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

he kept them in a kitchen cupboard. There was a faint whiff of burnt plastic in the flat and a few number markers dotted around but Noel couldn’t see anything else that told him what Terry might have been up to.

“Bingo,” Noel muttered, opening the cupboard. Two paper pharmacy bags stood on a shelf inside. He grabbed them then froze. Voices drifted in from the corridor. A key rattled in the door. Noel scanned the room frantically searching for an escape route.

Chapter 35

There were days that PC Mark Robertson wished he could retire tomorrow. No, make that today, right now. He’d been sent to George Owens’ house to keep an eye on him but the moment Owens’ spotted Mark’s patrol car pulling up, the man was out of his house and standing by his front gate with his arms folded. Babysitting ungrateful members of the public wasn’t his favourite task.

“I told the woman at your office that I didn’t want police protection,” Owens said. “So you can get back in your Batmobile and go and search for Terry White rather than drinking coffee outside my house.”

“That’s news to me, sir,” Mark said. “We have intelligence that suggests White may target you. Doesn’t that worry you?”

“Terry White wouldn’t harm me, I’m a friend of his…”

“So was Quentin Ufford by all accounts, sir.”

“I have to go to work…”

“Look, Mr Owens, you don’t have to have a police guard, it’s your right to choose, obviously. And, frankly, I’d be happier hunting for White but I was asked to come here. I don’t have to sit at your side, I can be around outside your work if that suits you. As for coffee, I do have a flask in the car but then I’m facing a long weekend what with the rally tomorrow…”

“Honestly, I’m fine, officer,” Owens snapped. “Now call in and tell them that I don’t want you hanging around me all day.”

“As you wish, sir,” Mark said, climbing back into his car. He pulled away, glancing in his rear-view mirror every now and then. Owens didn’t move but watched him, arms folded until Mark rounded the corner of the road and lost sight of him. Owens was up to something, Mark felt sure of it.

*****

Although the drugs had worn off, DC Ian Ollerthwaite still looked very frail, sitting up in his hospital bed. DCI Matty Cavanagh didn’t mind visiting hospitals, there were plenty of pretty nurses to chat up and there were always grapes or chocolates to be had. The idea of being a patient filled him with dread, though. Matty was a fit young man and had managed to avoid spending even one night in a hospital ward. He imagined shuffling round in one of those smocks that tied up at the back, his arse hanging out as he dragged a drip stand about and shuddered. In some ways, visiting someone else in hospital cheered him up. At least it wasn’t him wedged in a metal bed surrounded by kidney bowls.

“It’s good of you to come and see me, sir,” Ollerthwaite said. “I must confess, I’ve had a few visitors but the painkillers they gave me were so strong that I’m not sure I can remember who were real and who weren’t.” He paused and thought for a moment. “Casey Jones wasn’t real. Or rather Alan Hale Junior, the actor who played him in the TV series. He came to see me. So did Elly May Clampett, sir…”

“You’ve lost me Ian,” Matty said, snatching a grape from the bedside cabinet and popping it in his mouth. “Anyway, it’s not a social call, I wanted to check with you about Pro-Vets before I go charging in.”

“I thought DCI Blake was investigating Pro-Vets, sir.”

“Nope. He handed it over to me once he realised his ex was mixed up in it. Good thing too, I reckon.”

“His ex, sir?”

“Don’t you ever listen to office gossip, Ian?” Cavanagh said, his eyes tracking the progress of a nurse on the other side of the ward.

“No, sir.”

“Well, you should. Listen when you spoke to Blakey, you said something about Pro-Vets having a lot of money going through its accounts from and to all kinds of companies, right?”

“At first glance, it seems to me that Pro-Vets is being used to launder money. I could be wrong of course but I think a deeper dive into the accounts might raise some questions. I bet you’ll find a lot of them are shell companies… with crabs in them…”

Cavanagh peered hard at Ollerthwaite. “You sure the drugs have completely worn off, Ian?”

“Yes, sir.  Mostly.”

“You also told Blakey that Pro-Vets was paying an animal psychologist,” Cavanagh said, grabbing another grape, throwing it in the air and catching it in his mouth. “Can you remember a name?”

Ollerthwaite looked thoughtful. “Yes, it rhymed, ‘behaviour saviour’ or something like that. Why would a veterans charity hire a pet psychologist? I mean, I can see why they’d pay their main counsellor so much but this other woman? Seems odd to me.”

“I’ll remember to ask that question,” Cavanagh said. “How about the name Quinlan? Kyle Quinlan. Did that come up anywhere?”

“Yes. He was an executive director, nice little earner that one is, from what I remember. There may be a way to link Quinlan with some of these shell companies but it’ll take months, sir.”

“We’ve got all the time in the world as Barry White used to sing…”

“Louis Armstrong, sir,” Ollerthwaite said. “He sang ‘We Have All the Time in the World, not Barry White. It was from a James Bond film, On Her Majesty's Secret Service. The one with George Lazenby…”

“All right, all right, Ian, I don’t need a lecture. The point is we’re in no hurry.”

“Right, sir. Have they caught him, yet, sir?”

“Who?”

“Terry White, sir. The man who attacked me.”

“Sorry, mate, not my case. I think they’re still looking.”

“I hope they find him soon, sir. All that money spent on psychologists and it still couldn’t help him. He must have serious problems.”

*****

“One step behind him