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

what they clearly, not wanting anybody to know,” he added thoughtfully, looking over the blacked-out sentences again.

It was shifty, that much was clear. Shutting down a study, blacking out the records, hushing everything over the way that they had. Something was wrong with this, but I wasn’t sure how wrong. Not yet, anyway.

Twenty-Four

Thatcher

My conversation with Mrs Petrilli had left me feeling bizarrely fatigued, and I happily tipped my head back and closed my eyes for the remainder of the drive, listening to the quiet music Mills had turned on. Christ, it had been a long day, and it wasn’t even over yet. I waited for Paige to reply to my text about the man Grace had seen and the files we were hoping to borrow. I knew she’d be around, she and Grace headed out to the hospital the same time every day, and I was hoping to look over these strange study records before it was time to call it a day.

As I suspected, and maybe somewhat feared, Mrs Petrilli didn’t know anything about Jordan Picard, or what had happened to make the study shut down. Apparently, Sonia liked to keep her work and home life very separate, and her mother had pinned her low mood down to the threats that she received and the fact that her study was off. She’d been saddened when I told her about it, and I rather wished that I didn’t have to, but the whole thing had been wrapped up tight. Unusually tight. So much so that I debated whether or not we were due another audience with Dr Quaid, though I wasn’t really sure of how much he’d actually be.

Mills was quiet as he drove, and when I peeked my eyes open, squinting in the sunlight, I glanced over at him. He was frowning slightly, his glasses pushed up on his face, chewing his bottom lip and drumming his fingers against the wheel. Deep in thought, I recognised the expression well. He’d done good work finding what we needed, however strangely useless they now appeared, and the state he had found Sonia’s office in clearly rattled him. I couldn’t blame him. Either Sonia made that mess trying to find and get rid of something, or someone else went in there and took it themselves. It seemed that the further we got into this case, the harder it all appeared to be. Nothing made much sense.

My phone dinged loudly, making the both of us jump, breaking the strange, lulled silence we’d fallen into. I flipped it over, looking at the text that came through.

“Paige,” I told Mills. “She’ll drop some of the folders off on her way to the hospital.” He nodded, clearing his throat, still looking rather shocked by the sudden noise.

“I wondered if it would be worth talking to Lin Shui again,” he said.

“I thought we’d ruled her out,” I replied, replying to Paige before putting my phone away again.

“We have. But she might have heard about Michele Picard. Maybe they run in some same circles.”

“Her brother probably does,” I added thoughtfully, scratching my chin, remembering that he was the one to tell us Kask’s name and be one of the protestors eight years ago. “One of us should be at the station when Paige comes in,” I pointed out.

“I’ll stay at the station,” Mills answered, “Start working through the studies.”

I glanced at him, his tense posture. “You sure?”

“A few hours sitting down with a cup of tea? I think I bloody well need it.”

I chuckled at that. “As you like then, Mills. I’ll see if I can catch her at the tattoo parlour.”

We were back in the city now, the sandstone streets filled with people enjoying the summer weather. It was fairly hot now, I had to grudgingly admit. Mills pulled into the station car park, and I headed off on foot to the tattoo parlour, my coat off and slung over one arm. The sun beat down on the back of my neck, and I wished I’d grabbed a pair of sunglasses before leaving the house this morning. I’d be sure to keep some on hand from now on.

I walked through crowds of people, tourists, shoppers, students, children, all milling from shop to shop, sightseeing, dog walking, playing in the parks. It was nice, and if I didn’t have a murderer to catch, I might consider joining in. Laying down in the grass, a cold pint and something to eat. Plans for the weekend, I supposed, though knowing my luck by that point, the rain would be back, and I’d be stuck indoors all day.

I managed to recall my way to the tattoo place, which had its door propped open, letting the warm air into the reception. From behind the thin curtains, the faint whirring of the tattoo guns battled to be heard over the speakers blasting music. The lad at reception nodded to me, and I strolled over.

“Is Lin Shui in today?” I asked.

He nodded to the curtain. “She’s with a client. You’re welcome to wait,” he offered, indicating the sofas by the back wall. “She won’t be long now.”

I nodded in thanks and made my way over to the sofas, settling down on the brightly coloured cushions and looked around the room. Sometimes I considered getting another tattoo, maybe getting the old one fixed. I’d not been in the best place of mind when I’d gotten it and sometimes thought it would be nice to have a piece of art like the ones on these walls. Something happier, less angsty, as Elsie and Sally had taken to calling mine. Not that Sally could talk, she’d been the one with me when I got it and one of her own that only I, her doctor and her husband Tom had ever seen. It was what Tom, and I had bonded over once, Sally, and her impulsive, creative larks being the only thing we have in common. She’d smacked us both over the head for it,