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) 📖

Not enough to prove a damn thing, she knew, and if there’d been traces of violence or blood, she would have seen them. She doubted he had been killed in that place but she was convinced now that Charlie had been there.

CHAPTER 30

Rozlyn took more painkillers and then drove back towards work. On the way she called in at the university bookshop and asked if they had any of Donovan Baker’s work. She was surprised to find that one volume was a set text on the Archeology degree. The book was one of those Rozlyn had seen earlier that day.

“And there’s this,” The assistant told her. “He did a lot of work locally and a small press put out this book based on his excavations. He didn’t write it, but he did a foreword for them.”

Rozlyn flicked through the pages. There were a number of photographs including two that she recognised; a photograph of the chantry, pre-grotesque ironwork, and also an image of the cross she had seen depicted on Ethan Merrill’s wall. “The small press that published this . . . um . . . Birch Wood. You know if it’s still going?”

The assistant shook her head. “I’ve not heard from them in a little while. We get reprints of this from one of those print-on-demand places. To be honest, we only sell a handful, though I think the museum does a bit better. I think the address should be . . . yes. Here.” She pointed and Rozlyn caught her breath. The address for Birch Wood was Ethan Merill’s place out at Stamford.

* * *

Reaching the police station Rozlyn got straight onto the phone to her colleague in Art and Antiques. Stevens had been waiting for her call.

“I’m told he was first rate at his job, directed several really significant excavations, did international lecture tours, published books . . . he was even called as an expert witness by the Met. Then the shit hit the fan big time. Baker was implicated in an insurance scam and, even though nothing was proved, there was enough of a stink hanging around to make him persona non grata in certain respectable circles. Donovan Baker retired from academia and we’ve been trying to pin something on him ever since. Best we’ve got so far is assault and that was dropped ’cause the bloke he hit refused to testify. We couldn’t prove it, but we figure Baker got to him and he didn’t want to risk another beating . . . or worse.”

“What would you prefer to have him on?”

Stevens laughed. “OK, the game is played like this. Donovan Baker has the contacts, both legit and not so kosher and he knows who owns what, makes it his business to know who could do with a little cash injection. Lo and behold, they get turned over, usually a range of artworks lifted, sometimes antiquities, but not always. They claim on the insurance and Baker, who has the art or antiques stashed somewhere, arranges the sale. He takes a hefty commission, but even so, said previous owner gets insurance cash and part of the proceeds from the sale. Two payouts in one.”

“Nice arrangement.”

“Exit Donovan Baker, considerably better off. We know it goes on — know he’s at the heart of it — but no one, so far, is willing to testify. After all, they’ve been on the take too.”

“You can’t cut a deal?”

Steven’s groaned. “Don’t think we haven’t tried but the collectors in question are usually wealthy society types for whom reputation is everything and they’ll move hell and high water to keep us plebs of police officers at bay.”

“People who don’t need the money, then? So why risk it?”

“Because some of them are in hock up to their eyeballs. Sell the normal way and the tax man gets his share, or the government refuses an export licence and, believe me, that’s happened more than once. Someone’s got all upset at the idea of a national treasure being sold off, export licence is delayed to give some UK museum or other the chance to get the cash and, suddenly, the item in question is part of a general haul snatched by picky thieves. Sure, it looks suspicious, but in one case — and I can’t name names, we’re still investigating — the claim was that all the media coverage alerted thieves to the presence of said valuable object.”

“And you’re certain Donovan Baker is involved?”

“Certain as we can be without actually catching him in the act. Like I say, we believe he has full cooperation from the owners, but to act as a cover, we know he sometimes involves domestic staff — the lowest paid and most easily disaffected. One let him down. Our GBH recipient. Seems he should have let Donovan know about changes to the security system. Instead, he went to his boss, who, we figure was in on the game. Baker beat seven shades out of him and he confessed all to a junior doctor at the hospital that night. Of course, he then withdrew his statement before we could make it official and any good defence brief would tear his testimony apart because of when and where it was given. CPS decided it wasn’t in the public interest to pursue. End of story.”

Rozlyn thought about Mouse Man. Would he even recognise Donovan Baker again? Never mind agree to testify. “How did he get from professor to bruiser?” she asked.

“He had a record from age sixteen,” Stevens told him. “Seemed to get himself straightened out when he went to live with an uncle up north somewhere. Got him back into school and then university, but it seems that was just a veneer. I’ve interviewed several people who knew him from those days and they all recall him as having a