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

that time, the small number of drinkers had clocked him and were heading out of the other door. It was a tiny pub, no bigger than an average living room. Anyone sitting in here, had to squash onto a stool over a copper-topped table. Years of polish had blackened the wooden beams and the flock wallpaper could easily be from the early days of the pub. The landlord, Boredom McClague, stood crammed behind a short bar that housed three pumps and several lager taps. The bottles and optics on the wall flanked a hatch through to what seemed like an even smaller back room.

“Will Blake,” McClague said, flatly. “What a pleasant surprise.” The man’s face looked as though it was about to lose its fight with gravity entirely. The bags under his eyes, his jowls and even his ears seemed to sag, hence the nickname, Boredom. Looking so uninterested in the world was something that Boredom played to his full advantage. But to fall for that was to underestimate the wily landlord. Behind that mask of tired indifference glittered a pair of razor-sharp eyes.

“Evening Boredom,” Blake said. “Sorry to scare off your customers.”

Boredom shrugged. “They’ll be back. Anyway, I’ve been expecting you for some time now.”

“You sound like a Bond villain. Should I be worried?”

“Dunno, Blakey. Depends if you’ve come in here looking for a certain young lady…”

“Laura Vexley?”

“Aye. She was in here a month or so ago.”

“In here? But that’s like…”

“Sticking your head in the lion’s mouth? That’s what I thought. Then she pulled its bloody tail, just for laughs.”

“What d’you mean?”

Boredom leaned over his bar, bringing his face close to Blake’s. “I’m telling you this because it’s common knowledge, right? She came in here and told me to spread the word that she was sitting in the corner of the pub, sipping a cider like she was on holiday.”

“She wanted Kyle Quinlan to know she was here?”

Boredom gave another shrug. “I couldn’t say whose attention she was trying to grab but I know it wouldn’t be healthy…”

“Did Quinlan come for her?”

“Nope. A big guy called Nick picked her up. He’s not a regular, Blakey. Okay, last wee bit of information for free and then I’m going to have to kick you out. She came in here as bold as you like. If you ask me, she looked like a woman who had a plan. Rumour has it she’s fine, living in a big house…”

“In Caldy?”

“I wouldn’t know. Okay DCI Blake. Your time’s up. I want my customers back and they don’t like your company.”

Blake nodded. “Thanks, Boredom. Listen, Quinlan, what’s he up to?”

Boredom McClague gave Blake a look of appalled disgust at the very idea he’d answer such a question. His glass cloth squeaked on the pint pot he dried slowly and steadily, whilst gazing at the door. Blake needed more answers but he wasn’t going to get them here.

Chapter 17

It was late and Blake sat at his desk back in the Major Incident Room chewing on a stale digestive that he’d taken from a plate on Kinnear’s desk. He’d picked it up hoping it would go some way to easing his hunger, but it just made him want a steak pie and chips. He vowed to himself that he’d keep that particular promise on the way home, if he could. Kinnear and Cryer sat opposite him. They looked exhausted.

“I thought I’d let you know as soon as I could, sir. It looks like Owens met his dealer outside Green Lane regular as clockwork,” Cryer said. “A bit of coke and some dope. He didn’t want to bring the charity into disrepute.” She rolled her eyes.

Blake chewed slowly. Cryer always loved to draw out the tension. “The dealer, anyone we know?”

“We’re checking now. Probably. I think he’s telling the truth. He says he uses it to calm his nerves. Apparently he suffers from anxiety.”

“I’ve a good mind to turn his house upside down and charge him if we find anything,” Blake said, spraying crumbs everywhere. “Jeez. What a waste of time.”

“D’you think there might be some kind of drug link, sir?”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Blake said. “He could still be telling porkies.”

“We should have more information by the morning, sir,” Kath said. “CCTV from the station will help. I’ve let Owens go for now.”

“Okay, Kath. We’ll have the DNA results too, hopefully and that will tell us something.”

“Says something about Owens, don’t you think?” Kinnear said, through a mouthful of custard cream. “To be so self-absorbed that you’d think about your dealer and your reputation before your murdered best friend.”

“Yeah,” Blake muttered. “Do you think he’s hiding anything else?”

“What like, sir?” Kath Cryer said.

“I dunno,” Blake sighed. “I can’t get away from the idea that Travis’s death has something to do with Pro-Vets. Money is always a stronger motive than revenge in my experience. The idea that those teenagers waited at the War memorial seems farfetched to me. They might give him a good hiding, fair enough but to slit his throat? That’s cold and calculating. He lay there unconscious, and someone took a knife to him. They weren’t frenzied stab wounds from a street brawl. Just one neat cut. The killer knew what they were doing. Owens was a trained soldier.”

“Bobby Price was publicly humiliated by Travis” Cryer pointed out. “From what his old teachers told uniform, Price had a liking for thuggery and an eggshell-thin ego. He could have stewed on it for a bit and then lain in wait…”

Blake shook his head. “They also said he wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the box. Would he have the capacity for watching Travis and coldly calculating when was the best time to kill him?”

“Maybe Bobby just wanted to rough Travis up and got carried away,” Kinnear said.

“The knife wound on Travis doesn’t look like the work of someone who is carried away,” Blake said. “That takes some knowledge and skill, Kath. While we’re chasing these teenagers all over the place, we’re not