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Diamond Crime Books Ltd - Gwyneth Steddy

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139 pages

English

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Description

Retired DI, Malcolm Bell, is bored. A chance meeting with a retired couple gives him the purpose he was looking for - investigating a cold case, which for him, is unfinished business. He sets out to uncover the truth behind the murder of a man supposedly killed by terrorists in Tyrone in 1988. The more he uncovers, the more dangerous life becomes for him and those closest to him. Aided by a host of unlikely allies, Malcolm must navigate the brutal complexities of the past and their impact on the present. But has he bitten off more than he can chew?

Sujets

Thriller

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Publié par	Diamond Crime Books Ltd
Date de parution	26 avril 2022
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781915649041
Langue	English

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

Extrait

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Gwyneth Steddy is originally from Omagh, Co Tyrone and now lives in South Wales.
Her crime novels are set in West Tyrone, a place she says will be forever be home.
The series backdrop is a beautiful, and much overlooked part of the world. The stories are peopled with funny, tough and extraordinary characters – although Gwyneth freely admits she has taken some liberties with geography and no characters are based on real people.
She has worked as an occupational therapist for more years than she is willing to admit. In the free time she has between working and writing, she runs (slowly) and mountain bikes (even slower).
Published in Great Britain in 2022
By Diamond Crime

ISBN 978-1-915649-04-1

Copyright © 2022 Gwyneth Steddy

The right of Gwyneth Steddy to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Diamond Crime is an imprint of Diamond Books Ltd.

Thanks, first and foremost, to the people of my home town of Omagh who inspired me to write about that wonderful part of the world. Thanks also to Katherine Standfield, author, teacher, and mentor. She has guided me through such a steep learning curve while writing this book. It’s an absolute joy to work with Kath and long may it continue. Finally, thanks to the gang at Diamond Books who have got me over the publishing line with humour, fun and honesty.

Book design: jacksonbone.co.uk
Cover photograph: Jason Mac

Coming soon to Diamond Books:

Better The Body You Know
Volume Two of the Tyrone Mysteries

For information about Diamond Crime authors and their books, visit:
www.diamondbooks.co.uk

For my husband, Paul, and my sons Matthew and Alex. You are my world.

DO
SLEEPING
DOGS
LIE?

THE TYRONE MYSTERIES
VOLUME ONE

GWYNETH STEDDY

CHAPTER ONE

Friday 12th April 1989

“You’re taking the piss…”
Duncan Gallagher glanced across at his old friend in the passenger seat, then returned his eyes to the road. You couldn’t be too careful in these back lanes.
Trevor Mulholland snorted with laughter. “Serious, the man couldn’t do a deal to save his life. All I did was wait for him to give in. And sure enough the oul fool dropped the price. I could sell the same machinery tomorrow and double my money.”
“So the drinks are on you,” said Duncan, smiling.
Although he appreciated the profit Trevor was going to make, Duncan wasn’t sure he could have taken advantage of Mr Tobin in the same way. The man’s machinery-hire business was in dire straits. Poor business sense could only be to blame, but Duncan felt sorry for the wife and children. A son still at home and a daughter over in England. But you had to live with your conscience. Trevor had never been troubled in that way. Maybe that was what made him such a good laugh when they were out on the town. Christ, the times they’d had over the last fifteen years. Mates at first sight. Bonded by disagreeing with the referee despite playing for opposing rugby teams, and sent off for their trouble. Duncan had asked the ref when his optician’s appointment was and Trevor had questioned if his parents were married.
“How far out is this place?” asked Duncan.
“Not far now. Here – turn right just after this petrol station. Another mile at the most.”
Duncan loosened his collar with his free hand and pulled down his tie. He had heard of Kealey’s, of course, but had taken care not to visit, even when it was suggested as a meeting place by a prospective customer. The green, white and gold painted kerbstones didn’t help. He’d been straight with Trevor when he had asked for a lift. “Not comfortable” was the phrase he’d used. And he didn’t tell Pat where he was going. She would’ve played hell. Four miles from town in a staunchly republican area? Brilliant. Still, they should be safe enough this time in the afternoon. He hoped.
He pulled up in the deserted car park Trevor looked at his watch and reached down awkwardly for a bulging envelope at his feet. That bit of weight he had put on since their rugby days was clearly getting in the way. When Duncan dislocated his shoulder and Trevor twisted his ankle in the same match, they both realised that at the age of thirty-six, it was time to hang up their boots. Duncan knew that his effortless ability to keep his weight down irked Trevor. But maybe he should lay off the stout – that would be a start.
“Stay for a quick one before my meeting?” asked Trevor. “But no need for you to wait for me. Probably best you don’t.”
“OK. I’ll come in for one.” Duncan felt relieved that he wouldn’t be around for long. Trevor hadn’t said who the meeting was with, and Duncan had absolutely no intention of asking. In this country, what you didn’t know kept you safe. And Trevor had kept more and more from Duncan over the last two years.
“Bout yeh, Tony,” Trevor greeted the barman.
“Usual?” replied Tony. He rose slowly from a stool positioned beside the cash register, carefully folded his newspaper and stretched out his back. He ran a hand through his steel grey hair.
Duncan looked at Trevor in surprise. A regular in this place? He knew Trevor liked his drink, but this couldn’t be a regular watering hole. Surely he had higher standards and more regard for his safety?
With a practised movement, Tony dragged a wooden box towards him with his foot to reach the pint glasses on the shelf over the bar. The dimensions of the bar hadn’t taken into account his short frame. He stepped up onto the stool with an agility that belied his advanced years.
“Aye, a pint for me and a wee chaser.” Trevor turned to Duncan. “Usual?” Duncan nodded. “And a half of the black stuff for my friend here.”
Trevor sat on one of the bar stools.
Duncan looked around him. The pub was typical of the type. No refurb here for many a year. Chipped formica tables stained with years of spillages and basic wooden chairs with little thought given to comfort. The floor was scrubbable lino. A pool table placed close to the toilets. Maybe you’d be distracted from your game by the bleach-and-urine scent coming from the gents. The ladies’ toilet would be rarely used. Duncan walked over to the pool table and started to rack up the balls in the triangle. A quick game would do no harm. It was a while since he’d beaten Trevor.
“Game?” Duncan asked.
“Naw.”
“Fiver in it?”
Trevor looked at his watch. “Sure, if yeh want to get beat again I can meet yeh in McAteers this evening. “Bout seven? Should be well done by then.”
“There you are.” Tony placed the drinks on the counter in front of Trevor. “As I’m not rushed off my feet here, I’ll be out the back. I’m due a delivery.”
Duncan watched Tony push the swing door that led to the rear of the pub. He moved back to the bar and took a sip of his drink.
Trevor was leaning over the bar, fingering the envelope he had placed in front of him.
“Trevor, I’m sure you know what you’re doing, and I’m happy enough not knowing what you’re up to. But…”
“Thanks for your concern.” Trevor smiled. “In my line of work, you have to make sure you keep everyone happy.” He tapped the envelope with his index finger. “As they say, it’s not pleasant but yeh have to do it. A fact of life if you want to quarry in this province.”
He took a sip of his whiskey and a gulp of his stout.
“I know Trevor, but...”
The door to the pub slammed open. A man in dark clothes and a balaclava, a hand gun held out, was walking towards them. Duncan felt his drink slip through his hand. It fell to the floor. The glass shattered. Trevor pushed past him. Moved towards the gunman.
“What the fuck is this? We had a deal! Look.” Trevor held the envelope out in front of him. “It’s all in there. Go talk to the top man.”
The gunman shook his head, his weapon still pointed towards the two men.
“Fuck sake, it’s all there,” insisted Trevor, his voice weaker.
Duncan reached out to Trevor, finding his left arm. “Trevor, calm...”
A flash. A deafening noise that echoed from the walls. Duncan’s ears popped, then started to ring. Trevor slammed into him as if he was jumping backwards. Duncan fell to the floor, Trevor on top of him. Duncan’s face was wet. His eyes stung. Through blurred vision he could see that the gunman was now closer, his eyes narrowing. Duncan cleared his face with his left hand. The gunman lowered his weapon, turned and walked out of the room.
Duncan pulled himself to a sitting position, and leant against the foot of the bar, his legs spread wide. He pulled Trevor’s body towards him. Wrapped his arms around his dead friend and held him like a child, Trevor’s back resting against his abdomen. Duncan’s bladder and bowels opened.
“Help. Help me. For Christ’s sake, please…” Duncan tried to shout but it came out a whisper. Tears began to roll down his face. He held his friend close and rocked. “Jesus, Trevor…”

CHAPTER TWO

Constable Edward Daniels pushed open the door to Kealey’s bar and scanned the room. He detected the pungent smell of body waste and blood. In his first year as a constable, he had witnessed the after-effects of both deadly bombs and shootings. It hadn’t got any easier to stomach. He started the, by now practised, technique of concentrating on breathing in through his mouth and