HELL'S HALF ACRE a gripping murder mystery full of twists (Coffin Cove Mysteries Book 2) by JACKIE ELLIOTT (classic literature books .txt) 📗

slept well the night before and he was irritable. His eyes felt gritty. He knew his mind was wandering away from his work and he tried to force himself to focus.

How much information does one man need? he thought, annoyed again as his smartphone buzzed with a new notification.

He gazed at the files piled on his desk and avoided looking at his computer screen. He knew how many emails were in his inbox. Most of them were marked “urgent”. So many that the designation was meaningless to him now.

So much of his job was form-filling. Statistics, reports, targets. He sighed. He knew the importance of data — he was a man who believed in the power of science — but some of the forms he was required to fill in every month seemed trivial.

He knew that he was procrastinating, and he needed to get on. He didn’t have much time before the meeting with his boss. But instead of tackling his pile of overdue tasks, he pushed back his chair and went in search of coffee.

Then perhaps he would be able to make progress.

As Vega stood by the microwave waiting for a sludgy cup of old coffee to heat up, he thought about the meeting Superintendent Sinclair had called for this morning, just before he left the office the night before. It must be something important. Their weekly meeting was scheduled in a few days’ time.

He’d arrived at E Division a little after 6 a.m., just as the sun was high enough to reflect off the building’s tinted windows and early enough for the bullpen in his department to be deserted. He’d settled behind his desk, hoping to make the most of an early start. There never seemed to be enough hours in the day for Inspector Vega, one of the youngest inspectors seconded to IHIT, the specialist Integrated Homicide Investigation Team. IHIT investigated British Columbia’s worst crimes. Its motto was Justice for Those Who Have Died Unfairly. Vega led seven investigative units comprised of the best and the brightest officers he had ever worked with. Usually his job was desk-bound, which he hated, but because of cutbacks, he was now working two roles — heading up one investigation team and supervising the rest. He loved being back in the field, but often felt overwhelmed by the extra load.

Vega checked his watch again and drained the last of the terrible coffee. He went back to his desk and made a concerted effort to clear up the boring administrative tasks he’d been ignoring for days.

Finally, he shuffled the last of his paperwork into a neat pile and headed to Superintendent Sinclair’s office on the top floor.

His meetings with Sinclair were usually updates on the cases he and his team were working. She expected her staff to be concise — able and prepared to answer all her questions.

Andrew Vega was always prepared.

He liked Sinclair. She was direct. Spoke her mind. She was a shrewd politician when she needed to be, but not at the expense of the RCMP members under her command.

Their meetings were always brief. Sinclair didn’t waste time with small talk. Not usually, anyway. They always worked through the list of investigations, Vega explaining the status and continuing lines of enquiry and Sinclair listening, taking notes and interrupting occasionally with a question.

When Vega entered her office, he was surprised to find her standing at the window with her back to her desk. After greeting him and gesturing for him to sit down, she was quiet and seemed lost in thought for a few moments.

Vega was surprised when Sinclair rested her elbows on her desk, leaned forward and asked Vega if he enjoyed his work.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered without hesitation. He loved his job. But where was this conversation going?

For a few minutes more, Superintendent Sinclair probed Andrew Vega about his career history before RCMP E Division and his promotion to inspector in IHIT.

Vega wondered why they were having this conversation. It was all in his personnel file. On paper, it looked like he was lacking ambition, he knew that. He’d taken a few sideways moves instead of promotions because the opportunities looked interesting. He’d even spent two years in Singapore on secondment with Interpol.

Many of his colleagues were constantly looking for the next leg up the career ladder, but Vega had never been motivated by that. It might be different, he often thought, if he had a family. Then the pay grade would be more important. But until then, he assessed every career move by two criteria: did it look interesting and could he make a difference?

Maybe Sinclair was looking for a successor? Vega knew he didn’t want her job, spending most of the day pushing paper around a desk and bending to the political will of the higher ranks. More likely, she was watching over her shoulder. There were some police officers who disliked reporting to a woman.

Not Vega. He knew that Sinclair must have worked twice as hard as her male counterparts to have the RCMP superintendent insignia on her shoulder. Vega thought it ridiculous that some men felt insecure about that. But Vega had grown up in an all-female household and was used to strong women.

He answered Sinclair’s questions and figured that she would reveal her reason for this gentle interrogation soon enough.

He was wrong.

Instead, Sharon Sinclair sat silently after Vega answered her questions. Her brow was furrowed, and Vega thought she looked like she was struggling with a decision. For a moment, he wondered if he was in trouble.

But then she seemed to gather her thoughts and she smiled at Vega.

“Very good, Inspector,” she said, “I have an assignment for you,” and she handed Vega a file. “You remember the missing person incident from last year?”

Vega nodded and frowned. “Yes, ma’am, I do. The mayor’s missing son.” His derision