Whisper For The Reaper by Jack Gatland (best book series to read TXT) 📕

a Metropolitan Police detective for most of his career, by the simple fact of living in Hurley, he always seemed to know every police officer around, and often they’d visit when the Walshes held summer BBQs in the house. Desk sergeant Sweeney grinned.

‘Guilty as charged,’ he said as he looked to Jess. ‘And is this the next generation of Walsh detectives?’

Jess grinned in return at this.

‘My daughter, Jessica,’ Declan introduced. ‘Jess, this is Sergeant Sweeney. You know the story about how I locked myself into a pair of handcuffs when I was a teenager? They were his.’

‘The key wouldn’t work,’ Sweeney explained. ‘We had to drive to Henley nick, pretend that Declan did it himself, and ask them to cut through with a hacksaw.’ He looked back at Declan. ‘Christ, it’s good to see you up and about,’ he replied. ‘We didn’t feel right about wandering around your house.’

Declan nodded at this. Sweeney was referring to the events of a week or so back when DI Frost had broken into his house, bringing in seemingly the entire Thames Valley uniformed contingent to hunt for Declan, who at the time was hiding in Patrick Walsh’s secret study.

‘Water under the bridge,’ he replied. ‘You were doing your job.’ A thought came to mind. ‘The poor bugger I hit with a plank,’ he continued. ‘Is he around? I probably need to apologise to him.’

‘Forey? Yeah, I think he’s about,’ Sweeney leaned closer to the window. ‘Between us, he’s a bit of an arrogant bastard. Better off licking his wounds.’ He looked at Jess. ‘Pardon my language.’

‘I’ve heard worse—‘ Jess started, but stopped at a glance from Declan. ‘I mean, I’ve never heard such language in my incredibly cloistered existence.’

‘She’ll go far,’ Sweeney said, tapping into the computer. ‘You here for a visit, or is there anyone in particular you want to see?’

‘Mark Freeman, if he’s about,’ Declan replied. Sweeney tapped into the phone and waited a moment.

‘DCI Freeman? Front desk. We’ve got DI Declan Walsh here, wanted to... Absolutely.’ He disconnected the call, looking at Declan. ‘You been here before?’

Declan shook his head, so Sweeney leaned back. ‘De’Geer!’ He shouted. ‘Get your scrawny arse to the main door!’

There was a moment of silence, and then the door beside the sergeant opened out to reveal a police constable who was far from scrawny. A tall, obviously muscled man with what looked to be some kind of Scandinavian heritage down the line, he looked like a Viking who’d had his beard trimmed, his hair cut and had then been given a uniform. Declan was sure that he’d seen him before, but couldn’t think where.

‘Sergeant?’ He asked, looking back to Sweeney through the glass.

‘Take DI Walsh up to DCI Sutcliffe, if you please,’ Sweeney replied. ‘And then look after his daughter while they talk. Take her for a tour of the station. She’ll be gunning for your job in a few years.’

Staring at the blond, bearded officer, Jess’s smile widened.

‘I’d like that,’ she said. ‘I’d like that very much.’

Declan wanted to refuse, to tell Sweeney that he’d rather an older, less attractive officer do that, but then realised that actually, having his daughter have a crush on a police officer was far better than the usual suspects that he saw hanging around her school on the few times that he’d picked her up.

As they walked through the back corridors, Declan finally stopped De’Geer.

‘Look, I’m sorry to ask, but have we met?’ He asked. ‘You’re really familiar, and no offence, but I think I’d recognise you.’

‘No, sir,’ De’Geer replied. ‘I only started here last year, straight from Hendon. I’m Morten De’Geer.’

‘Morten as in...’

‘Yes, as in a-ha.’

Declan didn’t comment on that, but something was still niggling...

‘You were in my house!’ He suddenly exclaimed. ‘You were knocking on doors and were the first responder, right? You spoke to Frost about the loft. I knew I recognised your voice!’

‘How did you know that?’ De’Geer’s expression was suspicious now as he watched Declan. ‘We searched everywhere. You weren’t there.’

‘You didn’t search everywhere,’ Jess muttered.

‘I’m superb at hiding,’ Declan continued. ‘You wouldn’t enter the house. I appreciate that.’

‘Thank you,’ De’Geer said, still confused by this. He pointed at a door to the right. ‘That’s Freeman’s office. Is there anywhere in particular your daughter would like to—‘

‘The morgue,’ Jess suggested eagerly.

‘Anywhere she can’t get into trouble,’ Declan smiled. ‘I shouldn’t be long.’

‘You can tell me all about Hendon,’ Jess said as they walked away. ‘Also, what do you bench?’

Declan sighed and knocked on the door. There was no answer, so he opened the door and entered.

He’d never met DCI Freeman before. He’d been at Patrick’s funeral, but Declan hadn’t gone to the wake afterwards, so hadn’t spoken to him. Freeman was sitting at his desk when Declan entered the office; it was sparse, a little too sparse, nothing more than a small bookcase, a desk with chairs either side, a laptop and phone on it, and an uplighter in the corner. It gave the impression of an office where someone had just moved in, or was expecting to move out very soon.

‘Declan,’ Freeman shook Declan’s hand as he waved for him to sit. ‘How are you doing?’

‘Shoulder twinges still, but the doctors say it’ll take a few weeks to knit together.’

‘And the job?’ Declan knew that Freeman would have been told about the suspension. This was his polite way to ask if Declan was looking for a transfer.

‘Don’t worry, I’m not hitting you up for a reference,’ Declan smiled, trying to defuse an already awkward conversation. ‘I’m here on a semi-official basis.’

‘Oh yes?’ Freeman leaned forward. ‘Do tell.’

‘The Red Reaper.’

‘Oh Christ, Declan,’ Freeman moaned. ‘Not you as well? Is it some kind of bloody family curse?’

Declan shrugged. ‘Old friend suggested I should look into it while I’m off sick,’ he replied casually. ‘Heard about the body at the golf course, I’m guessing it’ll be classed as a suicide, like the others?’

‘For the moment,’ Freeman was more cautious now, realising that this wasn’t the