The Silver Reul (The Craig Crime Novels Book 26) by Catriona King

Author:Catriona King [King, Catriona]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hamilton-Crean Publishing
Published: 2021-11-23T20:00:00+00:00

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The C.C.U. 11.30 a.m.

Ryan was beginning to feel like an estate agent. One who specialised in ‘fixer-uppers’, ‘properties that offered a challenge’ or places so derelict that they were being sold purely for the land they stood on.

Most of the reason he felt it was because he’d spent all morning in Liam’s office gathering property details from people whose jobs were just that.

It left him with a newfound admiration for someone who could not only imply that a silk purse could be made out of a sow’s ear but instil excitement in their customer about doing so, although he was pretty sure they must be using a dog whistle that only masochists could hear to attract anyone to look at the dumps in the first place.

He could think of many challenges in life that he would rise to, but spending every waking hour and last penny of his savings converting a derelict cowshed into the home of the future wasn’t one.

However, in a testament to just how different human beings could be, there were others who clearly disagreed with him. Hence the plethora of agencies that had filled his screen as soon as he’d searched ‘abandoned and derelict properties in Northern Ireland’, all of them making enough money to afford not only websites but offices.

The detective had hit a snag fairly quickly; calls to the agents had revealed that most of their listed empty properties allowed ‘free viewing’, and by virtue of that were prone to strangers wandering in at unpredictable hours and so unlikely to be much use to a killer needing privacy. So, after three hours of relentless sales talk that had taught him much more than he’d ever wanted to know about estate agents’ abbreviations, he’d progressed to the more challenging, as yet unlisted, end of the field.

Northern Ireland’s Civic Planning Office, aka the place where architects’ hopes go to die, as well as its staff judging by the lethargy that greeted his every inquiry and saw him passed from phone to phone.

When finally a bright voice said, “Hello, how can I help you?” Ryan’s hopes soared and he almost begged, “Don’t transfer me, please,” before introducing himself quickly in case the woman on the other end thought he was deranged.

“I’m a detective from the police crime unit.”

Experience had taught him it was best not to lead with Murder Squad because every other member of the public seemed to fancy themselves as Poirot and inevitably treated it as a signal to ask for the gory details of past crimes.

When he sensed his companion’s interest growing without that enticement he continued, encouraged.

“I’m looking for any derelict or abandoned properties that are known to you. Preferably ones within a certain geographic area that were used as farms or stables. Can you help?”

After a lengthy silence during which he feared he’d either been transferred again, or worse cut off and would have to dial back in, a thoughtful, “Let me see…” made his PTSD response quickly subside.

“Could you give me

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