One Bad Turn: A Yorkshire Murder Mystery (DCI Harry Grimm Crime Thrillers 9) by David J. Gatward

Author:David J. Gatward [Gatward, David J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Weirdstone Publishing
Published: 2022-03-02T16:00:00+00:00

Harry was just finishing a bacon roll when they came to the address. The cottage was small and tucked away on the right, the road rising steeply into the hills above. A silver Audi sports car was parked outside, the kind usually only ever seen either on the cover of a car magazine or overtaking you on the motorway, Harry thought.

He had a quick look around, saw nothing out of place. The neighbouring properties were all of a type that were equally pretty and inviting. The kind of place Harry could easily imagine bolting to. Over the road, he saw security cameras fixed to a wall overlooking the small row of terraces of which their property was one. The cameras had the gleam of newness about them. It was nice to see that at least some people were taking home security seriously, he thought.

‘Quaint,’ Harry said.

‘Nice if you can afford it,’ said Jen and she made her way past the car and went up to the door to knock.

She hesitated.

‘Well go on, then,’ Harry said. ‘Let them know we’re here.’

‘The door, it’s open,’ Jen said.

Harry went over to stand with Jen.

‘Now, that’s odd,’ he said, glancing back at the car, then at the door. ‘The kind of person who owns that is going to be someone who gives more than a little thought to security, aren’t they?’

Harry handed Smudge’s lead to Jen.

‘Hold this daft thing for a moment, would you?’ he asked and eased the door open with his foot.

The room on the other side, a small lounge, was quiet. Beyond it, through a low doorway, Harry saw two more rooms, the furthest being a galley kitchen.

‘Stay here,’ Harry said, looking back at Jen. Smudge was sitting at her side, staring at him, her tail wagging expectantly.

‘You sure?’

‘I’ll give a shout if I need you. Might be best to tie Smudge to something just in case I do.’

Harry stepped inside.

The room was simply but expensively furnished. A wood-burning stove sat in the fireplace. A flatscreen television was attached to the wall. A thick rug lay on the floor. Two small and comfortable-looking sofas finished the room off, tucked up against the wall immediately to his left and in front of him, to the left of the low doorway.

‘Mr Smith, this is the police!’ Harry called out, making his presence known. ‘Your door was open so I’ve let myself in.’

Harry’s voice disappeared into the rooms beyond, no echo returning them, just emptiness. He stepped further into the house. The place was cold, he noticed, a chill in the air from a room that had been open to the elements and a breeze for a good while. The air, he noticed, carried only the scent of the day outside rather than that of a house occupied by a living soul.

‘Mr Smith,’ Harry called again. ‘This is Detective Chief Inspector Grimm. If you can hear me, please make a sound.’

The house remained resolutely quiet, the only response to Harry’s call being a breeze gusting past him from deeper in the house.

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