Gardners, Ditchers, and Gravemakers (A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crimes Book 4) by Oliver Davies (best black authors txt) 📗

got out of bed, wondering if the neighbour’s cat had got in, horrid thing. Never liked cats,” he added, rambling away. “And when I looked over the railing, I saw someone move downstairs, clattering around.”

“What did you do then?” Mills asked him patiently.

“I hid in the toilet,” Kask told us with a sniff. “Called 999. When I heard them come upstairs, I panicked, and I made a run for it. They were in the guest room, so I made it to the stairs and got out through the back door. I ran along the garden and out the side gate until I heard the sirens.”

“Did you get a look at the intruder?” I asked.

Kask shook his head, almost spilling his coffee with his trembles. “It was too dark, and they had a hood over their face.”

“Could you tell us if you thought they were male or female?” Mills tried. “Were they tall, short, broad, lanky, big feet?”

“Tall-ish, I’d say. Average build,” Kask said, though he didn’t seem to be sure, and he jumped at every sound.

“We’ll get you somewhere safe tonight, Mr Kask, with uniformed officers outside. You’re safe,” I told him, pressing my hand to his shoulder. Mills and I stood and left him with uniform, strolling over to somewhere we could talk easily.

“What kind of burglar goes straight upstairs?” I asked him, already knowing the answer. We’d seen Kask’s house. The place was a veritable treasure trove of things a robber would love to get their hands on. Antiques, knick-knacks, the whole lot. But this one went upstairs, bypassed all the stuff below, and went upstairs, where they’d be more likely to get caught.

“The kind looking for something very specific,” Mills answered.

“Something or someone?” I asked, watching Kask get gently led away, his coat rustling, wellies squeaking, as he walked.

Mills looked the other way, nodding over my shoulder. “Porters,” he said. I turned around as she made her way over, face drawn, but bright.

“Hello, chaps,” she practically sang. “It’s not often I get to see you boys in the daytime.”

“It’s three in the morning, Sharon,” I answered dryly.

“That is my daytime,” she remarked, setting herself on a perch on the desk. Sure enough, her eyes were as bright and perky as a spring day.

“What have we got?” Mills asked.

“Clear signs of a break-in,” she told us. “Lock was busted open, a few boot prints, but nothing very clear. Stuff knocked over, rifled through, maybe missing, but I’ll need the victim to ascertain what exactly has gone missing.”

If anything’s gone missing, I thought darkly.

“And prints?” I asked, Porter. She tucked a strand of cropped black hair back from her face and shook her head.

“Only ones we’ve picked up so far have been Kask’s. Clever burglar’s wear gloves,” she stated cheerily.

“That’s helpful,” I drawled.

“He’s got a bee in his bonnet, hasn’t he?” She asked Mills, jerking her thumb towards me.

“It’s three in the morning!” I repeated. Sharon sniggered and slipped down from the desk, patting me on the chest.

“Then I suggest getting a few hours kip in your office, Inspector. Clever burglars are harder to catch.” She walked away, whistling, her equipment slung over a shoulder like she was the sheriff in a western film. Mills watched her go with a chuckle.

“A few hours kip might not be a bad idea,” he suggested. “There’s not much we can do right now, anyway.”

“No, I suppose not,” I said, though, with the amount of coffee I’d drunk, I seriously wondered how much sleep I might get. “I was actually sleeping for once,” I told him as we shuffled into the office. “Relatively peacefully.”

“Me too. Susanne nearly smacked me in the face when the phone went off, though,” he said, rubbing his shoulder where I assumed her hand landed instead.

I hoped she thought he was worth all of that, late shifts, early phone calls. Very few people could stick through it, and they were usually a very certain class of people. Lena’s wife was a vet, so she got the odd late call from a farmer in distress, and Sharp’s husband did business with his brother in Sweden, so any hour was working hours. The only person I’d even been with who could stomach it was Jeannie, and maybe Liene, but it was early days. I settled down in my chair, using my arms as a pillow, my face angled towards the photo of my mother as I tried to get whatever semblance of rest I could before the day really started, and we had the possibility of another attempted murder on our hands.

Twenty-One

Thatcher

A few hours of disrupted sleep weren’t ideal, but they put us on better footing when the morning truly rolled in. We had eaten, were properly dressed and on our third cup of coffee, ready to go when Sharp sauntered in. The station was in a bit of a state, but her arrival got everyone moving very swiftly to put things to right. She looked over at Mills and me and wandered over to the kitchen, fetching herself a coffee, still dressed in her coat.

“So,” she said, flicking the kettle on, “a burglary?”

“So, it seems to be,” I answered, combing my hair back from my face. “Forensics haven’t much anything of use at the scene, and until we get Kask in there, we won’t know if anything’s been stolen.”

She looked around at the tone of my voice, and her brows pulled together in a knot. “Thoughts?”

“I don’t think we’re dealing with a burglary, ma’am. The intruder went upstairs, rather than making the most of all the valuables below. We think,” I said with a nod to Mills, ‘that they were there for Kask.”

“That’s annoyed you,” she observed, turning her attention back to her coffee.

“We’ve had two lead suspects in this case, ma’am. The first one ended up dead, and the next gets their house broken into, who potentially could have ended up the same way.”

Sharp turned around, leaning against the counter, stirring her coffee. “Where is Kask now?”

“He’s