Burned Up by Stuart G. Yates

Author:Stuart G. Yates [Yates, Stuart G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Terminal Velocity - A Next Chapter Imprint
Published: 2020-08-29T22:00:00+00:00

The coffee tasted good, and Chaise allowed himself to relax a little. The police had brought him back to the house in silence, leaving the two brutes in the entrance to the swimming pool looking frustrated and angry. Chaise knew it wouldn’t be long before he came across them again, including the diminutive Liverpudlian he’d dumped so unceremoniously onto the ground.

Linny lingered whilst a smiling Domingo sampled the coffee. Chaise didn’t care for the man’s attitude and wondered what he’d told Linny. Chaise had no doubts that Domino liked to rock the boat if only to see what happened in the wake.

“I’ll get straight to it, Mr Chaise,” said Domingo. “You know Sarah Banbury?”

“Only from the news.”

“That’s not exactly true.”

Both men looked up at Linny, who stood with her back against the breakfast bar, arms across her chest. She scowled. “I know Sarah. Not well, but well enough. I’ve met her a few times over at the tennis club. Her husband is something big in the City.”

Domingo nodded, stuck out his bottom lip, and turned to Chaise. “You know her also?”

“Linny might. I don’t.”

“Very well.” Domingo pulled in a large breath. “She is dead.”

The words hung heavy in the air. For a moment, all Chaise could hear was his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Sarah Banbury, the girl assaulted, the girl who had given Ricky a lift. Dead?

“Oh my God.” It was Linny, sounding genuinely shocked. She dropped onto the sofa. “But that’s awful. Did she die from the complications?”

“Que? The what?”

Linny looked from Domingo to Chaise and back again. “The attack. The beating she took from that man.”

“Oh … I see.” Domingo gently laid down his finished coffee. “No. Not that. Someone broke into her home. We suspect she was murdered.”

“Oh, God…”

Domingo nodded. “They, whoever “they” were, then set fire to her home. There is not much left. House, car, body. It is not …” He left the sentence unfinished.

“What has this to do with me?” said Chaise.

Domingo held Chaise’s stare. “Well, Señor, quite a lot, I think. Quite a lot.” His fingers toyed with the empty coffee cup. “You may think of us as slow, Señor Chaise. Slow at our job. After all, the Axarquia, it is very slow itself, is it not? Nice, quiet villages. Lots of heat. People don’t rush, they take their time. Life, for the most part, passes us by. You may think it is the same with the police. We are not sophisticated detectives, like those working in London or New York, surrounded by technology, high-speed communication systems, all of that. But what we lack in modern machinery, we make up for with diligence, hard work, determination. Policing is a very patient job, Señor Chaise. One has to take things calmly and quietly so that nothing is missed.” He sat back. “So, please, always remember that no matter what you or others might think, we are good at what we do.”

“I never said you weren’t.”

“No, you didn’t, but maybe,” he tapped his forehead, “maybe you think it? Just a little?”

“What I think is immaterial.

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