Takedown by Heather Atkinson (latest books to read txt) 📕

dubious reputation to say the least, she dealt drugs, had beaten the living daylights out of multiple people and committed murder but he couldn’t help but be very attracted to her. They’d spent one great night together but she’d made it very clear that it wouldn’t happen again, which he thought was a shame because they had great chemistry. He could see her point though. Their relationship was complicated enough without adding to it.

After telling his colleagues that he was going to meet one of his confidential informants, he drove to Layton Cemetery. He parked on the main road running by the cemetery outside a row of red brick houses and entered the cemetery on foot. Walking through the wrought iron gate, he was greeted by graves on his left and right. Up ahead was the disused chapel. He wandered through the catholic graves – the cemetery was split into Church of England, Catholic and Muslim plots. He found Faith already waiting on the bench.

“I do wish we didn’t have to meet here,” she told him as he sat beside her. “It’s depressing.”

“You think so?” he replied. “I find cemeteries rather soothing.”

“You think being surrounded by the dead is soothing?”

“Compared to the living, yes. Just before you called, I was bitten on the arm by Snappy McMichaels.”

“You sound surprised you were bitten by someone called Snappy. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Thankfully he didn’t manage to get through my jacket.”

“That’s good to hear. Why did you arrest him? Is it anything to do with Dillon Enfield?”

“Maybe. Why?”

“Because I need to know everything you know about his death.”

“Why would I tell you? Something’s happened, hasn’t it?” he added when she sighed.

“The vault was broken into. They took four hundred thousand pounds worth of product.”

“Bloody hell,” he breathed. “Does Jules know?”

“Yep. She told me to speak to you about it.”

“You think it’s connected to Dillon’s death?”

“I do. I know he nicked a little bit of product from us and then he’s murdered right before we’re blagged. We think whoever’s responsible is local, although admittedly we’re not a hundred percent certain about that. I know you’ll be interviewing everyone who was close to Dillon. Has anyone mentioned him getting in over his head with some serious people?”

“They haven’t so far but if he did I doubt he would have told his parents or sister about it.”

“I’m thinking more of his dodgy friends.”

“A lot of them hang about The Red Lion. You might be better asking them yourself. You’ll inspire more fear than I do. Everyone in that pub just looks at me like I’m a turd.”

“That’s the price you pay for carrying a warrant card,” she said wryly. “But if I go around asking questions everyone will start to wonder why.”

“If they do you could tell them you want to find who killed Dillon because he worked for you and no one messes with people who work for you.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“So, any clues as to who did you over?”

“They carried Glocks but they didn’t use them. They also had stun guns, which they did use. They’d had training and were in and out very quickly. They could have taken the lot but they were on a time limit and they stuck to it, leaving behind thirty five grand’s worth.”

“So they’ve got restraint too. Not like most of the desperate blaggers around here.”

“Precisely but they had too much inside information. I’m sure these are local boys.”

“Well, I did haul Snappy McMichaels in on suspicion of attacking Dillon.”

“What led you to him?”

“He had a fight with Dillon a week before he died in a night club on the north shore over some woman. Snappy threatened to kill him and he has been known to carry a penknife.”

“That’s what Dillon was killed with then?”

“Yes, something with a short blade anyway. The killer knew exactly where to stab too. First Dillon was incapacitated with a couple of thrusts to the back. He was definitely snuck up on from behind. Either that or he had a row with someone and they attacked him as he was walking away. Personally, I think it’s the latter. The attack was definitely fuelled by anger. When he was on the ground, he was kicked onto his back and stabbed in the chest. Sorry,” he added when she winced. “I didn’t think.”

“It’s okay,” she replied, recalling the feeling of shock that had gripped her when Marlow had stabbed her the first time. At first she’d thought she’d been punched in the back. She hadn’t realised she’d been stabbed until she’d turned and seen her own blood on the knife in his hand.

“You don’t look okay,” he said gently. “You’ve gone pale.”

“I’m fine,” she muttered, looking down at her hands.

“You know, when I was a fresh-faced young constable I attended a road traffic accident four days into my career. It was a bad one. A car had collided with a truck. The driver of the car had been decapitated.”

“Jesus,” she said.

“I’ll never forget looking down at his head. Judging by the head’s expression, surprise had been the last thing he’d felt. It was so surreal I felt like I was floating. Then it felt like I was slammed back into my body and I threw up all over the road. I had to take a couple of weeks off after that and I seriously considered packing it in, I didn’t think I had it in me to be a copper. But I’ve never been a quitter and I decided to go back but I struggled. I kept everything in, refused to discuss how I was feeling and things got worse. I struggled sleeping and when I did manage to fall asleep I had nightmares. It was my mum who got me help. I was diagnosed with PTSD