Death's Cold Hand by J.E. Mayhew (kiss me liar novel english txt) 📗

Death’s Cold Hand

A DCI Will Blake Thriller

Obolus Books

1

Copyright © 2021 by Jon Mayhew

All Rights Reserved

The right of Jon Mayhew to be identified as the author of this

work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Design and

Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be

reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written

permission of the publisher.

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

Contents

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Author’s Note

About the Author

Also by JE Mayhew:

Waiting for the next DCI Blake? Why not try DCI Boyd?

 

For my Dad,

Charlie Mayhew

 

Although the story is set on the Wirral, the names of some establishments and roads have been fictionalised to protect the unloved and godless...

but you can have fun guessing...

Prepare your hearts for Death's cold hand! prepare

Your souls for flight, your bodies for the earth;

Prepare your arms for glorious victory;

Prepare your eyes to meet a holy God!

Prepare, prepare!

A War Song To Englishmen - William Blake

Chapter 1

Paul Travis never contemplated his own death. Even in the heat of Helmand Province, he never for one minute entertained the idea that there was a bullet or an IED out there with his name on it. The graven images and names carved into Port Sunlight war memorial didn’t make him pause for thought in his lust for life. While he recognised and honoured the sacrifice of the people remembered there, he wouldn’t be following them. This self-assurance had served him well and allowed him to get on in life. He’d trodden on a few toes along the way, and a few faces, come to think of it but he didn’t really care. Of course, that self-assurance only got him so far and everybody dies some time.

Paul Travis included.

The sky was clear and the night felt cold, even for early May. Paul’s mind turned to Summer and the villa in Portugal. He couldn’t wait. Just him, Rachel and little Danielle. He gave a soppy grin, the beers he’d knocked back at the Bridge Inn making him sentimental. They’d be asleep when he got in. Danielle all snuggled up with her teddy bear. Maybe if Rachel wasn’t too dead to the world, there might be the chance of something more. No chance. Who was he kidding? He rolled his eyes at the thought of the earbashing that would ensue if he tried it on.

Things weren’t good in that department. Not good at all.

Stumbling over an uneven paving slab, he swore. How much had he had? He’d lost track but he knew it was time to leave when Barry began singing, ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone.’ Dave and George had promised to get the big man home safely. Paul chuckled again, remembering the fun they’d had wrangling him into a taxi. The taxi driver had issued the usual warning about paying for any mess and Paul wondered how far they’d get before they had to stop to let Barry out.

The lads grumbled about travelling down the Wirral once every couple of weeks for a pint but so what? Paul liked the walk across the village, especially on a night like this. And what Paul liked, Paul got. One way or another. In a few minutes, he’d be at home, tucked up and snoring. They’d still be driving. Anyway, they bitched about everything. Tomorrow, once he’d slept off his hangover, he’d have a word with George. Tell the bastard properly that he knew what his game was and it wasn’t on.

The War Memorial loomed over him, its white granite washed blue by the moonlight. He’d always loved it, even when he was a kid. It dominated this part of the village. A huge cross enthroned on an octagonal plinth accessed by four flights of steps. Everything about it was symmetrical and perfect. Some people didn’t like the bronze figures of soldiers and seafarers protecting children. They said they were too realistic with their fixed bayonets and grim, resolute faces. Paul thought it was fitting. He’d lost friends in Afghanistan. It did people good to see that real people fell and died to keep them safe. A bit of grim resolution wouldn’t harm anyone.

“Paul,” a voice whispered from the shadows.

“Hello?” Paul said, his speech slurring. “Who’s there.”

Lurching a little, he staggered up the steps to the foot of the cross. If those bloody teenagers were messing around again, he’d give them a good hiding. He frowned into the darkness that clung to the base of the memorial. It looked like there was an extra statue. Another figure, silhouetted, stood stock still amongst the crouching bronze soldiers.

Paul grimaced and he heard a foot scrape behind him as one of the statues came to life, dragging itself from the shadows. By the time he realised the dark figure was swinging a baseball bat, it was too late.

Chapter 2

DCI Will Blake had cornered many criminals who were desperate to escape the long arm of the law, but this was probably his biggest challenge. Generally, he could reason with the individual and make them see the pointlessness of trying to flee. Usually, his superior height and size would emphasise that argument. And usually, at the end of the day, there were other ways to take down a villain.

This character wouldn’t listen to reason, though and a taser, however tempting, was out of the question. She had her own agenda, and it didn’t involve being grabbed by Blake. To some, she might seem like just a large fluffy Persian cat but Serafina was capable of inflicting painful wounds along with abject humiliation. And Blake had been chasing