Murder on the Commons (A Davies & West Mystery Book 4) by Will North

Author:Will North [North, Will]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Northstar Editions
Published: 2021-05-16T16:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Four

JUST AFTER NOON on Thursday, Ronnie O’Dare was sorting small shrink-wrapped packages on a long stainless steel table inside a rusty corrugated steel Romney hut at the Davidstow Aerodrome. The once-formidable World War II RAF base bordered his estate and had long since been mothballed. Most of the paved runways had deteriorated into useless potholed tracks and the concrete wartime outbuildings lay roofless and crumbling across the broad plateau of the moor. Only the huts remained of use.

Today, the aerodrome functioned only as the home of a small club of ultralight plane enthusiasts who maintained a short runway for their hobby. There were only ten club members and their “aircraft” tended to be little more than hang gliders and parasails powered by what amounted to lawn mower engines. O’Dare rented the hut from the club.

When he heard its metal door creak, he reached for the old revolver that once had been Lugg’s. No one ever visited. He was just turning when he recognized the voice and its Irish lilt.

“No joy at the manse, so I thought I might find you here,” Bert Doherty said as he stepped into the dim hut. He’d flown down from Manchester to Newquay. “And I think you can put the gun down, my friend.”

O’Dare did so. He hated the pistol anyway. It was old and nearly useless, except at close range. Back in the day, when he was active, his preference was an AR-18 semi-automatic. It had a folding stock and was easy to conceal when he was a ‘foot soldier’ during “The Troubles.”

“Bert Doherty, of the esteemed Liverpool constabulary! Welcome! But to what do I owe this rare personal visit? You’re a long way from home, my friend, and far out of your jurisdiction, if you intend to apprehend me, though I can’t imagine what for.” His voice was louder than he intended, from fear.

“Ah well now, Ronnie, that depends upon you, does it not? You collected your parcels this week, right on time, but I’m informed that your usual companion, our good man Mr. Lugg, was not with you.”

O’Dare had anticipated at least a call. Doherty was his controller and he always followed up. It was his job. They were both part of a long and intricate chain of loyalties and deceits, secrets and half-truths, the better to muddy the trail for anyone tracking them. And they were always being tracked.

“That would be because your good man Mr. Lugg is no more, Bert.”

“So I understand from the Devon and Cornwall CID, who paid us a visit up in Liverpool and informed us of this development, Lugg having been a local. Yet, curiously, we received no word from you about his tragic demise. How do you explain that, my good friend?”

There was no warmth in his voice as Doherty moved closer. Doherty was squarely between him and the door. He wasn’t a big man at all, but he was known to be dangerous and quick with a knife. Knives are quiet. O’Dare did not know if he was armed.

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