Restless Dead (Harry Grimm Book 5) by David Gatward (english reading book TXT) 📗

Chapter Thirty

‘Probably best you don’t do anything stupid, Mr Hurst,’ Matt said.

‘Bit late for that,’ Harry muttered, then said, ‘Whatever you’re thinking of doing with that bottle of whisky, I suggest you unthink it, and quickly.’

‘I’ll throw it!’ Dan said. ‘I will!’

‘And you’ll miss,’ Harry said. ‘But go ahead, be my guest.’

Harry saw Matt turn to stare at him, confusion on his face.

‘He won’t throw it,’ Harry said. ‘He’s not a complete idiot.’

The bottle flew between them and Harry was too surprised to say anything as it hammered into the wall and shattered.

‘I stand corrected,’ Harry said, then turned to face Dan. ‘Mr Hurst,’ he roared, ‘you are now under arrest for assaulting a police officer, resisting arrest, and throwing a bottle of good whisky at a wall!’

‘I’m not sure that last one’s actually a crime, Boss,’ Matt said.

‘Well, it is now!’ Harry said, and started to march over towards Dan, who had now backed himself into a corner.

‘Pat’s going to kill me,’ he whimpered, as Harry drew close.

‘I’ll be honest with you,’ Harry said, ‘I think that right now you’ve got other things to be more concerned with, don’t you?’

‘It was a bottle she brought with us, for her dad,’ Dan said. ‘An expensive one as well. Tasted wonderful. And I only had one glass.’

‘And now it’s all gone,’ Matt said, coming to stand beside Harry and pulling out a pair of handcuffs. ‘Which is a shame, I have to say. Now, on to more pressing matters, Mr Hurst. Which means, I’m afraid, that I’m going to have to read you your rights.’

Harry stepped back as Matt did as he had said, noticing the tang of the spilled whisky in the air.

‘I’m sorry,’ Dan said, as Matt secured the cuffs on the man’s wrists. ‘I . . . I just panicked. I didn’t mean to run. And I’m sorry about throwing the bottle. I’m a terrible shot anyway. I didn’t mean to. I don’t know what I was thinking.’

Harry wasn’t listening. He was staring at the smashed bottle of whisky.

‘Come on then,’ Matt said to Dan. ‘Best we get you into the car. Boss?’

Harry didn’t answer. He was staring at the whisky bottle and the weary matter in his head was churning now, trying to bring far too many things together at once.

‘Boss?’ Matt said again. ‘You okay?’

Harry turned away from the whisky and looked at Dan. ‘What was it you just said about this whisky?’

‘That it is, or was, a good one,’ Dan replied.

‘No, not that,’ Harry said. ‘You brought it for James, yes?’

‘Pat did, yes,’ Dan said. ‘She’s never bought me one that good.’

‘And where’s Pat now?’ Harry asked.

‘Next door, with Ruth,’ Dan said. ‘I’m surprised she’s not back, to be honest. Perhaps Ruth is in a bad way still.’

Harry turned and strode out of the lounge.

‘Boss?’ Matt called out.

‘You stay with Dan,’ Harry called back, breaking into a run back down the corridor. At the back door, he realised that he should’ve gone the other way, taken the front door, because it was more direct, and he skidded to a halt, knocking into a small shelf at the side of the door. Something fell off and clunked down onto the floor. It was Dan’s torch and instinctively Harry reached down to pick it up, switching it on, just to check that it still worked. The beam from the torch blasted out into his face and Harry dropped the torch, momentarily blinded.

Swearing, and rubbing his eyes to clear them of the blotches now floating in front of them, Harry stumbled outside and into the rain, to make his way around to the cottage Ruth lived in with Anthony. It wasn’t exactly easy for him to see, either, with the rain still coming down, and the near blindness he was now temporarily suffering from thanks to the torch. And then, as he reached the front door of Ruth’s house, he remembered what Beverly had said about what she had seen the night of the séance, what she had said to Anthony as she’d left the house that night, about a bright light and the empty road.

Harry crashed through the front door of the cottage.

‘Ruth? Pat?’

No answer.

Harry swept around downstairs, checking the lounge, the dining room, the kitchen, all empty.

‘Ruth?’ Harry cried again. ‘It’s DCI Grimm! Pat? We need to talk!’

Harry moved to the stairs and started to climb. They were narrow and steep and forced him to lean a little to the right, sliding his shoulder along the wall.

As he climbed, he thought back through everything, trying to sift through it, to make sense of it somehow, but it wasn’t easy, not by a long shot. But what had happened with Dan, with the whisky, that had set his synapses aflame, and his thoughts came at him burning hot.

At the top of the stairs, Harry was faced with a small landing and four doors. The first door was open, leading into what was very obviously a bathroom. It was empty, he was sure, but he still checked, just in case. Then he moved on to the next room.

‘Ruth? Pat?’ Harry called again, and pushed open the door into another empty room. Two doors to go . . .

Harry stood between the remaining doors. He knew that whichever one he chose, it was going to be the wrong one. That was just the way of things, wasn’t it? So, he wasted no time, didn’t even call out, and kicked open the door to his left.

The door burst open, hammering into the wall. Ruth was lying curled up on a double bed. At her side was a glass of water, half empty. Harry dashed over to her, checked for a pulse. It was faint, but it was there.

‘Ruth? Ruth! It’s Harry!’

There was no response.

‘Ruth!’

Harry pulled out his phone, punched in a call. ‘DCI Grimm! I need an ambulance here quick! Looks like an overdose!’ He then gave the address and hung up.

‘Ruth?’ he said, trying again. ‘It’s okay,