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) 📖

“You think she accused him? Or that she knew he’d left her to die?”

“Either, perhaps both.”

“And did he see who hit her?”

“He claims so, though he stood some distance away.”

“So, and I’m assuming from what you’ve said that this is night, but that if there was enough light for him to see who did it, there was also enough for him to see that she was still alive.”

Treven had not put this so clearly to himself. He nodded. “He knew she lived, but likely knew also she could not long survive.”

“Even so, she might have stood some chance if he’d raised the alarm. Why didn’t he?”

“He claimed fear that he would be accused anyway and that the marks on her neck were clear. He would have . . . he thought to blame those also on her killer.”

Rozlyn nodded. “So, what happened?”

Treven told her in few words about the trial. That the law of God had found Hugh innocent of murder because he had not struck that final blow.

“Wow,” Rozlyn breathed. “You know, I’ve heard about that sort of stuff, but I never really thought about it happening for real. You know, I never reckoned on God being someone who would split hairs like that.” She laughed, but there was no humour in it. “This Hugh’d make a good defence lawyer or make a fortune in litigation.”

“A what?”

Rozlyn frowned. “I don’t know that I could explain,” she said. “So, what are you going to do about it? In my book, he killed her or least he denied her the chance she might have had if she’d seen a doctor. That’s manslaughter at the very least.”

“Manslaughter,” Treven considered. His mind felt clearer now. “You are right, Rozlyn Who is Not a Priest. Manslaughter.” He stood. “I know what I must do.” It occurred to him that he had always known; his mind had just refused to see.

Rozlyn also got to her feet.

Treven’s cloak was weighed with a heavy stratum of crisp white snow. He shook it off and stamped his feet to free them of the ice caked on the soles. Rozlyn, by contrast, remained untouched. She tilted her head as though listening to something and, somewhere in the distance, Treven heard the sound of bells.

“What is that sound?”

“Oh,” Rozlyn told him. “I think that’s the sign for me to go.” She smiled. “Good luck, Treven, you’ll do OK, I’m sure of it.”

Treven watched in wonder as the stranger began to fade. Rozlyn too stared at her own hands and laughed. “Oh, will you look at that. I can see right through me.”

Her laughter, dying softly on the windless air, was the last thing that remained.

Treven shook himself. He should, he thought, have been afraid, but he was not. Instead, he felt calm and filled with purpose. Murmuring a prayer of thanks to whatever form of god or Wyrd had given him aid, he left the grove and, pausing only to cut from the coppiced ash a staff as high as his head and thick around as he could grip, he headed back towards his home.

CHAPTER 34

Rozlyn stumbled down the stairs reaching the phone just as Jenny finished her message.

“Hello. I’m here.”

“You sure? You sound like death.”

She managed a laugh but Jenny’s words brought the dream back so vividly that Rozlyn had to ask her to repeat her next comments.

“I said, they’ve found Mouse Man. He’s OK.”

“Oh, thank Christ for that. Who found him? Where is he?”

“Your friend — and I use the word advisedly — has him holed up at the Queen’s. He’s been fed and watered and they’re giving him a bed for the night. The hospital wants to check him over in the morning but they’re being sniffy about taking him back as an inpatient after he discharged himself so dramatically. I thought we could sort that out tomorrow.”

“He’s seen a doctor?”

“Apparently,” Jenny said, cautiously.

“Don’t tell me. We’ll be getting a bill from Big Frank.”

Jenny laughed. “I’ll leave you to tell Brook all about it in the morning. I know nothing!”

Rozlyn groaned. “I’ll get over there and see he’s OK. Where the hell did he get to?”

“He’s not saying. Won’t tell anyone but you. Look, I’m knackered. I’ll be off home and see you tomorrow.”

Rozlyn went back upstairs and studied herself in the bathroom mirror. The reflected face was creased and grubby. She’d fallen asleep fully clothed, not even having managed to shed her coat. Turning from the reflection, she shrugged out of the leather and hung it in the bedroom, shaking and patting it critically, worrying at the creased skin. Then she peeled off the sweat-soaked shirt and washed herself, splashing her puffy face with cold water in an effort both to wake up and to ease the wrinkles from her eyes.

A second check in the mirror revealed partial success and a rummage in the bathroom cabinet found a new supply of painkillers. She dragged a plain T-shirt from her drawer and completed the look with a weekend shirt of dog-toothed check. It was eleven-fifteen on Friday night.

Putting the much-abused leather coat back on she prepared to leave, then did an about-turn and unlocked the wardrobe, removed the spearhead, wrapped it in an old scarf and slipped it into her pocket.

She wondered at this, telling herself it was so she didn’t forget to return it to the evidence locker in the morning, but it was really the effects of the dream, still so powerfully there in her mind that she could taste the chill, snowy air even in the warmth of her centrally heated room.

* * *

Mouse Man sat in Big Frank’s corner ploughing his way through a plate of sandwiches. A second, scattered with crumbs,