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

was loved by everyone. I can’t think of anyone who would even think badly of him. Honestly. His work with veterans, his giving nature, everything about him was…”

“Saintly?” Vikki suggested, looking unconvinced. “Look George, I know you might be worried about speaking ill of your friend but, in my experience, even the nicest person falls out with friends and has arguments. None of us are perfect.”

“I suppose he could be a bit of a big head sometimes, if you interpreted it that way.”

“Go on…”

“It’s nothing, really but he could brag a bit. About Pro-Vets, about Rachel and his physical fitness. We all took it in good part…”

“But?”

“It’s nothing,” George said, looking tortured. “Really. It’s all history and we’re all mates, now…”

“George, you never know if something is pertinent to the case, believe me. If nothing else, it gives us a fuller picture of Paul’s personality.”

“Okay. Dave used to go out with Rachel when they were teenagers, that’s all. He used to get a bit funny when Paul ribbed him about it. But it wasn’t like he stole her away from him or anything. Rachel and Dave had been finished for years before she met Paul.”

“I see,” Vikki said scribbling in her notepad furiously.

“And we all kind of resented always having to go to the Bridge every fortnight. It sounds stupid, really, when you say it, but we always had to get the taxi while Paul sauntered across the street home. But Paul was like that. He called the shots and if you didn’t like it, you could jog on.”

“What about the charity?

George frowned. “What about it?”

“Didn’t that cause any tensions between you? I mean, it’s one thing to be old friends but workmates as well, that must bring its own stresses and tensions, surely.”

“I suppose so,” George admitted. “Barry and Dave have their own roles within the charity, so they’re pretty much a law unto themselves. We have a weekly meet-up and air any problems but there’s no blame when things do go wrong. We’re army, we solve problems.”

“You and Paul worked more closely together, though, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” George said, defensively. “Paul did a lot of the public work, ‘front of house’ we used to call it. You know, meeting potential donors, receiving big cheques and smiling for the camera…”

“While you worked backstage, unseen? That must be hard to stomach sometimes. Paul attending those lunches and slapping backs while you did all the paperwork.”

George shook his head. “It wasn’t like that. I prefer doing the backroom jobs and Paul always gave everyone their due. It was an equal partnership.”

“Except, you’ve already said that Paul called the shots, even when it came to choosing a venue for a quiet pint.”

“I told you it wasn’t like that. I don’t know why you’re giving me the third degree. Look, can we do this some other time? I can’t get my thoughts straight, right now. Paul was a great bloke, a good dad, good husband but one of the lads, too.”

“Right,” Vikki said, feeling that she had outstayed her welcome. “Here’s my card. If you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

George licked his lips and looked at the card. “Thanks, I will.” He followed Vikki to the door and she could feel his eyes on her as she drove off down the close.

*****

The Dell was a sunken garden, shrouded by rhododendrons behind the Lyceum Club and bowling green. It was a place where office workers escaped from the bustle of the Unilever complex just a stone’s throw away. A footbridge went across the middle and, beneath it, Bobby Price leaned against the inner wall of the arch, glugging from a can of lager. He looked down at the two, younger lads who licked their lips at the prospect of a mouthful of ale.

“Gizza swig, Bob, go ‘head,” Alfie Lewis said.

Bobby pulled the can away from their questing fingers.

“Have you heard about that fella getting his head caved in up by the war memorial?” Harley Vickers, his mate said.

Alfie’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I seen the bizzies and the ambulances and everything. There was blood and brains all over the steps. I seen it.”

“Get stuffed. You didn’t see nothing,” Harley said, giving Alfie a shove. “They cleaned everything up didn’t they? How would you have seen anything, you prick?”

Alfie looked at his trainers. “Just did didn’t I?”

“That’ll fuckin’ teach ‘im,” Bobby said, slurring slightly.

“Teach who, Bob? What you on about?” Harley said. He wished they didn’t have to hang around with Bobby Price. He was older than them for a start and Harley’s big brother said he was a loser. I mean what right-minded seventeen-year-old hangs around with a bunch of kids still in school? But Alfie hero-worshipped Bobby and Alfie was Harley’s best friend, so he went along with it. Besides, Bobby looked older and could get served at the off-licence which was a plus and more often than not, it was Bobby who sought them out, not the other way around.

Now Bobby Price looked grimly at them. “It was that fella from last week who had a go at us,” he said. “It was him. He won’t be pickin’ on us anymore.” He looked to his left at a baseball bat leaning against the wall.

Alfie Lewis’s eyes widened. “Is that blood on it, Bobby? Where did you get that?”

“Where d’you think?”

“Oh my God, Bobby. What did you do?” Harley muttered.

Bobby took another swig from his can and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I’m not saying nothing.”

“Fuckin’ hell, he was a vet and everything. He fought in Afghanistan. You shouldna done that…” Harley said.

Bobby threw the drained can on the ground and grabbed Harley by his jacket. “Don’t tell me what to do, you little shit. I didn’t say I’d done anything did I? Anyway, keep your gob shut unless you want the same. Don’t you breathe a fuckin’ word to anyone…”

Chapter 7

If it hadn’t been for Ian Youde, Blake was pretty sure he would have gone mad