Death and Other Obsessions , livre ebook

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142 pages

English

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In Death and Other Obsessions a newly appointed detective sergeant struggles to gain the respect of his colleagues while investigating the suspicious deaths of two authors. On his first day as a newly appointed detective sergeant with Merton CID, Sanjay Patel is asked to investigate the suspicious death of crime writer Joan Templeton. The main beneficiary of her will is her hard-up niece, Sarah Musgrove, whose husband has the know-how to disable her car. Then Pearl Bailey, a fellow writer who was at Cambridge with Joan Templeton, is killed with a single blow to the head. Are the murders linked? There are a number of suspects: Michael Groves, recently released from prison after serving a sentence for murdering his wife and known to both women. Or Pearl Bailey's lodger and lover, Helena, her disapproving father, Miles Cooke, or maybe even the disgruntled literary agent Anne Gregory

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Publié par	Troubador Publishing Ltd
Date de parution	18 février 2020
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781838598143
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Copyright © 2020 Robert Mills

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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“I know it looks like suicide,” said Inspector Tewksbury, “but I am absolutely convinced that Colonel Bradshaw was murdered.”
Joan Templeton: The Riddle of the Silent Soldier.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Prologue
She drained the glass and placed it carefully in the sink.
“That’s better,” she said out loud to the empty kitchen.
Going through to the sitting room, she rummaged in a handbag that was on the coffee table.
“Damned keys,” she muttered.
She retraced her steps and almost immediately spotted her car keys on the kitchen table next to a large bunch of flowers. Dear Martin , she thought and brushed away a tear. Then she put on her coat, picked up the keys and flowers and went out through the back door.
Slipping into the car, she started the engine and backed out of the garage. As she approached the junction with Copse Hill the car seemed slow to stop. I must get Alan to check the brakes , she thought, I knew I couldn’t trust that garage .
As she drove along the Ridgway all seemed well. She relaxed. Then she remembered that Alan and Sarah were coming for lunch the following Sunday and began to panic. She told herself to calm down. She would cook them roast lamb. Then she would have cold meat to last her the rest of the week. She’d go shopping on Friday, after meeting Anne.
As she approached the mini-roundabout at the top of Wimbledon Hill her foot automatically went to the brake pedal. It depressed easily, too easily, but the car didn’t slow down. Fighting with the wheel, she somehow managed to make the right turn. Then she was on the hill descending towards the town centre. The car was gathering speed. She braked again. Nothing happened. She stabbed at the pedal. Nothing. Her heart was racing. Her turning was up ahead now. She was going too fast. She swung the wheel. She hit the pedal again. Still nothing. Wrong pedal , she thought. The car accelerated. She pushed down harder. What’s wrong? She made the turn much too fast. Out of control. A rear wheel hit the kerb. The car slewed across the road. A building approached at speed. Buckling metal screeched in agony. She was thrown forwards.
Chapter One
Detective Superintendent Barry Cheeseman sat at his desk reading the latest directive from Scotland Yard. He was struggling to concentrate on the document and had read the same section two or three times without taking it in. Thinking back, he realised that the happiest time in his career had been the period when he was a chief inspector leading a team of investigators on a day-to-day basis. Promotion had brought advantages, but he found the administrative burden that went with the job a pain in the arse at times.
He put down the document, which he was only halfway through, and called his secretary.
“Can you ask Chief Inspector Taylor to come and see me?” he said brusquely, when she answered.
“OK, Superintendent,” she said and he heard the line go dead.
He went back to his reading.
Shortly afterwards there was a knock at the door and Tracy Taylor came in.
“You wanted a word?” she said.
“Grab a seat,” said Cheeseman, gesturing vaguely at the chairs in front of his desk.
Taylor removed a pile of papers from one of them, sat down and ran her fingers through her hair. Cheeseman was aware of the large blue eyes that fixed him with a steady gaze and aura of French perfume that had followed her into the room. Chief inspectors hadn’t worn perfume in his day and he wasn’t at all sure it was a good thing.
“I wanted to remind you we’ve got a new DS starting with us today; his name’s Patel,” he continued. “He’s one of these university graduates they’ve fast-tracked into CID. You and I came up through the ranks so we knew the ropes when we became sergeants. As for this new breed, well, I’m sure you know what I mean.”
The expression on Taylor’s face suggested that she didn’t know what he meant, or more likely that she took a different view. He decided to press on.
“Normally I wouldn’t have assigned an officer like him to your team but someone at Homicide and Major Crime Command insisted. Seems they see him as a potential high-flyer. On top of all that he doesn’t know the area, so I think he’ll be a bit out of his depth. I’d like you to keep a close eye on him; is that all right?”
Taylor nodded.
“No problem,” she said. “I’ll pair him up with an experienced constable.”
“Good idea,” said Cheeseman. “Who did you have in mind?”
“Owen.”
The Welshman , he thought. He didn’t have anything against the Welsh in general but he did have some doubts about DC Paul Owen. Still he’d probably be good as a babysitter.
“Fine,” he said. “Don’t give Patel too much responsibility, until you see what he’s capable of.”
“OK.”
Cheeseman detected a note of irritation in the chief inspector’s voice. She was another example of the way in which appointments were made with minimal input from local senior officers. As in the case of Patel’s promotion, there had been a more-than-adequate local candidate for the job but he had been passed over. In fairness though, she was good at her job and the men seemed to accept her leadership, well, most of them anyway. And he had to be careful. The Borough Commander thought she was the best thing since sliced bread.
He leaned forwards in his chair and dropped his voice. “It’s not because he’s Indian I’m saying all this, you understand.”
“No of course not, Barry,” said Taylor with a half smile. “Didn’t think that for a moment.”
Which wasn’t exactly the response he’d been hoping for.
*
It was the middle of March and the grey sky and bitter wind made it hard to believe that spring was only a few weeks way. Sanjay Patel sighed as he emerged from Wimbledon Station, turned up the collar on his coat and set off in the direction of the police station. He could feel a tight knot in the pit of his stomach. As he approached the entrance to the station he hesitated for a moment before climbing the steps and opening one of the glazed doors. Once inside he approached the desk where a uniformed sergeant was peering intently at the screen of his mobile phone.
“I’m Detective Sergeant Patel,” he said. “I’m supposed to report to Superintendent Cheeseman.”
“Good morning, sir,” said the sergeant. “It’s down that corridor, third door on the left.”
Patel didn’t move.
“Anything else, sir?” said the sergeant.
“Is there a toilet I could use?”
“End of the corridor on the right.”
“Thanks,” said Patel and headed in the direction indicated.
When he came to wash his hands the water came out of the tap in a rush, soaking the front of his trousers. He dried himself off with paper towels but an obvious wet patch remained. It looks like I’ve wet myself , he thought; just what I needed this morning, not .
He emerged from the toilet and approached the door marked ‘Superintendent B. J. Cheeseman, Head of CID’. He knocked. He heard a muffled “Come in,” and opened the door. He found himself in a small office in which a secretary sat behind a desk typing on a computer keyboard.
“Can I help you?” she said, looking up from her work.
“I’m Sergeant Patel,” he said.
“Oh yes, he’s expecting you.” She picked up the phone and spoke into the receiver. “The new sergeant’s here. OK.” She turned to Patel. “Go right in,” she s