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

sat in silence with Dennis’s arm around her shoulder, as Vega gently laid out the few items in clear evidence bags for the Havers to identify. Dennis just stared. Sandra broke down. Dennis nodded.

“Yes, the buckle is from Ricky’s belt,” he said. “Inspector, how did Ricky die?”

“We can’t be certain yet,” Vega replied carefully, “but we can’t rule out foul play at this time.” Vega needed to keep that information to himself as long as possible.

“I see.” Dennis nodded and gripped his wife a little tighter. “When will you be able to do that, Inspector?”

“We have a full investigative team on the way, sir. I don’t know when we’ll have answers, but I promise you we won’t rest until we find out how and why your son died, and who else, if anybody, was involved.”

Sandra’s crying abated a little. Dennis held her arm but she pulled free and screamed at Vega.

“This is your fault! I told you something was wrong! I told you Ricky wouldn’t just leave . . . this is all your fault!” She crumpled to the floor, her withered fists pounding on the rug, her body heaving with sobs.

Dennis knelt down beside her, but Sandra fought him too.

“It’s your fault too. You never loved Ricky, not like me!”

Gradually, she calmed enough for Dennis to coax her back to the couch.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs Havers,” Vega said, and reiterated his promise to do the best he could.

“Too late, Inspector!”

Dennis shook his head in apology and asked Vega to leave.

When the door closed behind him, Vega thought Sandra Havers had a point. They had failed Ricky. Vega remembered Charlie Rollins’ pale face at the briefing and wondered how much searching for Ricky Havers had really taken place. Not much, thought Vega grimly, given Ricky had never left Coffin Cove. At least, that was how it seemed. Although it was highly unlikely Ricky would be taken out of Coffin Cove, dead or alive, just to be dumped back there again.

There would be time to find out exactly what Charlie Rollins had done. And he, Vega, should not be feeling self-righteous. Sinclair had sent him to Coffin Cove just after Ricky disappeared, when Sandra Havers was causing a stink with the higher-ups and Sinclair wanted to make sure they’d crossed every “t” and dotted every “i”.

Vega groaned. What a shitshow. He’d been as complacent as Charlie Rollins. He’d been satisfied to assume a forty-two-year-old dopehead would amble away from his hometown of his own accord. He’d taken at face value the eye-rolling and shrugs about flaky Ricky who’d always lived on handouts. Only Andi Silvers had suspected foul play. Vega remembered how he’d dismissed her theories as conspiracies or the product of her overactive imagination.

Well, he couldn’t afford to ignore anything now. He had to check every detail, no matter how small.

Vega had watched Sandra and Dennis closely. This was the worst part of his job, and also the most important. Murder victims almost always died at the hands of someone they knew, and Ricky most certainly had been murdered.

On the face of it, they behaved as he would have expected. Shocked and grief-stricken. Vega had left them both huddled on the couch, Sandra cradled by Dennis as if she were a small child. He wondered if it was the most affection the couple had shown each other in a long time, if ever. Vega had heard the rumours of extramarital affairs, and Superintendent Sinclair’s information was fresh in his mind.

He would have to consider the couple as suspects until he could eliminate them.

Vega drove back to the detachment to find the small building deserted and locked. He cursed. He wanted to sift through the preliminary information and set up the murder room the way he liked it. It was his ritual at the beginning of every investigation. He made a mental note to tell Charlie and his young constable his team would need 24-hour access to the detachment during the investigation. Not only that, the two of them would be on call. Charlie would not coast to retirement, Vega thought. He was still angry.

He sat in the parking lot, not wanting to go to the motel just yet but knowing he should get some sleep. His team would arrive in the morning and he needed to be fresh. He turned his phone over in his hand, and on impulse, called Andi Silver’s number. He told himself he should at least thank her for helping Sandra Havers.

“No problem,” Andi said, less than a minute later. “Fancy meeting for a drink?”

Vega smiled into the phone. “Because you’ve been missing my company or because you want a scoop?” he teased.

Andi hesitated and then started to say something.

“Too late!” Vega laughed. “That told me everything I need to know.”

He heard Andi laugh too. “Seriously Andi, thanks for helping me out with Sandra Havers, I appreciate it. I’m sorry we can’t get together, but I promise you a large glass of wine when this is over.”

“Is it Ricky?” she asked quietly.

Vega sighed. It wouldn’t make any difference if she knew now. “Yes. I’m afraid so. There’ll be the usual press briefing tomorrow morning. But that’s all I can say, Andi.”

“You’ve told Sandra?” Andi asked.

“Yes, I’ve just come from the Haverses’.”

“Oh God, Andrew, that must have been awful for you.”

Andrew Vega felt an unexpected surge of emotion. It was awful. His job meant he shared the darkest moments some people would ever experience, and although he knew how valuable his work was, there were times when it weighed heavily on him.

“It was worse for them,” he managed to say.

“Poor Sandra,” Andi said. “I can’t imagine what she’s going through.” She paused for a moment. “Andrew, look, there’s something you should know.”

“OK,” Vega said slowly. “What have you done?”

“It’s not what I’ve done, it’s