Restless Dead (Harry Grimm Book 5) by David Gatward (english reading book TXT) 📗

illegal meat. No traceability. Could’ve been killed in some rotten old shed for all anyone who ends up eating it knows.’

‘But fifty sheep, though,’ said Ben. ‘Surely that’s not easy to do?’

‘You’d be surprised just how easy it is to do and to get away with a lot of things,’ Harry said. ‘How’s the pasta?’

‘Fine,’ Ben said. ‘But you do know it’s possible to cook things other than pasta, don’t you?’

‘I do,’ Harry said.

‘And I don’t mean a pie in the oven or whatever. I mean proper cooking.’

Harry rested his fork on his plate and stared over at his brother. ‘So, let’s get this right then,’ he said. ‘My younger brother, who’s currently on probation after a stretch in prison, and has thus not exactly been munching on restaurant-quality food, is now deciding to tell me to vary the menu a little?’

Ben leant back in his chair. ‘I’m just saying that I think we could mix it up a bit. And I like cooking. Love it, actually.’

‘Do you now?’

‘I do.’ Ben nodded. ‘It won’t be anything too fancy, but how about tomorrow evening I cook something?’

‘Like what, exactly?’ Harry asked, then watched as Ben paraded before him a face of deep thought and consideration, as he shuffled through the obviously extensive collection of recipes he held in his head.

‘How does spaghetti bolognese sound?’ Ben said.

Harry laughed. ‘And that’s your idea of mixing it up, is it? Mince and pasta, instead of what we’re eating right now?’

‘I worked in the kitchens, inside I mean,’ Ben said. ‘I know the recipe. It’s easy.’

‘But that would be a recipe for a few hundred blokes,’ Harry said. ‘There’s only two of us.’

‘I’ll adjust the amounts. What do you say?’

Harry shrugged. ‘Sounds good to me. So long as you promise that there’ll be none of that grated cheese nonsense on top.’

‘Still don’t like it, then?’

Harry paused at this, because here was another way that the dales had changed him. He hadn’t exactly fallen in love with cheese, and he wasn’t about to start investing in a weekly cheese board. But the whole cheese and cake thing? Well, that was something that he’d moved on from reacting to with abject horror, through just about being able to stomach it, to almost appreciating the bizarre combination.

Harry was about to try and vocalise his ongoing love-hate relationship with cheese, when his phone rang.

‘Grimm,’ he answered.

‘Boss, it’s Dinsdale,’ came Matt’s voice from the other end of the line. ‘Busy?’

‘Depends,’ Harry said.

‘On what?’

‘On whether what you’re about to ask me to do involves me getting no sleep and then spending tomorrow drinking so much coffee that I end up being able to literally hear time.’

‘We’ve had a call in from over at Black Moss House,’ Matt said.

‘That supposed to mean something to me?’ Harry asked.

‘Belongs to James Fletcher,’ Matt said.

The name jogged Harry’s memory.

‘The accident?’

‘That’s the one,’ Matt said. ‘I don’t think he’s doing so well, if I’m honest.’

‘So, why the call?’

There was a pause at the end of the line.

‘Matt?’ Harry said.

‘He’s called in, saying that there’s someone in the garden,’ Matt said.

‘An intruder?’ Harry said. ‘So, why do you need me? Isn’t Liz available?’

‘She’s over Aysgarth way,’ Matt said. ‘Some idiots messing around down at the falls or something. And Jim’s with his mum and dad still.’

‘You’re still not telling me everything, are you?’ Harry pressed, putting his cutlery down.

‘It’s the intruder, you see,’ said Matt. ‘James thinks . . .’

‘Thinks what?’

Harry heard Matt suck in a deep breath.

‘He thinks he saw his wife, or someone who looked like her, anyway.’

‘But she’s dead!’ Harry said.

‘Exactly.’

Half an hour later, Harry was driving up the track to the back of Black Moss House. He’d been looking forward to an evening of doing very little indeed, perhaps a game of cards with Ben, some TV, then an early night. Life, it was clear, had other plans, as it always seemed to. He also had that other thing to think on as well, the whole moving-up-north-for-good thing, and time was running short on that, and he really needed to discuss it with Detective Superintendent Firbank, and Swift as well, but there was still time. Not much, but enough. The job application didn’t have to be in for a couple of days, and that was plenty long enough.

‘Sorry about this, Boss,’ Matt said, greeting Harry as he climbed out of his car.

‘Not your fault,’ Harry said. ‘Can’t see us being out here too long anyway, can you?’

‘Shouldn’t think so,’ Matt agreed. ‘I just thought it best we come out, if only to reassure James, see how he is, like.’

‘How many days is it now since the accident?’ Harry asked as they walked over to the main door, hearing the concern in Matt’s voice.

‘That was Monday evening,’ Matt said and knocked at the door. ‘Three nights, then.’

‘And he, this Mr Fletcher, I mean, he thinks that he saw his wife in the garden?’

Matt said, ‘Well, someone who looked like his wife at any rate, like I said. Which is why I thought it best we both come over. I know we would, anyway, seeing as it’s an intruder he’s reported, but if he’s thinking it’s his wife, then it’ll give us a chance to check he’s okay, that kind of thing. Dealing with what happened to his wife, well, I’ve seen what it can do to folk.’

Harry glanced over at Matt, a quizzical look on his face. ‘Isn’t that going a bit further than what the police are supposed to do?’ he asked.

‘My view,’ Matt said, ‘is that there’s quite the difference between what we’re supposed to do and what we should do. Don’t think there’s ever anything wrong in us going that little bit further now and again.’

‘Neither do I,’ Harry agreed as the door opened and a striking face, all angles and narrow eyes, stared back, hair black as oil hanging down onto her shoulders.

‘So, he called you then, did he? I tried to dissuade him, but he really wouldn’t listen.’

‘I’m Detective