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) 📖

back in. That night she slept but found it hard to settle down. The object on the bedside table loomed large in her consciousness and, when she turned in her bed to look at it, it seemed larger in the darkness than it had any right to be.

Serves you right, she told herself, for bringing a murder weapon home to bed. She turned away from it again, but its presence at her back unnerved her and finally she picked it up and locked it in the wardrobe.

Rozlyn stepped back and observed the tightly locked cupboard. She’d swear she could still feel the presence of the thing even through the locked and heavy wooden door.

“You’re a fool, Rozlyn Priest. Get yourself to bed.”

She lay down, switched off the bedside lamp and then, almost at once, switched it back on, regretting for once that she had neither television nor radio in the bedroom. This was one occasion she’d overcome her dislike and have it on.

Finally, she closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe slowly, relaxing consciously from her toes towards her head. She’d read somewhere that this could help calm a mind ready for sleep.

Something must have worked because finally Rozlyn slept and when she slept, she dreamed of Ethan.

CHAPTER 29

Rozlyn woke feeling as though she’d been beaten. Her body ached and her throat felt sore. At first she put the symptoms down to a poor night’s sleep but by the time she’d choked through the press conference — pausing every few words for cold water to lubricate a burning throat — she knew it was something more.

“You look like shit,” Jenny told her when she arrived back at the police station.

“Thanks a lot.”

“Welcome. Why don’t you get off home? You’re not going to be able to think straight and I’ve no wish to catch whatever it is you’ve got.”

“Oh, pure self-interest, then?” It was good advice but when Rozlyn studied the stack of paperwork on her desk and caught a glimpse of the number of emails and messages awaiting a response, she figured she just couldn’t walk away. She’d have to deal with some of it at least.

One email caught her attention immediately. It was from Stevens, her friend in Art and Antiques and the title in the subject line was Dr Donovan Baker.

Rozlyn opened it and read.

 

Rozlyn,

Sorry to take time getting back to you. Truth is, we’re very interested in this Donovan. If my guess is right, his full name is Dr Donovan Baker, which explains why your search, if it was by last name, wouldn’t have got you anywhere. Donovan Baker is something of a mystery man. Respectable background — an academic, in fact, in the field of archaeology. Problem with our Donovan Baker is that he’s a greedy bastard; a question of much wants more, as they say. Got himself involved in some very dodgy insurance deals.

Look, give me a call this afternoon and I’ll fill in the gaps.

Cheers.

Jack.

So, Rozlyn thought, he was real, not some bogeyman created by Charlie and reinvented by Mouse Man. It felt both better, having this confirmation of Donovan’s solidity, and worse. Stevens was not someone who issued warnings without considering need.

Rozlyn thought about Mouse Man’s injuries and shuddered.

“I said you should get off home. You’re shivering.”

“No, I’m all right. We’ve got something on Donovan.”

“I’m guessing not the folk singer . . . anyway, he was skiffle. My dad told me.” She leaned over her shoulder to read the email. “Interesting. Certainly fits, doesn’t it.”

Rozlyn nodded. “I’ll ring Jack Stevens later. Meantime—”

“You’re going home to bed?”

“I’m going to have another word with Mark Richards.”

“Spreading your germs.”

“I couldn’t give them to a worthier recipient.” She hauled herself out of the chair, body protesting and the dull ache spreading from between her shoulder blades and into the lower back. Her head throbbed. “You got any aspirin?”

Jenny went over to her desk. From the drawer she produced a shiny box containing something that described itself as “Max Strength”. She gave Rozlyn two with water, then handed her the box. “Just go home.”

“After I’ve seen Richards.”

“Promise?”

“Maybe. I’ll see how I feel.”

How she felt was truly dreadful. Her eyes bulged in their sockets — or, at least, they felt as though they did, displaced by a pain like toothache in her sinuses. She knew Jenny was right and she should give it a rest and head for home but somehow, the news about Donovan had galvanised her and she knew that she would not be able to relax anyway.

Rozlyn eased herself carefully into the car, wondering how long the tablets would take to work. It had started to rain, a steady downpour that blurred the windscreen even with the wipers on and the drive seemed infinitely longer because of it, but by the time she’d reached the wall running around the estate perimeter, Rozlyn was feeling somewhat better. The painkillers hadn’t quite lived up to their name but at least the ache and cramp in her lower back had subsided, even if she was left with dulled sinuses and the fist-sized lump of discomfort between her shoulders that refused to shift.

When she reached Mark Richards’ house, having been kept waiting for some time at the gates, Albert stood guard in the shelter of the ostentatious porch with his arms folded and a facial lividity that had Rozlyn wondering about his heart.

“I thought you’d completed your enquiries.”

Rozlyn shook her head. “I did tell you I’d be back.” Albert’s position atop the steps left Rozlyn with no alternative than to pause, one step down, exactly where the rain dripped from the elaborate pediment. She had no doubt that this was deliberate. Irritated, she stepped around the guard dog in grey trousers and walked ahead of him into the house. “In his office, is