of them