Murder Of A Working Ghost by Robyn Beecroft

Author:Robyn Beecroft [Beecroft, Robyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-10-30T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

19th October, Friday evening

Rory snatched his phone and ran, without thinking to ask who had been killed. He was sure it was Haley. He didn’t consider who else would have thought to call him, who else would have reached out to him rather than to the police. The part of his mind that was not occupied in watching the road and taking the bends as fast as possible, was a welter of guilt and panic. He shouldn’t have interfered. Zach was right, he should have stayed out of this. Perhaps if he hadn’t been asking around, this wouldn’t have happened. Perhaps the murderer had chosen Haley to send a message, to tell him to stop.

But no, he wasn’t that important. Perhaps they had chosen Haley because Haley had seen something that would give them away.

Either way, he and Haley shouldn’t have been stumbling blindly around half-accusing everybody, and then perhaps they too would have been left in peace.

Oh God.

He found a space to park outside the Minster Tavern, almost clipping the Jaguar in the next space, falling against its wing-mirror as he stumbled out of the door. He got his loose legs back under him with an effort and sprinted the five hundred yards to the main entrance of the cathedral.

An ambulance and three police cars were drawn up outside, and a small crowd of onlookers had already begun to gather. Within the deep portico of the building, two uniformed police officers stood beside the cathedrals massive iron-studded portal like heraldic guards, and refused to let Rory in.

“My friend is in there,” he insisted, one hand still clutching his phone like a lifeline, the other buried in his hair. “Please at least tell me who was killed. Or tell me it wasn’t her.”

“We’re not releasing any information right now, sir,” the elder of the two said. He had a meaty face, indifferent and shut as a bank vault. Instinctively, Rory knew this was not a man who could be badgered or charmed into letting him know anything, and threats would not only be ridiculous but would get him arrested.

“But—” he tried, nevertheless, disregarded tears swimming in his eyes.

“If you’re here to pick up a witness, you can wait in your car ‘til they’re done.”

“I…” The man’s stolid, weighty indifference seemed like it was built to absorb blows. Rory recognized a locked door. He had given up beating on them and crying a long time ago, but it was a near thing.

“Alright,” he slumped. “I’m here to pick up Haley Thorpe. I don’t suppose you could tell her?”

He hoped for some kind of reaction, a clue, but the man simply nodded to where a WPC had begun to set up ‘Police, incident’ lines in yellow tape just beyond the circle of cars. “If you’d wait outside the tape please, sir.”

The polite phrasing didn’t make the order sound less implacable. A part of Rory not currently a white-out of fear wondered if Inspector Mackie had pulled in all his most obstructive

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