THE COMPLETE INSPECTOR CROW MYSTERY SERIES eight gripping crime thrillers box set by ROY LEWIS

Author:ROY LEWIS [LEWIS, ROY]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Joffe Books mystery and crime box set
Published: 2020-08-15T22:00:00+00:00

THE END

Book 5:

MURDER

IN THE

MINE

A gripping crime mystery full of twists

Roy Lewis

CHAPTER 1

The mountain drew him.

Blankets of rain cloud obscured the upper valley, and in the darkness the lean, emaciated trees behind the street dripped in a contemplative misery. As he walked up the track that had once rumbled to countless coal trucks the dirt rasped under his shoes. No traces of the old lines now remained; where they had been, a rivulet now ran, trickling down the hill to the village.

The wind was light on his wet face and the mountain was silent. He reached the brow of the hill and stopped, looked back behind him. Just below were the street lights of Pentre, curling away down to Ton and then ribboning away towards Dinas and Tonypandy. But the rain would soon shroud those lights. He turned and the dark shape of the old pit head loomed up ahead of him. Against the blackness of the hill he could just make out the winding house and the ruined buildings that had once been offices. They stood there in the wet night like so many sentinels guarding the corridors of the past, but it was not the ancient past that bothered him, it was the recent past, two months . . . it seemed like years.

He walked past the winding house, stumbling over loose brick and iron, and the manager’s office was to his left, ruined and broken-down. The wheelhouse lay ahead of him and it was as though it exerted some magnetic pull, drawing him towards it as it had done several times during these last months.

The entrance was black and menacing but he went in. Moisture dripped slowly through the broken roof. It was darker in here, too dark to see anything tonight. But he could remember.

The wheelhouse was silent yet full of echoes for him: echoes of the past, long dead echoes, overlaid by the taunting, threatening tones of a woman he thought he would never see again. He was unable to escape from her voice and her words. They came back to him in the small hours in his own home as they came back now, the words and the anger.

And the violence.

He could hardly remember what it was like, that violence. He had never struck anyone before, never a blow. But she had taunted him, and the taunts were in a sense worse than her threats and her demands for they tore into his emotions like claws into raw flesh. It was not the woman he had struck out against, but the words; it had been a defensive action born of anger and despair and hate of this woman who had come back out of the past.

And since then, silence. Long nights, painful days, the mountain looming up, the wheelhouse and the shaft, the scene of the quarrel, up here waiting, and the silence grew and lengthened and perhaps it would always be so.

A long silence.

He hoped it would be so; he prayed it would remain that way.

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