The Dying Game: A Gripping Detective Mystery by Solomon Carter

Author:Solomon Carter [Carter, Solomon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Great Leap
Published: 2024-08-04T00:00:00+00:00

It was a noisy night in Westcliff. Palmer was at home, thinking about the case as she sipped a cold white wine. She was still annoyed at Hogarth’s typical reaction when the awful Cruxley woman started flirting with him. If Hogarth had a weakness, and the man had a few, the worst was women. Bad women. Thankfully, he’d seemed to have listened, which was a relief. But Cruxley had still gotten under Palmer’s skin. The woman was around her age, and yet she seemed to have bottomless wealth, a vast business empire, and oozed a natural confidence that Palmer could only dream of. In short, she hated the woman. Knowing that her mind had taken a wrong turn, Palmer forced herself to think about other things. The local streets were often boisterous, and tonight was no different. Ten minutes earlier, a gang of noisy youths had walked past her window, shouting abuse at each other and swearing. Now, she heard another heated exchange and this one sounded far less like banter. Palmer went to the wide window of her first-floor flat and looked left and right. There was shouting somewhere out there, but she couldn’t see the source. Leaning closer to the glass, looking left, she caught a hint of the drama. It seemed that two men were facing off against a couple of others. Probably pub hoodlums, fresh from The Plough after too much beer. She heard a few words, and then the men quietened down again. It was impossible to know what was being said, and the angle made it difficult to see, so Palmer retreated to the sofa and did her best to ignore them. But their voices soon rose again.

Palmer took a mouthful of wine and shook her head. She went back to the window and saw the figures had spilled into the street. It was dark and difficult to see, but she didn’t recognise the ones in her line of sight. From their build, the two men she saw looked young, with short, tapered hair at the back. They were in a confrontation with two others, who moved in and out of Palmer’s view as they faced the younger men. Palmer considered going out to tell them to leave, but that was down to the wine, tiredness and irritation giving her bad ideas. Instead, she lingered, watching at the window, doing her best to listen and learn whatever she could through the double glazing.

Outside in the dark street, the argument ebbed and flowed, and with each wave came fresh tension. The men were on the brink of violence, and all four of them knew it.

“You need to leave,” said one of the young blond men. He was speaking to a man at least twenty years older – a man who had the look of a seasoned warrior. Someone who could hurt him badly at a moment’s notice. The other man, the one with the short silver hair looked far less strong, but thoroughly vicious. The silver-haired man looked as if he wanted to cut them down rather than waste his breath.

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