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

and his face pale. There was another reason not to adopt. Imagine Chris breaking the news of Kinnear’s injury or even death to Niamh, their daughter. Imagine turning up at home with cuts and bruises and trying to explain them to the child. He shook himself.

“Don’t worry, Andy, I reckon he’s on a tight leash. I just wonder who’s holding the other end,” Kath said, ringing the doorbell.

If Lex Price had murdered Quentin Ufford last night, it wasn’t apparent to Kath. He stood at the door dressed in jeans and a sweater as though he was just heading off for an evening with mates at the pub.

“Come on in,” he said, once Kath and Andrew had identified themselves. “I’ve put the dogs out the back so they don’t make a big fuss of you. I can’t stop them jumping up to save my life.” He led them through a tastefully decorated hallway and into an immaculate lounge with leather furniture and a white carpet. Kath resisted the urge to check the soles of her feet before stepping on it. The words ‘forensically clean’ popped into her head unbidden. She glanced at Kinnear and saw her thoughts reflected in his eyes. This house screamed ‘control.’ Kath doubted Price tidied the house personally but she imagined an army of cleaners came in on a very regular basis.

“You’ll have to forgive the mess,” Lex Price said, without a hint of humour.

“I was just thinking how incredibly tidy your house is,” Kath replied, “compared to mine, anyway.”

“Yeah, it looks… very tidy,” Kinnear added, glancing round.

“Take a seat,” Lex said, lowering himself into a huge armchair. “What is it you want to talk to me about?”

Kath sat down next to Kinnear on the sofa. “There’s no easy way to say it, Mr Price, so I’ll come out with the question. Were you aware that your daughter, Layla, had been in a relationship with Paul Travis?”

Lex’s jaw clenched and the bald skin on the side of his head rippled and he fought with his emotions. “Yeah,” he said, quietly, “I knew.”

“You can see how that might colour our investigation into his death. Your son had possession of the murder weapon and knew Layla was seeing Travis…”

“Bobby didn’t kill Paul Travis. He tried to use the information to blackmail his sister. When she told him to sling his hook, he came whining to me, didn’t he?”

“And what was your reaction?”

Price paused for a beat. “Well I wasn’t best pleased, was I?”

“You were angry about Layla, then?”

“No, don’t be daft. She’s a big girl. Travis was a bit of a big head but I knew he’d get tired of her. What really pissed me off was Bobby being such a weasel. I dunno where I went wrong with that lad, honestly. Imagine grassing up your own sister.”

“You held no ill-will towards Travis?”

“He wouldn’t be on my Christmas card list, but his charity is a client. I’m not going to balls that up because my daughter is a poor judge of men.”

“But there’s quite an age difference. Didn’t you think Travis was taking advantage?” Kinnear said.

“My wife’s younger than me. What are you trying to say? That I should have wanted to kill Travis? Is that it? You want me to throw my hands up and say, yeah, I did it. You got me. He was shagging my little girl and I couldn’t bear it? Is that what you want?”

“I’m sorry, Mr Price. We didn’t mean to upset you, but we have to explore all possibilities,” Kath said. Price was reddening and she wondered if they hadn’t made a mistake coming here after all. An interview at the station might have been safer.

“Yeah, well, the one possibility you don’t seem to be exploring is the obvious one. The one you have a witness to. Paul Travis was killed by jihadis but you lot don’t want to know, do you? It all gets swept under the carpet, doesn’t it? You’d rather pin this on me or my son than go upsetting some immigrant ISIS freaks, wouldn’t you?” He jumped to his feet. “I tell you what. I reckon we’re done here. It’s always the same, isn’t it? Bloody liberal elites trying to do down the hard-working man. Paul Travis was just an ordinary bloke trying to do some good. Yeah, he was no angel but he’s gone and now you’re coming after us. It makes me sick.”

“Mr Price, we aren’t…”

“Just leave, please before I lose my temper. Go on go. I tell you what, though, I’m not keeping quiet about this. People have a right to know what’s going on here.”

Chapter 30

The van squealed to a halt on the Clatterbridge Road and Terry White couldn’t believe his luck. He hurried towards it. It was a plain, faded blue Ford Transit, grimy with miles of travel. A scruffy-looking man in a black donkey jacket and a woolly hat looked out at Terry from the driving seat. Silver stubble covered his chin and lank grey hair dangled out of the hat and down his neck. He looked scrawny and as in need of a wash as Terry.

“Need a lift, mate?”

Terry nodded.

“Where to?”

“Just away from here.”

The man grinned again. “Fair enough. I’ve been there before, myself, mate. Hop in.”

Terry glanced around and then looked at the man hard. He didn’t look like Graves and besides, he’d only recently trapped another part of the man’s black soul in an effigy and melted it, so he’d be weak. He might even be dead. Properly dead.

“Are you coming? I haven’t got all day,” the man said, revving the engine and still grinning.

Terry hopped in and slammed the door shut.

*****

Malachy O’Hare sniffed at the green puddle on the hob in Ufford’s kitchen. “Looks like the same thing again. A melted plastic soldier. Was it Terry White who attacked you then?”

Blake nodded from the kitchen door. “I think so. I’ve had a brief look around, Malachy but only to ensure that Ufford was beyond help. If you