Knife After Death: A chilling crime thriller by Irvine Ian C.P

Author:Irvine, Ian C.P.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Top 10 Mystery & Detective Medical Crime Thriller Press
Published: 2013-12-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighty Two

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The Fox and Hounds

Knuttsford

May 7th

1.00 p.m.

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Peter was sitting in the pub, slightly annoyed because his usual seat had been taken by a gang of rather rowdy, loud mouthed builders and workers. When the landlord brought across the Ploughman's lunch that he had ordered, he apologised for their behaviour, but admitted that he was glad for the custom.

"Things have been bad because of the recession. People are staying at home instead of coming down to the local for a quick jar. No one from around here comes to buy lunch any more. It's only visitors. I don't agree with the wind farm they are building , but thanks to the workmen I should at least be pretty full for the next couple of months."

"So, where is this big wind farm being built then?" Peter asked, almost as much by way of making conversation, as out of genuine interest.

"Up at Forest View, just up and past Forest Rise. Here, give me a tick and I'll get the map and show you." The landlord disappeared and returned a minute later with one of the maps from the bar. Peter moved his plate and the barman spread it out on the table.

"Here, there it is."

Peter followed his finger as he indicated on the map where it was. It was in the opposite direction to where he had driven to get to the Grey Mare's Small Tail, about ten miles north, then up into the small band of hills that surrounded the sleepy little town where nothing had happened for a hundred years.

When the barman returned to serve a few pints behind the bar, Peter wolfed down his lunch, staring at the map. He had not looked at this one before.

There was something about the name Forest Rise and Forest View that seemed very familiar to him. Had they been mentioned on the TV broadcasts that had attracted him to this town in the first place? Or had he seen them somewhere else?

It began to bug him.

He looked at the map, following the road from the village up to Forest Rise. The route seemed familiar.

He stood up to take the plate back to the bar, and as he went to pick it up, a sudden picture appeared in his mind: an old terraced house. Derelict. In need of repair.

The flash of a knife. An SS knife. German. Pushing slowly downwards from above into the chest of a German.

Blackness.

Peter gasped for breath, the plate slipping from his relaxed grip and smashing to the ground.

The workmen looked up, saw the broken plate on the ground and spontaneously all burst into cheers and began clapping and laughing.

Peter shook his head, clearing his mind.

He turned to the bar.

"Sorry about that...do you have a broom?"

"Don't worry about it," the barman said, coming over with a dustpan and brush.

"Thanks. Sorry. Listen, do you mind if I borrow this map. Since I'm a reporter, I think I'll just pop up to Forest View and see how things are coming along. Maybe I can get a wee story to pay for my holiday!"

"Help yourself.

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