Preface to Murder by M Morris (funny books to read txt) 📕

her had been firmly bottled up nearly forty years ago, and now it was far too late to say them. He remembered the hurt on her face back in Naples when he and John had first broached the idea of swapping partners. He might as well have plunged a dagger into her breast.

‘You betrayed me,’ she said now. ‘You deceived me. You must have known that I would have done anything for you, Ian. We could have been happy together, but you threw my love back in my face.’

‘I…’ he didn’t know what to say. Every word she spoke was true. He was a liar and a coward and a wretch.

The sound of a Welsh woman’s voice carrying over the pounding of the rain was so unexpected that he was jolted out of his misery and back to the real world. ‘Run!’ shouted the woman, and Ian knew what he had to do. He might not deserve it, but he knew what he wanted – to live, to get away from this dreadful place and back into Louise’s arms.

He tried to turn, but the mud claimed his shoe as soon as he took a step. He abandoned it, and staggered forwards, one noisy step after another. He might have got away, but suddenly there was a barking and a rushing of white fur and black mud. Oscar dived for his leg, and sank his tiny teeth through the fabric of his trousers.

Ian shouted and flailed his arms, trying to keep his balance, but there was nothing he could do to prevent himself falling forwards into the muddy water. The dog was anchored to his leg, shaking its head, teeth tearing through skin. Ian cried out again, and turned himself over.

Rain pelted down, driving into his face like a waterfall. He could barely see a thing. Then Annabel loomed over him, the hypodermic in her hand. She dropped to her knees and thrust it into his chest.

*

Ffion raced across the slippery ground as Annabel closed in on her prey. The dog was attached like a limpet to Ian’s leg. No matter how much he tried to shake himself free, the animal clung on, holding him fast. Dog and captive had both turned a Stygian black as they rolled in the bog.

Ffion put on a final burst of speed just as Annabel caught her victim and plunged the needle into his flesh.

She had no need to think. Her Taekwondo training took over, and she flew into a flying side kick. Launching herself into the air, she closed the remaining few feet and kicked out with her left foot. Her heel connected with Annabel’s jaw, knocking her away from Ian’s prone form. By the time Ffion had landed on the ground, Annabel was lying on her back, moaning in agony.

The dog immediately left Ian’s leg and ran to his mistress, licking her with his long tongue and whining urgently. Registering that Annabel would live, Ffion left them to it, and knelt down beside Ian.

He was gasping for breath, his eyes half-closed. The hypodermic needle was stuck in his chest, but the syringe was still up. Annabel hadn’t had time to depress the plunger. Ffion plucked it out and stuck it in the soft ground where it could do no harm.

Ian opened his eyes. ‘My God!’ he exclaimed. ‘You saved me!’

‘Just doing my job,’ said Ffion. ‘But if you want to put in a good word on my behalf, don’t let me hold you back.’

*

By the time Bridget reached the scene, she felt like she’d been dropped fully clothed into a swimming pool, and an unheated one at that. The torrent of rain had eased off now and was back to a normal spring shower. But everyone present was soaked to the skin, Oscar included.

Bridget was relieved to see Ian Dunn sitting up, apparently unharmed, and Annabel on the ground, incapacitated. The woman was clutching her jaw while the dog stood defensively at her side, barking viciously at anyone who tried to approach.

Jake went over to the dog and reached out a cautious hand. ‘There, there, boy, no need to bite. I’m friendly.’

The dog yapped at him.

‘His name’s Oscar,’ said Bridget.

‘Oscar, is it?’ said Jake. ‘Good dog, Oscar. Good dog!’

Incredibly, the soothing words succeeded in winning the animal over, and soon the little dog was licking Jake’s palm.

Bridget and Ffion helped Annabel to her feet. Unarmed and dazed, she posed little threat now, and there was no need to handcuff her. ‘Annabel Caldecott,’ said Bridget, ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Diane Gilbert and the attempted murder of Ian Dunn.’

37

‘DI Hart, you’ve done well,’ said Grayson. ‘I’d like you to know that I had complete confidence in you all along.’

‘You did, sir? Thank you.’ A hot shower, a change of clothing and a sweet cup of tea had restored Bridget to her usual self. With the perpetrator behind bars, she could afford to relax, even in Grayson’s presence. ‘So I assume there’ll be no need for an enquiry now into what went wrong?’

‘I don’t think that would tell us anything useful,’ said Grayson, ‘especially since the death threat turned out to be a hoax. The two constables who were suspended from duty, PC Sam Roberts and PC Scott Wallis, have returned to work, and all complaints against them have been dropped. It would appear that they did nothing wrong, and told the truth throughout.’

‘Yes, sir. I believe they did.’ Bridget was pleased to hear that Sam and Scott had been vindicated, and gratified to know that she had been right to trust their account of their conduct. It was good to hear Grayson praise her too, but it would have been better if he could have expressed his support for her while the investigation was underway. ‘Would you really have