The Dead Speak Ill Of The Living (The Dead Speak Paranormal Mysteries Book 1) by Robert Wilde

Author:Robert Wilde [Wilde, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Published: 2016-06-16T23:00:00+00:00

Having looked up where the kidnapper’s car was located, the group in their three vehicles drove round and parked at the end of the street. Then everyone gathered for a council of war.

“How do you want to do this?” Bear asked.

“I’m not really in a knock on the door then get a warrant mood,” Maquire confessed.

“I didn’t think you were, so I’ve got a suggestion. Why don’t you have your civilians go to the front door as a distraction, and we’ll go in the back. Real subtle like.”

“You just want to charge down another door,” Stride noted.

“It’s that kind of day, a day to do impossible things.”

Maquire sighed. This was going against everything they were trained in, but he also knew he had to get Dee out of that building before she lost her eyes. “Fuck it, let’s do that.”

Nazir and Pohl went to the front, leaving Joe sat in the car, where they rang the doorbell and waited. And waited. Meanwhile the detectives crept round the back, examined the wooden doorway, and barged it open. They found themselves in a small, immaculately kept kitchen, with a cup of something brown undrunk on a table.

“They’re in,” Stride mouthed, as he walked over to open the closed kitchen door.

As he turned the handle, the door was wrenched open and something hard struck the constable in the head, causing him to go staggering back.

“Ow fuck!” he cried.

“You fucking c…” said a female voice, but not the one they were expecting. Bear just raised an eyebrow as Dee, stood in the doorway with a raised chair leg, and Maquire, overcome with relief but wholly surprised, looked at each other.

“You’re alright,” he forced out.

“Just. I managed to get free.”

“We’re in time. Where is she?”

“The cunt? No idea, I can’t find her anywhere so I can rip her ovaries out through her withered snatch.”

“Charming friends you keep,” Bear observed.

“Will one of you fucks help me up?” Stride complained, and they sat him on a chair. “That really fucking hurts.”

“What now?” Bear asked.

“You lot have got to come upstairs and see this attic, it’s like something from a nightmare.”

“Right, let’s go check this out, and we’ll let your friends in on the way.”

“I am staying here until I can see straight,” Stride confirmed.

The enlarged group walked up the stairs, ready to strike if the target presented itself, and Dee gave them a whirlwind tour of the attic, including the eyeballs, the drugs, the ties, the instruments and everything else, until everyone had seen more than they needed.

“And you said she ate them?” Bear asked, looking queasy.

“Yes, in front of me. I’ll never eat a pickled egg again.”

“Did she say why?” Pohl asked.

“She tried, but it was all faff and bullshit.”

“Sounds like a department meeting,” Bear grinned at Maquire.

“I don’t see why you’re happy.”

“We just solved the most pressing case in the unit. I assume you won’t be cutting us out of anything.” He got a glare back for his troubles.

Downstairs, Stride put a hand on the

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