Lost Souls Forever by Anthony Grace

Author:Anthony Grace [Grace, Anthony]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2023-10-31T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Mercy skidded to a halt when she saw the police car.

It was parked on the gravel driveway at Cockleshell Farm. Within touching distance of Proud Mary’s Mini Clubman.

The mystery intruder’s … no, the murderer’s getaway vehicle.

Mercy started to walk, edging closer with every wary step. The police car was empty, which meant whoever had driven it was now inside the farmhouse. Talking to Rose. Talking to Proud Mary. And … shit. Talking to Tommy.

Oh, please don’t be talking to Tommy. You’d get more sense from the pigs in the barn.

Mercy’s mind had spiralled out of control. The police were here because they knew. They knew everything. That it was her inside seven Bartholomew Street. That it was her leaving in the Mini Clubman. That it was her who had killed Errol. She hadn’t, of course, but all the signs pointed to it. The second she entered the farm they would cuff her and take her away. No point begging for justice. Save it for the judge and jury.

Mercy looked back along the driveway. She could always beat a hasty retreat. Head somewhere else. Somewhere nobody knew her. Somewhere she could lie low and then start again.

And how easy would that be without a change of clothes and barely any money?

Rhetorical question. No need to shout out practically impossible.

Mercy was still debating her next move when the door opened. A smiling Proud Mary was stood in the entrance.

‘Oh, here she is,’ she cooed, ushering Mercy into the farmhouse. ‘Nice run, dear?’

‘Yeah, it was … erm … okay,’ mumbled Mercy, more than a little confused as she passed through the door and carried on into the sitting room. The sight that greeted her was a colossal head-fuck. Yes, the police were there, a woman and a man, both dressed in standard uniform with added stab-proof vests, but it’s what they were doing that really messed with Mercy’s brain.

Being sat on the sofa, nursing both a cup of tea and a slice of Proud Mary’s fruit cake, was one thing.

Doing all that with Tommy in between you, however, was something else entirely.

He was talking, and they were listening. No, that wasn’t it at all. He wasn’t just talking; he was holding court. And they weren’t just listening; they were also laughing their heads off. Barely able to breathe. Tears trickling down their faces.

‘And then I said, well, if that’s a tortoise, what’s it doing poking out of your trousers?’ Tommy waited for the laughter to fade before he rested a hand on PC Burrell’s knee. ‘What do you reckon to that, Sarah? It’s all true. Happened about a year ago.’

‘If you say so,’ grinned the police officer. ‘Listen, as enjoyable as this has been, we’ve really got to go.’

‘Don’t be like that,’ said Tommy. ‘Have a word, Alan. Proud Mary will cut you another slice of cake and I’ll tell you all about the time I got my peeping Thomas trapped in a gym locker.’

‘Mate, I’d … we’d love to stay, but we can’t.

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