A Halloween Homicide by David W Robinson

Author:David W Robinson [Robinson, David W]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction & Literature
Publisher: Crooked Cat Books
Published: 2012-09-08T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Preparing himself for the trudge back to the hotel, pure anger burning through his veins, Joe looked down on the lifeless form and it fuelled his anger even more. The York police had taken a little persuading, but his irritation had soon put that right, and now his fury settled on the dead man.

“I don’t know what you were playing at, Prudhoe, but this isn’t how it was supposed to turn out, is it?”

The noise of a diesel engine, roaring into life outside on the car park, brought Joe to his senses. Adrenaline surged through him. The killer!

With a curse, he rushed out of the Old Inn in time to see the dark blue Ford Transit, a cloud of blue/white smoke belching from its cold exhaust, turn the corner to run along the front of the hotel, making for the exit.

Joe dashed to the corner and as he arrived, the van braked and stopped alongside Linda Ellis, then the brake lights went out, and it roared away, turning left out of the hotel car park towards York. Linda ran after it, screaming at the night. “Rick.”

For a moment Joe thought she was calling for her partner back in the hotel, but when she ran out into the road, he realised her partner was driving the van. Hadn’t he guessed earlier that the van belonged to them?

“Linda,” he shouted as she staggered to a halt and stared out along the main road. “Linda, you won’t catch him. He’s gone.”

Head hanging, she turned and trudged back to the hotel. “What’s got into him?” She looked up and her face was frantic with worry. “He’s supposed to come back to the bar and give you your stuff back.”

“Gimme the registration number of your van,” Joe barked.

She frowned. “What? Look, my partner’s just…”

“Don’t argue,” he growled taking out his mobile and redialling the police. “Just gimme the damn number.” A few seconds later, he was through. “This is Joe Murray. I called about two or three minutes ago to report a murder at The Palmer Hotel, Elvington… Yes, yes. That’s me. Now listen carefully: one of the suspects has just left the hotel in a hurry… I don’t care what you think, you stupid mare, I’m telling you what’s happ… All right, all right, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Now will you please listen? The suspect has just left The Palmer Hotel and he’s heading for York in a dark blue Ford Transit van. Hold on, I’ll give you the registration.” He looked to Linda. “The number?”

Tears streaked her shocked, disbelieving face. “Rick? Murder? I don’t –”

“Give me the bloody number,” Joe snapped.

She stammered it out and Joe repeated it to the police.

“You should know me,” he argued with the civilian receptionist on the phone. “If you have any doubts call Detective Sergeant Gemma Craddock in Sanford. She’ll vouch for me. Now get someone onto that van and get your team down to The Palmer…” He paused to listen again, then spoke to Linda.

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