Woman Scorned , livre ebook

Austin Macauley Publishers - Christine Smith

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77 pages

English

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This is a murder mystery based in the province of Almeria, Spain. Meeting two families who move from the UK, we follow how their lives intertwine, ending in tragedy. The reader is taken along a path which inexorably leads to one conclusion, but with a twist in the tale - is it the right conclusion? The first in a series of murder mysteries, we meet the two crime fighters: Morgan, an ex-CID detective retired in Spain, and his friend Morales, an inspector in the Spanish police force.

Informations

Publié par	Austin Macauley Publishers
Date de parution	08 janvier 2021
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781528958653
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0175€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

A W oman S corned
A Morgan/Morales Murder Mystery
Christine Smith
Austin Macauley Publishers
2021-01-08
A Woman Scorned Prologue Chapter 1 2002 Chapter 2 The Taylors Part 1 Part 2 Chapter 3 The Seagers Part 1 Part 2 Chapter 4 Spain Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Chapter 5 The Investigation Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Epilogue
The author, Christine Smith, retired and moved to Spain in 2009. Having written the story of her move from the UK to Spain and then resurrecting a children’s book her father had written, Christine turned towards fiction. A Woman Scorned is the first book in which we meet Morgan and Morales, the two characters who will appear in future books of the series.
To a dear friend who gave me the idea and
told me to run with it.
Copyright © Christine Smith (2021)
The right of Christine Smith to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, 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.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528907583 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528958653 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2021)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Prologue
That day, like most days, was hot. The afternoon was, therefore, quiet as most people languished at home in the shade after lunch and drinks.
The town centre was deserted as many of the shops and offices were closed for the siesta period. Yet, a few bars remained open and some restaurants were still dealing with the last stragglers that refused to finish an enjoyable, long lunch.
Up a side street there was a shop, off the beaten track. Originally a newsagent’s, it had enjoyed busy few years from the local clientele, the old men buying their newspapers to read over a coffee in the local bar, the women browsing the magazines and perhaps buying some items of stationery.
With the gradual influx of holidaymakers in the coastal town, a new sideline had opened up with the rental of videos in both Spanish and English.
Then, as time went on and the world modernised, some of the holidaymakers had asked if they could access the internet in order to print off boarding passes, connect with family back home and such like. The first enquirers had the teenage son of the owner completing the task as a favour with regard to the boarding passes. This same son then persuaded his father to install a couple of computers with an internet connection and timing meters.
Once again the son, who had the foresight and a business head, suggested moving the shop around and putting in a few tables and chairs, and serving coffee and snacks. Although the father was confused, his son explained about cyber cafés and said that, while someone is on the computer, their partner or friends can be drinking a coffee.
As the newsagent’s was only a small building with a very small storeroom out the back and no facilities in order to increase business and make the cyber café work, the premises next door were rented and the adjoining wall knocked through.
At the peak of its prosperity, the cyber café had eight computer stations, four café tables and chairs, and facilities including a disabled toilet. A further two small tables and chairs adorned the pavement outside, and the shop was bustling.
The man was ready for retirement and asked his son if he would be willing to take over the business but his son had other ideas. His dream was to go to college and learn more about computers and the internet, so the business was put up for sale and sold quickly for a very good price, enabling the man to retire comfortably whilst giving his son a cash lump sum to say thanks for his input and to see him on his way.
The new owners did nothing for the business. They neither updated the computers nor the video stock. Apart from the newspapers and magazines, nothing new came in. The staff employed to run the shop had no interest and did not make a good cup of coffee. The shop, therefore, became tired and dirty, and even the most loyal of customers gradually drifted away.
Inevitably, business dwindled to a low ebb and on that day, there was but a single customer sitting at the farthest computer station with headphones on and face low down, typing and ‘Skyping’.
It had been the custom for this person to drop in, now and again, a few days a week over the past few weeks. No conversation passed between them and the assistant behind the counter, except for the mandatory nod on entry – as nothing had to be said. Euros were deposited directly into the coin machine and the customer certainly did not fancy any of the stale, tired cakes on show.
So the assistant carried on reading her magazine, filing her nails, sending WhatsApp messages to her boyfriend and seeing what was happening on Facebook, and the customer carried on quietly with their business.
Leaving the café, the customer checked the time and seeing that it was past five o’clock, moved purposefully towards the Calle Mayor and the office of a solicitor. Half an hour later, the customer exited, smiled wryly and thought, ’ That should do it. Hmm… I know exactly what Zara meant in Act III Scene VIII of William Congreve’s play, The Mourning Bride.’
"Heav’n has no rage, like love to hatred turn’d,
Nor hell a fury, like a woman scorn’d."
Chapter 1

2002
The cyclists pulled over onto the hard shoulder so they could take photos of the stunning view over the cliffs to the beautiful Mediterranean Sea spread out before them.
Being on holiday in Mojácar, they had decided to take the scenic, if tortuous, route over the hills to Carboneras. Fitness freaks at home, it was no difficulty for them to power up the steep road over the foothills of the Sierra Cabrera. Whilst the girl was getting her mobile out, the boy looked down to see how steep it was and it was then he noticed the car lying at a precarious angle, mangled from its decent downwards towards the sea. He called to his girlfriend and said that it didn’t look like the accident had happened that long ago.
They discussed the merits of going on to Carboneras, a small town, or returning to Mojácar, where there was a possibility that the Guardia Civil would hopefully speak a little English.
The decision made, the boy said he would ride back to Mojácar and that the girl should stay there in the chance that a police car might pass, which she could then flag down.
Riding off, he raised his hand in salute and was soon speeding back eastwards, leaving the girl wondering if there was anything else she could do. Should she try to climb down to see if anyone was injured, or would she fall and cause further problems? Cars went by as did the inevitable white vans that every small businessman in Spain seemed to have.
The girl walked a little way to the left, to see if she could get a better view but a bush prevented that, so she tried walking to the right but could see nothing, and more worrying, nothing moving.
A car stopped by her and asked if she was okay, to which she replied yes but there had been an accident. The people offered to use their mobile to call the police but the girl assured them that the authorities had been informed and help was on the way. As it was not really an ideal place to stop a car, they once again asked if there was anything they could do and on being informed no, they drove off.
Eventually she heard the sirens, and saw police cars and an ambulance arriving.
The police approached her and, not knowing Spanish, she just pointed down towards the crashed car. The ambulance men were approaching but it was soon obvious that recovery equipment would be necessary.
The policeman, using signals and gestures, asked the girl how long she had been here – she indicated about 30 minutes – and had she seen any movement below, to which she sadly shook her head.
The other policeman was on his radio, presumably requesting the necessary equipment to recover the vehicle and its passenger. Within no time at all, the area was a hive of activity. Cones were set up making the road single file to provide room to work.
Within two hours of the car being discovered by the boy, the vehicle had been hoisted up, the body, after being examined and photographed in situ, was removed by ambulance.
Then the forensics team moved on to examining the area. Noticing no brake marks, they commented to the police that it was highly unlikely to be an accident. Once more the police were on the radio for someone from the detective squad as they now seemed to be dealing with a possible suicide.
Juan Antonio Morales arrived on the scene within two hours of the phone call and by now the forensics team had further information for him. He listened carefully, with his normal expression of knotted brow and closed eyes.
He was an Inspector Jefe de Homicidios de la Brigada Provincial de la Policía Judicial de Almería. So, he thought, we could be dealing with a murder here, subject to confirmation from forensics. After looking out to sea and thinking deeply, he approached the cyclist, who was now re-united with her companion, and speaking in very good English, thanked her for her time and patience, confirmed that the police had her full contact details and requested that she let them transport her, her compani