Black Nab: Text M For Murder: A DCI Finnegan Yorkshire Crime Thriller - Book 1 by Ely North

Author:Ely North [North, Ely]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Red Handed Print
Published: 2022-08-07T16:00:00+00:00

29

The drive to interview Alfred Bramwell, five miles west of Whitby, is a revelation to Prisha. Impossibly narrow lanes are flanked by dense hedgerows of hawthorn, hazel, primrose, blackthorn, elder, and blackberry bushes. Verdant greenery is sprinkled with flashes of rich yellow flowers, red, and purple berries, and white petals defended by vicious thorns. Sweet delicate scents and rich, earthy aromas drift through the open window and delight her senses.

On three occasions, she has to stop and reverse the car until she finds a passing point or the entrance to a field. It’s a million miles from inner-city Birmingham. However, the irony of the situation is not lost on her—driving through a garden of Eden in a blissful reverie to interview a paedophile.

With the aid of the sat-nav on her phone, she finally pulls up outside Alfred Bramwell’s address on the outskirts of the quaint, sleepy village of Rusholme. She’s pleasantly surprised at the neat front garden bedecked with blossoming roses to the backdrop of a well-manicured lawn. The stone bungalow appears in immaculate condition. She takes a moment to ponder the discrepancies between her own imagination and reality.

She’d visualised a paedophile to be living in some squalid rundown shack at the end of a dark, hateful lane. Even the name Alfred Bramwell conjured up images of an ageing stick insect, bent double with stubble on his chin and food stains splattered over his moth-eaten cardigan. The inside of the house would be dirty, with mould on the walls and a washing-up bowl piled up with grimy crockery amidst a slimy pool of grungy water. Old, well-thumbed porno mags poking out from under a broken down settee.

She walks up the paved pathway and raps on the front door, which is decorated in a leadlight depiction of birds in a tree. The buzz of insects and the warble of birds only add to her sense of surrealism. A blurred figure ambles towards the door and pulls it open.

‘Mr Alfred Bramwell?’ she asks expectantly as she studies the man.

‘Yes. Please, do come in. I’ve been expecting you,’ he replies with a sincere, wistful smile as he extends his arm and steps aside.

Surprised by his reaction, Prisha quickly pulls her warrant card out and flashes it at him.

‘Inspector Kumar, North Yorkshire Police.’

He’s elderly, but certainly not decrepit by any means. Tall and with a wide frame, a shock of neat grey hair resides above twinkling blue eyes. He’s wearing a pair of stylish moccasins, which match his fawn coloured chinos. A crisp white shirt is set off against a deep brown waistcoat with all the buttons neatly done up. A gentle whiff of fragrance, fresh and clean, percolates from him.

He closes the door and leads the way down a hallway to a modern kitchen-cum-dining room.

‘I assume it’s about the missing girls, Zoe, and Emma?’

‘Yes… yes, it is. I need to ask you a few questions.’

‘Of course you do. Would you care for a drink, Inspector Kumar? I’ve just made a fresh brew of plunger coffee.

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