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

I couldn’t blame him, though, not in this instance. Getting to Kask was essential, and I kicked myself over and over again for not following that niggling thought that something about the botanist just wasn’t quite right. Who else could it have been? He knew his way around the gardens, and around making drugs. Knew Abbie and Sonia, had a reason to want them out of the way. He fit the bill, and Grace’s description, I realised with a start. Pink skin and muddy hair. A Caucasian male, brunette. I pulled my phone up to my face, where I’d kept it open on Dunne’s number just in case and pulled up a picture of Kask that Sharp had sent through to everyone to keep an eye out for. I sent it to Paige, to show to Grace in the hopes that it was a clear enough picture for her to know if he was the man at her house. The court might not pin much on the memory of a little girl, but it was worth its weight in gold to me. And, I knew, to Sharp, and if she believed it, it wouldn’t take long for everyone else to follow suit.

As Mills took us hurtling along a particularly hilly road, I turned to look at him. His teeth were clenched, his hands too, gripping the steering wheel like he was about to yank it off. He was angry, and I knew he was, as invested in the Whelan’s as I was. He as an uncle, myself as a motherless brat. It was commendable, but not exactly reassuring. I decided to distract him slightly, help to relax so that he didn’t steer us into a cow paddock before we could reach Kask.

“Lin Shui drew me a tattoo,” I told him. He looked over at me, apparently startled by my sudden conversation, looking like he didn’t know whether to smile or not.

“A tattoo?”

“Of a bird,” I said with a nod. “I rather like it. Might take her up on her offer,” I remarked, looking out of the windscreen.

“You’ll have to let me see it,” Mills replied, his face settling out of its clenched state. “But I hear vegan tattoos are getting popular these days.”

“She’s a talented drawer,” I told him. “Maybe I’ll even let her fix my other one.”

Now he smiled, glancing over to me with amusement sparking in his clear blue eyes. “What is it of?”

“None of your business.”

“Alright. When did you get it?”

I reached up, scratching my jaw. “When I was about eighteen. Do you have any?”

“Three,” he replied simply. I fully shifted in my seat, staring at him.

“Three? All this picking on me for my tattoo, and you’ve had three the whole time?”

He nodded, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Though to be fair, sir, I’m pretty fond of mine.”

I slumped back in my seat, annoyed. “What are they?”

“The one on my arm I share with my brother. We got them after Grandad died. He was a spitfire pilot, so we got the outline.”

“That’s nice,” I told him.

“The one on my leg I got right when I joined the force,” he informed me proudly.

“Is it the likeness of Mrs Marple?” I asked, and he laughed loudly.

“No. Maybe the next one. I get Marple, you get—”

“Rosemary and Thyme,” I interrupted. “That was my gran’s favourite.”

Mills chuckled again, quickly falling sombre as we reached the long road up to Kask’s house. I picked my phone up again and called Dunnes, listening to it ring and ring until it went to his voicemail. I frowned down at the screen, not happy about that.

“Maybe he’s with Kask,” Mills suggested hopefully, “not the right place to answer?”

I nodded gruffly, but something stirred unpleasantly, and as soon as Mills pulled up in front of Kask’s house, I was out the car door. Dunnes” car was still here, but when I looked over the garage, there was no sign of Kask’s, unless he put it inside.

Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I set off towards the side of the house, thinking we’d be likely to find them out in the gardens, Mills hurrying after me, his feet crunching the gravel. Out here, the day was not as nice. The sky was grey, clouds shifting across the horizon, mingling with fog. I hope it didn’t worm its way down to the city as I was rather enjoying the sunshine. Shaking myself back into the moment at hand, I pushed open the wooden gate at the side of the house and walked towards the long garden.

“Did you take your antihistamines?” I hissed back at Mills.

“Thankfully, yes,” he whispered back, and I nodded happily at that. I straightened up as we walked into the gardens, scanning the beds and tall plants for a sign of Kask.

Dunnes said he’d been working in the greenhouse most of the day, so I headed towards the pitched glass roof on the little brick patio. Plants grew up the sides, making it tricky to see what was inside. As we walked towards it, I glanced around, unable to see Dunnes, and that worried feeling in my guts grew larger and larger. I pulled my phone from my pocket, unlocked it, and handed it to Mills, in case we needed to make a quick call, and rapped on the glass door.

It swung open under my light touch, not properly shut, and I poked my head in, looking around the warm room. No sign of Kask, I realised grimly, stepping in further. My stomach dropped.

Dunnes was slumped against the back wall, legs askew, head buried in his chest. One hand gripped his radio, and the other hung by his belt where his handcuffs were still clipped. He looked like he had seen it coming, looked like he was about to jump into action or call for help.

I ran over, skidding to a halt on my knees and took his face in my hands, fingers fumbling for his neck, trying to