The Bala Lake Killings : A Snowdonia Murder Mystery by Simon McCleave

Author:Simon McCleave [McCleave, Simon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stamford Publishing
Published: 2025-12-27T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 27

The night pressed in cold and brittle around the safe house. Ruth stood outside and wrapped a scarf around her to keep warm. The grey slate tiles of the roof glinted slightly in the hard light of the moon.

Ruth moved down the edge of the gravel driveway, turning her collar up against the sharp chill that rolled in off Bala Lake. The water stretched out like glass – black and glistening. The outline of the Snowdonia mountains in the distance cut sharp against the clear, star-pricked sky.

A cigarette glowed between Ruth’s fingers. She dragged on it, the ember glowing angrily in the darkness. Smoke curled upwards and caught the moonlight before dissolving.

Behind her, the safe house loomed.

The crunch of footsteps on the gravel made her turn.

Clarke emerged from the shadows, shoulders hunched, hands buried deep in the pockets of a puffer jacket.

‘Can’t sleep?’ she asked him.

The security light clicked on with his movement.

‘No,’ he mumbled. His eyes flitted to hers, wary. He sat down on the nearby stone wall. The sag of regret, the weight of what he’d done heavy on him. Then he stared out at the lake as if might swallow him, save him, if he looked long enough.

‘It was never meant to be like this,’ Clarke said. His words were low and strained. ‘What happened to Choudary. It’s not why I I got involved with them.’

‘So, what happened?’ Ruth asked as she finished her cigarette.

Clarke shook his head as he struggled to find the words to explain. ‘It was about standing up for ourselves. Protecting your own. We’ve got nothing and they get given everything.’

Ruth frowned. ‘They?’

‘Immigrants,’ Clarke said as if it was obvious.

There’s that word again, Ruth thought. But she wasn’t going to be drawn into a conversation about her own views on immigration. It wasn’t appropriate or necessary.

‘White working class. We’re the bloody minority,’ Clarke said as if talking to himself.

Ruth studied him in profile. The stubble, the pale skin, crow’s feet etched around the eyes. Clarke was tired, confused and scared.

Ruth let the silence stretch between them. The sound of the water lapping at the shore drifted up, faint but insistent. Her cigarette hissed as she stubbed it out against the low stone wall.

‘All I know is that there is a wife and her children who have lost their father,’ Ruth said very quietly. ‘And they’re in a great deal of pain and anguish.’

Clarke didn’t respond. He just stared out at the lake, his shoulders sagging further under the weight of it all. The cold, inescapable facts of what he’d done. What he’d been responsible for.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.