Turn to Dust: A Detective Kay Hunter crime thriller by Rachel Amphlett

Author:Rachel Amphlett [Amphlett, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781913498269
Publisher: Saxon Publishing

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Kay adjusted the thick woollen scarf at her neck, cursing the fact she had forgotten to cut away the label that had been scratching against her skin.

She peered through the early morning gloom towards the town centre.

The towpath was deserted this morning, save for a pair of ducks who had swum up to her when she’d arrived five minutes ago before turning their backs in disgust at the lack of food she offered.

She checked her watch.

Two minutes to seven.

A pair of matching takeout coffee cups stood on the first of the low concrete walls that created the amphitheatre behind the Hermitage.

She had purchased them from a takeaway wagon running a brisk trade from a lay-by on her way into town, its usual customers a gaggle of construction workers in high visibility vests.

She had laughed and joked with them as she waited in line, the aroma of bacon sandwiches too much to resist, which was why a bundle of greaseproof paper perched on top of each of the coffee cups.

Now, she wondered if the woman was going to turn up.

She sighed, and turned from the river to face the amphitheatre.

The modern structure blended into the sloping landscape up from the watercourse and towards the back of the Hermitage. Its semi-circular concrete walls were interspersed with thick lush grass in the summer that filled with people as impromptu picnics accompanied organised plays or concerts over the warmer months.

She cast her gaze over the damp muddy turf that had been churned up over the winter, and shivered.

Somewhere within the hedgerow that bordered the Hermitage, a blackbird scolded before falling silent and a robin bickered a response. The traffic was starting to build beyond the building now, the rumble of lorries thundering along College Road as a weak daylight began to lift the darkness.

She spun around at the sound of footsteps to her right.

The woman wore an anorak, scruffy jeans and shoes that had seen better days but Kay recognised her from the night before.

She walked towards Kay, her dark eyes peering left and right, shoulders slumped as she drew near.

‘I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind,’ said Kay.

‘I had to make sure you’re on your own.’

The woman’s voice was thin; reedy, as if unused and unsteady, tinged with fear. ‘You are, aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’ Kay picked up one of the coffee cups and a warm sandwich. ‘I haven’t had breakfast. I figured you might like something, too.’

The woman snatched the food from her, then eyed her warily.

‘I haven’t done anything with it,’ said Kay, impatient. ‘It came from the van up on the Sittingbourne Road. If you don’t want it, I’ll have it.’

She unwrapped the other sandwich, sank her teeth into it, and then wandered over to one of the sets of steps built into the amphitheatre’s walls and sat. Standing her coffee cup on the step beside her, she watched as the woman licked grease off her fingers and bolted down the food.

A flicker of a smile flitted across her face as she scrunched up the paper bag, walked across to where Kay sat and took a sip of coffee.

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