Blood Loss by Kerena Swan (good beach reads .txt) 📕

wearing dusty overalls and large workman boots was coming down the steps from the house behind him.

‘I hope you’re not planning to fly-tip your rubbish as well. You lot need to get your own bloody skip. It’s costing me a fortune to clear away everyone else’s crap in this neighbourhood.’

Paton turned to show the builder his ID and the man stopped abruptly.

‘How long has this skip been here?’ Paton asked.

‘Just over a week.’

‘What sort of stuff has been dumped in it?’

‘All sorts. Old televisions, a suitcase full of clothes and even a box of food – tins and packets and such like. That was weird. We shared the good stuff amongst the lads but some was out of date so we chucked it back in the skip. I’m expecting the pick-up soon, which is why I’m still here. He’ll be swapping this for an empty one.’

Paton checked the time and saw it was already seven. Damn. He’d have to delay booking in to his hotel. He couldn’t risk losing this evidence. Within ten minutes he’d made a call to the SIO and arranged for the skip to be taken to the Manchester Police garage and storage yard, he had the Tactical Aid Unit on stand-by awaiting the delivery of the skip, and he’d called Wendy. She’d sounded okay and had promised to let the hotel know he’d been delayed but would definitely be checking in. He hoped they offered room service because his stomach was already rumbling and the restaurant might be closed by the time he got there. Before he said goodbye to Wendy, Tommy took the phone.

‘Dad, have you caught the bad guys yet? Will you be on the telly?’

‘I think I’m getting closer. But even if I do catch the criminal I won’t be on the telly.’ He smiled as he talked. Because Tommy was obsessed with old episodes of The Sweeney, he often expected his dad to appear on the screen like the detectives, Jack Regan and George Carter, whom he idolised.

‘When are you coming home, Dad?’

‘In a couple of days. Look after your mum and make sure you do the drying up. You’re the man of the house until I get back.’

The skip hire foreman wasn’t happy at having to relinquish one of his skips and complained vociferously when Paton told him he understood, but it was unlikely the company would be able to claim compensation for loss of earnings.

Back in his car he programmed the address of the police garage into his sat nav and saw it was a fifteen-minute drive through town. A small price to pay if it got him a step closer to the killer.

He rummaged in the glove box in the hope of finding a few loose sweets but he’d finished them all. He needed food but not as much as he needed to see what was inside the skip.

Chapter 41

March | Sarah

‘Come on, Rex, I know you’re helping but you’ve already sniffed that lamp post.’ I tug his lead and continue walking.

A woman approaches with a white Westie that wiggles with excitement when it sees Rex and pulls forward so they can touch noses.

‘Nice to see the sun, even if it is only for five minutes,’ the woman says.

I agree politely and we carry on walking. It’s great having a dog as he’s the perfect camouflage for me as I scout the neighbourhood, and people seem to be friendlier when you’ve got a lead in your hand.

I’m glad I offered to walk Rex for Derek. He’s such a useful person to know. As well as being able to obtain fake ID and cars with untraceable number plates he’s let me borrow Rex every day. Not that he knows what I’m up to. I told him I’m on a fitness regime.

I’ve wandered around Bow Brickhill three times now and, despite looking on Google Maps and walking up and down every road, I’ve not seen anything that resembles a barn conversion.

There’s certainly nothing on the outskirts towards Bletchley as that’s mostly old council houses and 1980s estates. I’ve walked towards Woburn Sands and not found any barns and also up the steep hill to the woods in the older part of the village. The only road left to check is London End Lane. I pass pretty terraced cottages and wander along until the lane opens up to a field on my right. A couple of small ponies graze peacefully, their tails swishing the early flies away. It must be wonderful to live in a place like this. No McDonald’s wrappers slung in the hedges and no kids throwing stones as you drive past.

Towards the end of the lane the tarmac peters out and becomes a dirt track. Rex pulls towards the woods but I tug him back and opt instead for the public footpath that runs along the edge of a field on the right. I’ll be able to look at the backs of houses on the main road from here.

I’m halfway across a meadow when I notice buildings in the distance. My heart beats faster. That one definitely looks like a barn conversion. I stop and take a photo so I can zoom in later to study it in more detail. The field I’m in runs parallel to a paddock with an outdoor riding arena at the bottom of the hill. My excitement mounts. That can only mean horses. I see a black one in the distance, his coat gleaming in the weak March sunshine. Is that Jenna’s horse? He ambles around and tugs at a new clump of grass and I see the flash of white on his nose. I’m sure it’s the one on her Facebook profile.

Rex licks my hand as if to remind me to carry on walking but I don’t need to go any further. I think I’ve found what I was looking for. I have to make a plan now. More than anything I want to see what my family and Jenna look like.