Gardners, Ditchers, and Gravemakers (A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crimes Book 4) by Oliver Davies (free e books to read online TXT) 📕

No use dwelling, though, and I found myself working through the motions that Paige had set out for Grace. Dinner, bath, telly, some old film from the seventies that was questionable, but entertaining, and after a pleasant chat to Liene on the phone that made the whole day seem instantly more bearable, I collapsed into bed, yanking the duvet up over my head, remembered that Mills had left his out in the rain, and fell asleep with a grin on my face.

Fifteen

Thatcher

I was surprisingly alert when Mills picked me up the next morning. The weary grogginess of the day before from dealing with Luke Campbell to finding Sonia’s body had taken a lot out of me. More than I realised, and after a decent night’s sleep, I woke up recharged and ready to go. I also woke up earlier than I really needed to, so in what felt like the first time in months, I forced myself out on a jog around the still cool morning, around the nearest park and back up the road. After a shower and a cooked breakfast, I found two travel cups and filled them both with coffee, just as Mills pulled up outside the house. I was out the door before he could climb out and ring the bell, sliding into the passenger seat and passing him the coffee, which he took with no small amount of surprise.

“Morning,” I greeted him, clicking my seatbelt into place.

“Morning, sir,” he replied cautiously, taking a sip of coffee before putting it into the cup holder and driving off. Yesterday’s rain was long gone, but the city was still slightly damp from it, a chill to the air that was rather pleasant, far better than the usual mugginess of this time of year.

“Good evening?” I asked him. He nodded, still looking taken aback by my chatty demeanour.

“Went round to Susanne’s. We had a good evening, relaxed,” he added, emphasising the word like it was exactly what he had needed to.

“Sounds like we both had the chilled night necessary,” I said. “Only I didn’t have the same company.”

Mills grinned. “When is Liene back, anyway?”

“Next week,” I told him. “Hopefully, we’ll have this all tied up by then, and I can take her on a proper date.”

“A proper date with Max Thatcher,” Mills whistled. “We’d better get a move on then. You still want to speak to Lin Shui again? See if she can point us in the right direction for this earlier study and whoever threatened the two of them?”

“I do. Let’s give her a call when we get in, see if she’s happy to meet her somewhere. I don’t think pulling her into the station will go over all that well.”

“With her or with Sharp?”

“Her, Sharp, the Press. Now that we know someone from the Post was lurking around, we need to tread carefully about who’s seen coming and in and out of that place with us.”

Mills nodded, happy with the sound of all of that, and pulled into the station’s car park, where the spaces were slowly filling as everybody ambled their way in.

“Weekend soon,” Mills muttered as we climbed from the car, coffee in hand and made our way to the front doors. “Lucky buggers.”

“Some of us are too important for weekends,” he told him, resting my elbow on his shoulder, steering him away from the stairs and over to Wasco’s office, where the whirring sounds of computers were already audible from the hallway. The door was propped open with a shoe, letting some colder air into the room, and Wasco himself moved about the maze of machinery and wires, switching things on and untangling stuff. I knocked on the doorframe, and he glanced over, black hair mussed all around his head, glasses sliding off of his long nose.

“Morning,” he greeted us, and we walked into the room, lingering by the desk as he finished getting all of his gear ready for the day.

“Morning, Wasco,” I answered. “How’re things?” He looked over at me with a frown on his face, eyes raking me from head to toe.

“What’s up with you?” He pointed at me and looked at Mills. “What’s up with him?”

Mills shrugged, sipping nonchalantly from his cup as I turned and looked at him, sliding into the hallway and pulling his phone from his pocket as he went.

“I’m fine,” I answered. “What’s the problem?”

“You’re chipper,” Wasco told me, making his way over to the desk. “You’re not normally so chipper. It’s off-putting. Makes me think I’ve gone down the rabbit hole or summit.”

“Very kind,” I clipped back, and his face brightened at my tone.

“There he is. Right,” he clapped his hands together and hauled a bag onto the desk. It was Sonia’s work bag that Dr Quaid had given to us, and we’d left it with Wasco in the hopes that he’d be able to get into the laptop, which was locked up far more securely than Abbie’s had been. Apparently, Sonia was more cautious about her information than her research partner and hadn’t opted for the name of her cat and daughter’s birthday.

“I cracked into yesterday whilst you two were out and about,” he told us. “Most of it is gibberish.”

“Gibberish?” I repeated.

Wasco waved a hand, “plant stuff. I did manage to access some old files,” he said, spinning the computer around. “But if we want to find older stuff, you’ll need to give me a bit more time.”

“How far back do these go?” I asked.

“About five years. You need something older?”

“If you can get them.”

Wasco nodded, pushing his glasses back up his nose, the lights of all the screens casting a strange glow on his brown skin. “I can get “em. Just bear with me while I do.”

“Take your time,” I assured him. “We’ve got protestors to track down in any case.”

“Have fun,” he called as I turned and walked from his office, meeting Mills at the bottom of the stairs.

“Lin Shui,” he