Dead Wolf by O'Rourke Tim

Author:O'Rourke, Tim [O'Rourke, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Urban, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Horror, Paranormal, Romance, Fantasy, Teen & Young Adult, Paranormal & Urban, General Fiction, Literature & Fiction
ISBN: 148128813X
Publisher: Ravenwoodgreys
Published: 2013-12-08T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Murphy

Whoever had written the note, I didn’t recognise their handwriting. It had been scribbled in black ink. As I turned it over and over in my hands and re-read those three frightening words, I realized that Annie had been true to her word and had contacted me as promised. I understood the reason why she wanted to do this anonymously, so she didn’t appear to be involved.

I contacted my work and lied to my Inspector. I told him my mother had taken a turn for the worse, and I had to go back into The Hollows to be with her. He gave me three days special leave. I threw some clothes into a bag and packed my cuffs and handgun. Before I left, I held Chloe tight and kissed her goodbye. I felt apprehensive, anxious, but most of all, scared for Pen.

I drove all day, stopping only briefly when I needed to fill the car up with petrol and top myself up with sweet black coffee. I reached Pen’s hometown just after dark and rented a room at the local hotel. Without even freshening up or stopping for food, I drove straight to Pen’s. I pulled up the short path and left the car parked next to an old truck that stood by the dense crop of trees which surrounded the side and rear of the house. I walked casually around the truck, which I had not seen before. I made my way up onto the porch and knocked on the door. After several moments, the door was slowly opened.

“Yep?” said the tall, stocky male who greeted me.

“I’d like to see Pen,” I said in a flat, dry tone.

“She’s not here.” The man eyed me suspiciously and stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door shut so I couldn’t see past him and into the house.

“I’ll wait then,” I said, moving towards the front door. The man stepped between me and the door, barring my entry.

“Who are ya?” he asked.

“I’m Jim Murphy, a friend of Pen’s. Who are you?” I asked, looking him up and down.

“I’m Steve, Marc’s brother.”

“The chef!” I said dryly.

Steve stood about six-foot-two with lank brown hair, it could have been blond but it was so greasy it was hard to tell. His two front teeth were missing and his tongue slid wetly between them as he spoke. He had about four days’ worth of beard covering his chin and his eyes were yellow and sore-looking, as if he had just got up after a night of heavy drinking.

“Look, what do ya want?” he questioned irritably as if he had a thousand better things he could be doing.

“I’ve told you, I want to see Pen,” I said.

“And I’ve told ya, she ain’t here!” he said, his wet tongue slipping between the gap in his front teeth.

“When will she back?” I persisted.

“Dunno,” he shrugged. “Look, go home. I reckon she’ll call ya when she can.” Steve then stepped back inside Pen’s home and briskly closed the door.

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