Blood Trail: A Yorkshire Murder Mystery (DCI Harry Grimm Crime Thrillers 10) by David J. Gatward

Author:David J. Gatward [Gatward, David J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Weirdstone Publishing
Published: 2022-05-30T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

Following Liz’s directions, Harry headed to the bridge over Gayle Beck. Gayle itself was a higgledy-piggledy mix of houses in a surprisingly small space. They clearly built the estate leading up into the village from Hawes in the sixties or seventies, though Harry wasn’t entirely sure when exactly. It ended abruptly at Harker Hill, giving way to considerably older dwellings, both small cottages cosied up together against the elements, and larger, grander places Harry knew he could only ever dream of owning. Though, if he was honest, the smaller cottages were probably out of his price range, too. The river was up, and to his right he saw that the ford was completely impassable. Thick brown water tumbled down it like molten toffee, cresting in white tufts of foam and spray as it gabbled and tossed itself between pebble and bank.

The weather was going through some kind of identity crisis, Harry thought, as the rain had stopped for a moment, though the dark clouds seemed lower now, more ominous. To Harry, it was as though the sky was pressing down on the world below, sinking ever closer until soon everywhere would be swamped by the thick gloom. It wasn’t helping him look forward to the day ahead.

After the bridge, Harry headed left along Old Gayle Lane. It was a road he knew well, courtesy of his on-off relationship with trying to keep fit. Right now, that relationship was very much off, though he’d be trying to rekindle it soon, or at least that’s what he told himself every weekend.

He swept along past the back entrance to the auction mart, narrowly avoiding being hit by a tractor driven by a maniac. With it being market day, the place was a bustling throng of trucks and tractors and four-wheel drives, sheep and cattle and noise. If there was ever a place that could be called the beating heart of the Dales, he thought, then that was it, right there. The smell of the place was ripe, but it wasn’t unpleasant either, Harry thought, as his nose caught the scent of animals and diesel, hay and straw.

Soon back on the main road, Harry took a right and sent himself on towards Bainbridge. A huff and a scratch from the backseat were the only signs that Smudge was with him.

Driving along, Harry wound down the window to enjoy the cool, damp air. Spots of rain were in it again, but for now, he didn’t really care. The breath of the Dales was refreshing and various scents rippled through it, from the heather of the moors to grass and leaf and thick, damp earth.

Through Bainbridge and Aysgarth, then Harry turned off at West Witton, which only reminded him of the Burning of the Bartle. He couldn’t believe that such an event could have caused so much trouble these past few days, and he hoped things would quieten down soon.

With Pen Hill rising to his right, Harry recognised the roads from his and Jadyn’s visit to Mr Hill’s farm the day before.

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