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) 📖

“Go and see to my pets,” Mouse begged her. “They were so scared, like, and the cages were bust open and there’s been no one to feed them either.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Rozlyn soothed him. She’d had the first reports from the SOCO team that morning. They’d talked about a lot of dead mice strewn amongst the outfall from a very untidy search. Rozlyn thought she’d better wait until she’d assessed the situation before telling Mouse any of that. “Look,” she said. “I’ve got to be going. Your house is first stop on my list. I promise.”

Mouse looked satisfied and relaxed into the pillows. “I feel so tired, Inspector Priest.”

“You get some sleep. I’ll be back to talk to you later. See if you can remember anything more about the man that attacked you.” She hesitated for a moment. Talking had clearly exhausted the old man and she didn’t want to disturb him anymore. Not yet. The ward sister was hovering and Rozlyn didn’t think she was above calling security to turf her out if she upset the patient. “Mouse, d’you think this was anything to do with Donovan?”

Mouse’s eye flew open and he lifted himself off the pillow with a gasp. “Donovan’s a bad man, Inspector Priest. You stay away from him.”

“Mouse, I’d stand a better chance of keeping out of his way if I knew where he could be found.”

Mouse said nothing, but his pallor had increased and the sister was moving towards him about to shoo Rozlyn away. “Where can I find him, Mouse? Where would I start looking for this Donovan?”

Mouse shook his head as violently as the pain in his head would allow. “I wouldn’t know,” he said, so fervently that Rozlyn was inclined to believe him. “Charlie warned me about him. Said he was an evil man to rile, but I don’t know where to find him out.”

“You’d better go,” the sister told Rozlyn.

“Yeah, OK, but Mouse, think about anything Charlie said about this Donovan. You think of anything he said, you be sure and tell me.”

“I said you’d better go.”

Rozlyn held up her hands in mock submission. “I’m going,” she said.

The sister escorted her to the ward door just to be sure. “Is there anything he needs?”

“Well, I’d say pyjamas, but if you do decide to bring them, do us all a favour and buy new. I’ve sealed the clothes he was wearing in double bags. Oh, and toilet articles would be helpful, and magazines and bottled water. He doesn’t like the taste of it from the taps.”

“Bottled . . . OK, OK, I’ll make myself a list. Oh, by the way, I meant to ask. I’ve only ever known him by his nickname. Does he have a proper one?”

The sister looked vaguely disapproving. “His name,” she said, “is Arnold Simmonds and I’m sure Mr Simmonds will be very grateful when you bring those things in.”

The sister turned her back on Rozlyn then and let the door close with a thud. Rozlyn found herself on the outside, peering in, watching as she crossed back to Mouse and checked his pulse and his drip stand.

“Arnold Simmonds,” she mused. “Ok, Arnold, I wonder what magazines you like to read and if there are any out there on fancy mice.”

* * *

The house, never tidy, was now a scene of absolute devastation.

Mouse Man’s collection of obsolete electronics had been smashed to small pieces and lay shard sharp across the front-room floor. What hadn’t been smashed was toppled sideways in a dangerous-looking pile that threatened any moment to fall on the SOCO working below it.

Blood was smeared across the walls in the doorway of the middle room, pooling on the floor where Mouse had fallen, trailed down the hall floor where he’d dragged himself along. A smeared handprint wrapped around the lower section of the door told Rozlyn that he had pulled it open from there. He must have been attacked even before he’d had time to close the front door, Rozlyn thought. Though that was probably just as well. He’d never have made it to his feet in order to undo the latch. He would have died inside and probably lay undiscovered until someone noticed he’d not been to church or until Rozlyn had another question for him.

She checked with the SOCO that it was OK, then went through into the second room. “Bloody hell!”

“Mess, isn’t it. I’ve counted fifty of them so far. That’s the dead ones.”

“Any left alive?”

“That cage over there. Another in the kitchen. We fed them. There’s a bag of grain and stuff.” Rozlyn nodded. The second SOCO was a young woman. Rozlyn had met her a couple of times before and knew she was about halfway through her training.

“Were they killed in the struggle?” she asked. “Or . . .”

She shook her head. “Look at this one. There are more like it all over. Can’t say I’m that fond of mice, myself, but whoever did this really had something against the little critters.”

Rozlyn crouched down to look at the tiny body and saw what she meant. “Jesus.” It had been squashed flat and the remains spread, like road kill across the carpet. The tread from the sole of someone’s boot was clearly visible in the blood and flesh that remained.

“Mouse said he nearly trod on one when he came in . . .”

“Mouse?”

“Oh. Arnold Simmonds, the guy who owns this place.”

She shook her head. “This wasn’t trodden on. This was stomped, then spread around like it was some sort of game.”

* * *

Treven had ridden out to the place where Cate’s body was found. The sun was coming up, now, reaching that point in the sky where it had strength enough to burn off the heaviest of the dew and was visible