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

‘I do not know,’ Karl croaked. ‘I was kneeling, taking off the wheel of the SUV. I heard a noise, and then I felt something strike me, here.’ He rubbed at his head. ‘Next thing I know, I am laying here and Declan is about to give me the kiss of life.’

‘Well, let’s not go too far,’ Declan smiled. ‘I like you. But not that much.’

Karl laughed, but started to cry, large wracking sobs as the realisation of what happened finally connected with his brain. ‘I almost died.’

‘You should have died,’ Declan looked around. ‘Made to look like a suicide. They even kicked over the box there, to make it look like you kicked it away from you.’

He paused, looking back at Karl.

‘Empty your pockets,’ he ordered.

‘They are overalls,’ Karl whispered. ‘I keep nothing in them.’

‘Please, for me,’ Declan insisted. In the distance he could hear the faint sound of ambulances approaching the garage. Slowly and with great effort, Karl checked his pockets, one by one, but stopped as he reached into his left side chest pocket. Slowly, and with great care, he pulled out a business card.

One with a Red Reaper on it.

With a yelp of fear, Karl tossed the card across the floor, where it was scooped up carefully by Doctor Marcos.

‘Looks like the Red Reaper wanted you dead,’ Declan said as he watched her examine it.

‘It’s the same as the others,’ she confirmed as she placed it into a plastic bag. ‘Looks the same cardstock and everything.’

Declan looked back to Karl.

‘We’re going to take you to hospital,’ he said gently. ‘We’ll post a guard—‘

‘That will not stop him!’ Karl snapped. ‘He killed your mother in a hospital, remember?’ He looked around. ‘He’s dead! We killed him!’

‘Best not to say that to anyone else, yeah?’ Doctor Marcos forced a smile. ‘We’ll be the ones checking whether that’s true, but people might get confused with the whole ‘I committed a murder’ theme.’

Karl looked to Declan.

‘Rolfe Müller and his sister,’ he croaked. ‘They have been following me.’

‘And we’re following them,’ Declan said as the ambulance pulled up outside the garage. ‘But you need to get better, okay?’

The EMTs moved into the garage now, kneeling either side of Karl as Declan stepped back. To the side, Doctor Marcos was already placing the ratchet and strap into a second clear bag, and examining the up and down controller.

‘We need the fingerprint guys to check this,’ she said, pulling out her phone. ‘And by that I mean Joanna.’

As Doctor Marcos called PC Davey, Declan looked back to the open door at the rear of the garage. There was something about it, something he saw but didn’t connect as he was running through. Now, with Karl being placed into an ambulance, an oxygen mask over his face and his eyes now shut, Declan walked to the door once more, being careful not to touch it, aware that he could contaminate the crime scene more than it had already been contaminated.

Now in the back corridor, he looked down to the end, where the corridor turned to the right and the outside. To his right were metal shelving racks, filled with a variety of items; five litre cans of oil, wheel hubs, even an alternator were placed randomly on these shelves. However, at the back of the top shelf, something caught his eye, and he grabbed a wooden step, most likely used by Karl to put things up on the shelf in the first place, moving aside some items to gain a better look at the item he’d seen briefly.

It was an iMac computer.

More specifically, Declan was pretty convinced that it was his dad’s iMac computer. The one stolen from his house a couple of weeks ago.

Why the hell was it on Karl Schnitter’s top shelf?

15

Underground, Overground

Monroe thought that he’d picked the easier of the two jobs; after all, how hard was it to find a German police officer in a tiny village; but it turned out that this was far harder than he’d expected, as the man was a literal ghost.

Eventually, he gave up hunting for Rolfe Müller, deciding that he’d simply wait for the man to return to the hotel, but by now he was outside St Mary The Virgin, and so he went to visit an old friend.

‘Sorry I didn’t come to the funeral,’ he said to Patrick Walsh’s gravestone. ‘I didn’t think you’d really want me there, what with how we ended on things.’

He paused, as if expecting a reply from the grave itself.

‘I’m doing my best with the boy,’ he continued, looking out across the churchyard. ‘He’s a damned good detective, you know. He’s done you proud. Better than the pair of us. Better than me, definitely.’ He paused, taking a deep breath of the clear afternoon air.

‘I saw your secret room,’ he continued. ‘Jesus, Patrick, you should have called. You knew I’d help you if you needed it. You should have told me about Christine.’ He lowered his head, looking to the older gravestone to the left, that of Christine Walsh.

‘But I can understand why you wouldn’t,’ he said softly. ‘We’re trying to find who killed you, and we will bring them to justice, but if you are up there, watching down on this, we could do with a little help. In particular, finding a runty little German chap who’s given me the bloody slip.’

He sighed, looking out across the churchyard again. The last time he’d been in here was Christine’s funeral, years earlier. He hadn’t entered the churchyard during Patrick’s funeral, he’d simply waited for Declan in the car park, ambushing the grieving son as he left his father’s last resting place.

‘A sign would be great right now,’ he whispered.

There was a movement out of the corner of his eye, towards the south-eastern corner of the churchyard. Looking up, Monroe couldn’t believe his eyes.

It was Rolfe Müller, heading towards the remains of the old priory next door.

‘That