CRIME IN THE HIGH STREET a fiercely addictive mystery (Detective Markham Crime Mystery and Suspense Book 19) by CATHERINE MOLONEY

Author:CATHERINE MOLONEY [MOLONEY, CATHERINE]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Joffe Books crime thriller and mystery
Published: 2023-04-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

The press conference on the morning of Wednesday 10 August was every bit as fraught as Markham had feared, the ladies and gentlemen of the tabloids being in no mood to cut Bromgrove CID any slack.

Kicking proceedings off himself, since he thought it unfair to have Kate Burton soak up all the venom (despite her undoubted skill in parrying Gavin Conors’s sly innuendo), Markham could not recall a more edgy PR encounter. Oleaginous Barry Lynch from the press office (he of the wandering hands) was unlikely to pronounce this time, as per his usual formula, that they had ‘got away with it’, the DI reflected grimly as he engaged in the time-honoured fencing.

‘Isn’t it true that the police took their eye off the ball?’ Conors demanded belligerently, looking like a cross between a bookie’s runner and minor mafioso in his tobacco-coloured suit and garish psychedelic tie, thinning hair slicked back and porcine jowls fairly quivering with confected indignation. ‘After all, you didn’t tell the public there was a serial killer at large who was targeting,’ a pregnant pause before the coup de grace, ‘God-fearing parishioners at a local church.’ Hands thrown in the air with practised outrage, he added, ‘You didn’t issue any warning that there could be a religious fanatic out there bent on,’ his voice cracked as though from emotion, ‘slaughtering the innocent.’

Bloody hell, Doyle observed, exchanging glances with Carruthers, Conors is giving it the full RADA. Must have taken lessons. Sidney was clearly fit to be tied, eczema flaring up so it looked as if he had psoriasis and his eyes shooting daggers at Markham. The DI, meanwhile, sat there cool as a cucumber, like he’d just stepped out of an ice bath, though the briefing room was uncomfortably stuffy. You had to hand it to the guvnor, the way he never let anyone get under his guard (except for Noakesy), Doyle thought.

‘There are no indications that these murders were perpetrated by a religious fanatic,’ Markham said with steely control. ‘It’s unhelpful to engage in speculation at this stage and,’ he felt a twinge of self-disgust at descending to the standard ploy, ‘insensitive to the feelings of the bereaved.’

That shut Conors up momentarily, but his sidekick, a hard-faced peroxide blonde, took aim.

‘How will the bereaved feel about CID dragging their feet over dodgy goings-on involving the local vicar? It looks like a cover-up from where we’re sitting.’

Markham’s voice dripped with disdain. ‘I won’t dignify that allegation with a response.’

Atta boy, Lord Snooty! Doyle thought delightedly, relishing his guvnor’s patrician contempt towards the assorted reptiles.

Gavin Conors was never squelched for long.

‘So what can you tell us about the progress of your investigation, Inspector? Is there a maniac on the loose? Or,’ he dropped his voice an octave for maximum melodramatic effect, ‘are these murders something to do with church corruption and,’ a sorrowful shake of the head, ‘scandal in high places.’

God help us, Carruthers thought disgustedly, Conors can’t decide whether this is Midsomer Murders or The Da Vinci Code.

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