Scorched Heart (The Firebrand Series Book 4) by Helen Harper (read books for money TXT) 📕

murder and I can’t say I’m feeling good about the situation.’

‘Me neither.’ I picked up a stick and drew a random shape in the dirt by my feet. ‘Although I have to tell you that it’s looking increasingly unlikely that there is any supernatural involvement.’

‘I’m not sure whether to be relieved by that or dismayed. How is the SIO managing?’

‘DCI Boateng is very capable. He’s doing a good job.’

‘Not good enough if more people are being killed,’ Barnes retorted.

There wasn’t much I could say to that. ‘He’s a good detective,’ I said lamely. ‘But that’s not why I’m calling. I need to speak to Samuel Beswick again.’

‘So? Speak to him. You don’t need my permission to do that, Emma. Make another appointment to see him.’

I tossed the stick aside. ‘I need to speak to him as a matter of urgency. I was hoping that you could contact the governor at Galloway and arrange for me to phone him.’

There was a beat of silence. ‘This is highly irregular. I fail to see what could possibly be so urgent that you need to talk to Beswick immediately, unless you think he has some information that might help with the recent murders.’

Now there was an idea. ‘I’m following a particular lead,’ I said vaguely.

‘Go on.’

‘I can’t say any more about it at the moment. But Samuel Beswick might be in a position to help.’

Barnes muttered something under her breath. She probably knew I was blowing smoke up her arse. I crossed my fingers. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Give me five minutes and I’ll see what I can do.’ She hung up.

I stayed where I was, staring at the cottage and thinking. Minutes ticked by. The sun had all but disappeared and I checked the time: it was after nine. I probably wouldn’t get to speak to Beswick until tomorrow morning. I wasn’t sure I could wait that long.

There was a rustle in the bushes to my right. I glanced over and stiffened when I spotted the crow. It hopped out and tilted its head, eyeing me. I swung my head around, wondering if this was another dire corvid warning, but there was no one else there. It was just me and the crow and the silent ghosts from the past.

My phone rang, making me jerk upright. I answered it, aware that my pulse was increasing. ‘Hello?’

‘Is this Detective Constable Bellamy?’

I swallowed. ‘Yes.’

‘I’m Archibald Jenkins, Assistant Governor at HMP Galloway. I’ve received your request for a call with Samuel Beswick. We tend to appreciate such matters being confined to office hours, detective. We’re not here at the beck and call of the police.’

I kept my voice brisk and level. ‘This is an emergency, Mr Jenkins. Lives could be at stake.’

‘So I’m told. All the prisoners are already under lockdown for the night. Under any other circumstances, I would have to refuse your call.’

I already knew there was a ‘but’. I smiled to myself.

Jenkins sighed. ‘But here you go. I will have to limit you to no more than ten minutes. When you hear the beep, you will be connected with Samuel Beswick.’

‘Thank you,’ I began. Jenkins didn’t hear me; he’d already disconnected.

A few seconds passed then a high-pitched note sounded. My body stilled as Samuel Beswick’s voice filled the line. He sounded uncertain. ‘Hello?’

Keep it professional, Emma, I told myself. Hold yourself together. ‘This is Detective Constable Bellamy,’ I said. ‘We spoke the other day.’

Beswick’s response was dry. ‘I haven’t forgotten, detective. What on earth could be so urgent that you have to drag me out of my cell at this hour?’

‘You lied to me,’ I said flatly.

Beswick didn’t answer immediately. When he did speak, his words were slow. ‘I’m not sure exactly what you’re referring to.’

‘You told me you murdered my parents, you admitted your guilt to my face. But you didn’t do it, did you? You didn’t kill them. Why did you lie? Are you covering for someone?’ I could hear the tension vibrating through my voice. ‘What are you trying to hide?’

Beswick spoke quietly. ‘How?’ he asked. ‘How did you know?’

‘That’s not relevant,’ I snapped.

‘Have you found evidence that exonerates me?’ Every word shook with desperate hope. Fuck. I couldn’t escape his question.

‘Not enough evidence to satisfy a court of law,’ I said truthfully. I heard him release an audible but unsurprised sigh. I lifted my chin. ‘But I will find it, I promise you that. First, I need to know why you lied. What purpose was that supposed to serve? And if you lie to me again, I’ll—’

‘It was you,’ he said, interrupting. ‘I lied because of you.’

I blinked. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You lost your parents.’

‘I didn’t lose them, Mr Beswick. They were murdered.’

He sighed. ‘You needed peace. And closure. You needed to know that the right person had been punished. One look at your face told me that. I thought it would be better for you if you believed that justice had been served.’

‘But if you didn’t kill them, then justice has not been fucking served! Their killer is still out there!’

Beswick’s answer was gentle. ‘I’ve been in prison for a quarter of a century. I will probably be here until the day I die. Nobody is going to find who really killed your parents, not after all this time.’

What he was saying didn’t compute. ‘You were trying to be kind to me by telling me you murdered my mum and dad?’

‘I suppose I was. It seemed the right thing to do.’

I shook my head in disbelief. ‘It wasn’t.’ My hand tightened around the phone. ‘Tell me,’ I said. ‘Tell me what really happened.’

‘Sometimes the lie is easier to cope with than the truth, detective.’

‘Tell me,’ I repeated. ‘Please.’

A moment passed. ‘Fine. I spent the day in London. I got back to Barchapel that evening. I walked home. I heard the news the next day when I went to work, and I was arrested three days later. That’s it. That’s all there is.’

‘No.’ My voice was flat. ‘That’s not