Death's Cold Hand by J.E. Mayhew (good romance books to read txt) 📕

have you come to me of all the people in this house? You think I’m some kind of terrorist?”

“Not at all, Mr Al Hadid. We are just following up a lead…”

“I’m not stupid you know. Before I left Syria, I was a lawyer. This is because of Lex Price, isn’t it?”

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at, sir,” Kinnear said, feeling himself flush red at the mention of Price’s name.

“I had an altercation with the man in Birkenhead. He was screaming racist abuse at my wife and daughter, so I stood up to him…”

“I believe Mr Price was bound over for that incident…” Manikas cut in.

“And I am branded as a trouble-maker. You think I’m a murderer because I protected my wife and child from that… monster?”

“Having seen Mr Price, I think you’re a very brave man, Mr Al Hadid,” Kinnear said, standing up. “We’re sorry to have troubled you.”

Caught off guard, Jamal Al Hadid blinked. “Thank you,” was all he could think to say. “You know, when I lived in Syria, I had a Mercedes, a wardrobe full of suits. My wife and daughter wanted for nothing. We fled in the clothes we were wearing. At the refugee camps we swapped our expensive, designer wear for warmer, secondhand things that didn’t really fit us. By the time we reached England, we were in rags with nothing. Now look at us. I deliver takeaways and do some voluntary work in a local charity shop. I’m grateful for the shelter this country has given us in one way, but you aren’t the first officers to visit me. I defend my family once and, whenever there is a hint of trouble, the police turn up. Sometimes I wonder if you bother people like Mr Price quite as much.”

“I hope we treat all citizens of this country without fear or favour, sir,” Kinnear said. “We’ll leave you in peace.”

Outside, Manikas blew out a long breath. “Do you get the feeling we’ve been led up a garden path?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, do you honestly think Bobby Price saw two Islamic extremists at the war memorial or did he make that up? If he did, who put him up to it? His bloody father must have known that Al Hadid would end up getting quizzed over it.”

Kinnear looked unconvinced. “He wouldn’t know that Jamal would specifically get a visit, but he probably guessed someone would. And why go to all that bother if you aren’t trying to hide something? Shall we go and report back to Blakey?”

*****

The counselling room at Pro-Vets was a small office really but instead of desks, it had comfy chairs, beanbags and walls painted in the same cool green as Nicola Norton’s office. Norton had offered to sit in with DS Vikki Chinn as a support to Terry White and Vikki could see no reason why not, as long as White was happy with the arrangement.

Terry White filled the armchair opposite Vikki, he was clearly a strong man but had lost a lot of his fitness and muscle tone. He wore a blue Pro-Vets overall, black boots and a baseball cap. His round face looked calm and serene as he stared at Vikki. She could see the puckered skin at the side of his neck that grew into a large scar at the back of his head. Nicola Norton, sat in another of the chairs, dressed in a tailored black trouser suit.

“Terry, thank you for agreeing to talk to me today. My name is DS Vikki Chinn and I want to ask you a few questions about Richard Ince.”

Nicola put her hand up to stop Vikki saying anything else and they waited.

Finally, Terry nodded. “That’s okay. Ritchy’s gone. Taken from us.”

“I know, Terry. I’m sorry about that. Can you remember when you last saw him?”

Another long pause. “Yes.”

“When was that, Terry?”

“When was what?”

Vikki exchanged glances with Nicola who scribbled something down on a small white board. “This might help, Terry,” she said, showing him the board.

“We went to the pub the night before he was taken.”

“What do mean when you say he was taken?”

Terry looked up. “He killed himself because Graves took his body. He looked like Ritchy but he was Graves really. I could tell.”

Vikki bit her lip. “And how did that make you feel, Terry?”

“Scared. A bit angry. Graves shouldn’t do that. It’s not right. He needs stopping.”

“You do know that Graves is dead, Terry?” Vikki said.

A strange, tight smile spread across Terry White’s face and he shook his head. “How come I see him everywhere, then?”

“Where do you see him, Terry? Is he here right now?”

Terry looked closely at Vikki and then at Nicola Norton. “No. But I do see him. In the crowd, laughing at me…”

An awkward silence fell across the room. Vikki finally broke it with a cough. “On the night Richard Ince died. You said you went for a drink with him. What happened then? Where did you go?”

The seconds ticked away as Terry White frowned into the past, trying to fit together pieces of his fragmented memory. “We went to the pub and had a few drinks. I shouldn’t really. It messes with my medication. Then I went home,” he said at last. “Ritchy went up to his flat and Graves made him take heroin.”

“Made him? Didn’t Richard take heroin normally?”

“Ritchy never took smack. I told the police that before. They didn’t believe me about Graves, either. Nobody does.”

“What kind of mood was Richard in when he left you?”

“He wasn’t in a mood,” Terry said. “He was happy. Drunk happy. Told me he was coming into some money or something. It was like he’d won the lottery. Then Graves killed him.”

“Why would Graves want to kill him?”

“Ritchy was my friend. Graves hates my friends. He kills them all. Paul was my friend. He killed Paul, too.”

Vikki looked over to Nicola who shook her head. “Well, thank you for your time, Mr White,” Vikki said, starting to stand.

“It won’t be long, though. Graves is weak.