Death's Cold Hand J.E. Mayhew (best romantic novels to read TXT) 📖

of using the electric stove. He stood the figure on the ring and switched it on. Watching the little man subside into a puddle of green, bubbling goo had made him laugh a little because it meant a little bit more of Corporal Graves was gone. He couldn’t hurt anyone else. Then Terry remembered who the dead man was, and he felt his heart burst.

Tears scalded his cheeks and he had slumped into an armchair next to the body. His body shook with grief and once more he lay in that Foxhound armoured car. Thunder roared in his ears and hot metal burnt in his head. Corporal Graves snarled and gripped him as they tumbled over and over into blackness.

The next thing he knew, it was light and someone was hammering on the door. The policeman was trying to get in. Terry panicked and charged at him, knocking him down but he knew he had to run, so vaulted the fence into the fields behind the cottage.

Now Terry’s legs burnt with the effort of running on the rough ground. He’d taken a tumble once or twice when his foot went into a rabbit hole but fear spurred him on. He didn’t know where he was going and he didn’t know who he could trust. They were meant to evacuate him but there was nobody there to save him. Now he was in deep trouble. All he could do was get away from here, lie low and try and work things out.

*****

Gasping for breath, Blake staggered to his feet and looked around for the man who had attacked him. The garden was empty and, staring across the fields behind the house, Blake could just about see a distant figure running for the woodland on the other side. It was tempting to set off after him but he knew he needed to secure the scene of the crime first and check inside. Pulling on his gloves and mask, he inched his way into the house. He didn’t want to disturb the crime scene but he had to verify that whoever was lying in the room was: a) dead and b) Quentin Ufford.

The smell of blood filled what would have otherwise been an unremarkable living room. There was another stink, too, smoky and plastic. Blake backed into the kitchen and looked down at the cooker. A melted pool of plastic covered the hob. Ufford lay on the blood-soaked carpet staring at Blake with empty eyes. He’d been dead for a while as far as Blake could tell. A ragged gash across his throat told Blake all he needed to know.

He pulled out his phone and called DI Kath Cryer. She sounded as though she was just getting up. “Wow, you’re early, sir, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Kath, listen get a Crime Scene Investigation team down to Quentin Ufford’s house in Raby as soon as possible. He’s been murdered.”

There was a pause as a thousand questions ran through Kath’s head before she realised that now wasn’t the time for questions. “Will do, sir. I’ll get some uniform over to you right away, too.”

“Thanks, Kath and get a team to search the fields behind here up towards Thornton Hough. I was attacked by someone who might be the killer…”

“Was it Terry White?”

“I think so. We need to warn the public, too. He’s dangerous.” Blake hung up and went outside into the fresh air. His cheek and eye still ached from the impact of the door and his ribs throbbed. He rummaged around in his pockets for the painkillers he’d become accustomed to carrying but was rewarded with an empty blister pack.

Was that it then? Had all the death and bloodshed been down to Terry White’s psychosis? Somehow Blake wasn’t convinced. All the victims were connected with Pro-Vets, even Richard Ince, who Blake felt convinced was murdered now. Ollerthwaite was actively investigating the charity’s accounts. Paul Travis, given he was the CEO, would have been ultimately responsible for the charity’s finances. It was the attack on Ollerthwaite that struck Blake as odd. It was easy to see how White could become fixated on people he encountered every day at work. Ollerthwaite was a new face, someone different. Why suddenly single him out? There was something not quite right here, as though Blake had two final pieces of the puzzle but they didn’t quite fit together.

Sirens wailed in the distance and Blake went round to the front of the house to flag them down. One thing was certain, he had to pass the information Ollerthwaite had given him to Cavanagh, along with his suspicions. Quinlan had been right when they met, any involvement by Blake could compromise an investigation. But Blake wasn’t going to stop trying to bring the murderer to justice.

*****

DI Kath Cryer wanted to be at Ufford’s cottage helping Blake with the investigation there but she’d managed to get Lex Price to agree to an interview at his house.

“If Ufford was killed by Terry White, why are we grilling Price again, Ma’am?” Andrew Kinnear said, a little wearily as they climbed out the car.

Kath grinned. “Leave no stone unturned, Andrew,” she said in a pantomime impression of DCI Blake. She reverted to her own voice. “To be fair, mate, we don’t know for certain that White killed Ufford and I reckon Lex Price is about as shifty as they get. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he was mixed up in all of this.”

“How did he take it when you said you wanted to talk to him and not Bobby?”

“He sounded surprised but like the kind of surprised you are when you find your glasses aren’t where you left them or you’re half an hour early for an appointment. Price is spookily calm for a man of his background. He’s exercising a lot of self-control and the only reason he’d do that is because he’s covering something up.”

“God, let’s just hope he doesn’t lose it while we’re interviewing him,” Kinnear said, his eyes wide