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

activity and chatter and the delicious smells of street food. There was always a buzz to the place, Gordy thought, even on those days when the weather was positively apocalyptic, and it seemed to somehow not only bubble and spit with the modern-day, but also to echo of days long past. Markets were an ancient thing, and in Hawes, she figured little had changed over the years. It hardly needed to, either. Add to it the buying and selling of livestock going on at the other end of the town, which was where she would soon be heading, and the rich vibrancy of the place seemed to just reach out and grab you.

The day was clear and cold, Gordy noticed, hunching her shoulders up a little against a sharp breeze. However, having grown up in the Highlands of Scotland, a chilly November day in the Yorkshire Dales wasn’t exactly something that had ever really bothered her. Try walking through Glencoe, when it’s blowing a hooley, she thought, particularly when the rain is cutting across in sheets thick enough to fell trees. And that was just the summer! Winters were something else entirely, the landscape bedecked in a veil of thick snow, beautiful and dangerous, calling out to the hearts of climbers and walkers. Each year, the winters up there would take a few more of lives, and yet still the adventurous would return. And Gordy would too, and soon, because she missed it, and always would. Though what work she’d find that way she had no idea. She’d been in the force a long time now, and as she’d just pipped past fifty, there was the temptation just to stay and see it through. But also, she couldn’t help wondering if there was more to life. Not that she didn’t like her job, hell, she loved it, but she’d never really been able to escape the haunting echo of home in her heart, and still she would find herself waking in the morning to the distant tune of a dream spent wandering through Glencoe.

But now was not the time for such thoughts, so Gordy pushed them away and made her way over to the community office, smiling with affection at how this hub of local activity housed the police presence alongside a library and a post office. It wasn’t something she would say openly, but part of her believed that this was a much better way for the police to be seen, particularly in areas like this, where communities were small and rural life was a very distinct thing, separate and unique to that in more urban areas. Such notions brought back again her thoughts of the Highlands, and what she would do if she moved back, but she ignored them, and pushed her way into the rooms used by Detective Chief Inspector Harry Grimm and the rest of the team. The first thing to meet her was a torpedo of fur.

‘Well, hello there, Fly!’ Gordy said, dropping to her knees to give the dog a rub. He flipped over onto his back, its teeth bared. ‘Holding the fort again, I see, keeping everything running tickety-boo!’

‘He’s not in charge, but he certainly seems to think he is,’ Jim said. ‘Honestly, he’s more the team’s dog than mine now, I’m sure of it.’

‘Not a bad thing,’ Gordy said, and hearing laughter looked up from Fly to see the other PCSO, Liz Coates, standing over at the kettle.

‘You’re early,’ Liz said. ‘I’m just getting a brew on. Fancy one?’

Gordy rose to her feet, Fly slinking along after her, the sheen of his coat almost metallic.

‘No, I’m good,’ she said. ‘How’s everything here?’

‘Busy, with it being market day, like,’ Liz said. ‘Jadyn’s out doing a walk around. And I don’t know if anyone else has noticed this, but I swear, every Tuesday, he turns up with his uniform all properly smart, doesn’t he? It’s a shame it doesn’t come with lots of brass buttons, because he’d be all over those with a tin of Brasso and a rag!’

Gordy had indeed noticed this and smiled. ‘He’s keen,’ she said. ‘Don’t knock it.’

‘And that’s why we love him,’ Liz said.

‘What about everyone else?’ Gordy asked.

‘Harry’s out for a coffee,’ Liz said. ‘Won’t be long, as he’s looking forward to heading up to the mart. He still tries to insist that tea isn’t his new favourite drink, but we don’t believe him, do we, Jim?’

‘Not a bit of it,’ Jim said, shaking his head.

‘And Matt’s over at that little camp of protesters, just on the edge of town.’

‘Protesters?’ Gordy asked, casting a hook out into her memory, but unable to catch anything related to that word.

‘Richard Anderson’s place,’ Liz said. ‘You know, that businessman who walks around like he’s the king of the dales or something, all because he’s got a few bob in his pocket and found out that a distant relative of his came from Yorkshire!’

‘He’s what Matt would describe as a complete wassack,’ Jim said.

‘He’s all puffed-up chest and handshakes and smiles,’ Liz said. ‘Carries this big, brown leather file with him everywhere, just to make himself look important, I’m sure.’

‘Oh, right, that,’ Gordy said, still unsure.

‘They’ve been camped out on his land since spring,’ Jim explained, clearly picking up on her lack of recall, Gordy noticed, bless him. ‘He’s somehow managed to get planning permission to build on this lovely bit of land, and those protesters don’t think he should. And most of the locals would be agreeing with them, too, as it happens.’

‘And Matt’s headed out there, because?’ Gordy asked.

‘Anderson’s told them that he’s not going to build there now and wants them to leave. Unsurprisingly, they don’t think his word is a strong enough bond.’

‘Matt the diplomat,’ Gordy said. ‘Well, probably more sensible than sending Grimm!’

As Liz and Jim laughed, the office door opened and in walked Police Constable Jenny Blades.

‘Right then, who’s not going out?’

‘Jim and me are due to head up to the auction mart with the DI,