The Vigilante's Verdict: In a world where corruption reigns, one detective will risk everything to see justice served (The West Yorkshire Crime Thrillers Book 17) by Lee Brook

Author:Lee Brook [Brook, Lee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Middleton Park Press
Published: 2024-08-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Elland Road station thrummed with the subdued bustle of a hive disturbed, a low susurrus of whispers and sidelong glances tracking George’s every move. He squared his shoulders against the weight of their speculation; jaw clenched tight enough to crack enamel.

He knew how it looked. Knew the picture he presented, stalking the halls with a thundercloud fixed to his brow, flinching at sudden noises, snarling at inquisitive looks. He was teetering on the knife’s edge of his own hard-won control, and the whole bloody station could smell it on him.

He veered into the Incident Room, gut clenching at the sudden hush that fell over the assembled team. They avoided his gaze, busying themselves with papers and screens, a studied nonchalance that only served to ratchet his paranoia higher.

“Right.” He clapped his hands, a sharp report that echoed in the taut silence. “We’re not thumb-twiddling here, so let’s have some updates. Priya, where are we on those CCTV feeds from the Carr crime scene?”

Priya straightened, a flicker of hesitation chased by brisk professionalism. “Still compiling them, sir. There’s a lot of footage to comb through, and with the security detail logs a bit… inconsistent—”

“Bloody useless, you mean.” George slapped a file onto his desk, lip curling. “Our victim had enough eyes on him to put Big Brother to shame, and no one saw anything. Smacks of incompetence. Or worse.”

He ran a hand over his face, his beard abrading his palm. “And don’t think the vultures haven’t noticed. I’ve got the Super breathing down my neck, demanding answers, threatening all sorts of ‘independent inquiries’ and ‘robust reviews.’ Like this is a cock-up on my end and not a massive bloody failure of the system he’s supposed to be overseeing.”

His gaze swung to Luke. “Tell me you’ve got something on that White Rose card, at least. Did you manage to arrest our mystery informant?”

Luke shifted, carefully blank expression not quite concealing the unease in his eyes. “HE was gone when I returned, son.” He paused and took a breath. “As for the card, it’s a custom print with high-quality stock. Same as the other, which is positive. Means the two murders are connected. Forensics pulled some partials, but nothing in the system. I’m chasing down some other angles, but…” He spread his hands. “Whoever’s behind this knows what they’re doing. Feels like they’re always one step ahead.”

“Oh, aye. One step ahead.” George’s laugh was an ugly rasp, scraped raw and bleeding. “Like leaving a literal calling card, taunting us with their cunning. ‘Justice for Alicia,’ like she asked for this, like she wanted this.”

He shoved away from his desk, pacing like a caged predator. She probably did want this to be fair. And would have ended up killing Carr herself if she’d have aimed two inches higher.

“Well, they’re right on one thing,” George said, “somebody gave her justice.”

A pointed cough, a flash of blonde in his periphery. He turned, dread already a leaden weight in his belly. “Detective Chief Inspector Beaumont?” A stranger, officious and sternly pretty in a cheap suit, extended a warrant card for his perusal.

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