Murder at the Meet: NEW for 2020 – a gripping crime mystery with a sinister twist (Detective Inspector Skelgill Investigates Book 14) by Bruce Beckham

Author:Bruce Beckham [Beckham, Bruce]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lucius
Published: 2020-01-11T07:00:00+00:00

*

‘What is it, Leyton?’

Skelgill’s sergeant appears to be brooding over a text message he has discovered on his phone.

‘Ooh – it’s the – er – missus, Guv. Seems like she’s in a bit of a pickle. She’s got an appointment – one of these ladies’ things, you know – regular check? But the littlun’s playing up.’

‘You talking Keswick?’

‘Yeah – the health centre. At four-thirty. The other nippers have got after-school clubs until five-fifteen, so they’re under lock and key.’

Skelgill glances at the clock on his dashboard.

‘I’ll drop you off – we’ll be there in ten minutes.’

DS Leyton casts a suspicious glance at his boss.

‘What about writing up these interviews, Guv?’

‘Leyton – it’s kept twenty-odd years – I think the case can wait until tomorrow. Besides –’ (and now Skelgill makes an agonised face) ‘if Smart gets his way we’ll just be going through the motions.’

DS Leyton looks torn. It is obviously a tempting offer, but he suspects he ought to reject it.

‘What about my motor, Guv – it’s back at Penrith?’

‘Get the bus, Leyton – else someone’s going to be driving across in the morning. Failing that, I’ll come and pick you up.’

DS Leyton is now really wide-eyed. It is a rare double dose of altruism from his boss.

‘I’m sure I can manage the bus, Guv – thanks all the same.’ He looks rather forsakenly at his handset. ‘But that’d be great if I could get the missus out of jail. I can work on the report tonight.’

Skelgill does not answer – but he begins to drive in a more rapid, yet carefree fashion, and might almost be humming a tune under his breath. In fact, it is a reaction to a day in which he feels his head has been stuffed full of everything and nothing, such that these ineffable properties have cancelled one another out. The flickering sun, slanting between the ancient oaks of Borrowdale seems to have a mellowing effect upon his craggy features.

‘There they are, Guv!’

DS Leyton’s exclamation comprises the first words spoken since their discussion. Skelgill swings the car into an entrance marked “Emergency Vehicles Only” and stops on double-yellow lines where Mrs Leyton waits under the entrance canopy. She is leaning over a pushchair; she looks up despairingly and then with relief at their arrival. They are dead on time. Skelgill’s sergeant bales out like a paratrooper warned of an imminent crash landing, in his desperation inadvertently displaying an expanse of unseemly flesh.

Skelgill ducks to catch a glimpse across the car of his sergeant’s troubled spouse, who forces a thankful smile and exchanges a quick word with her husband before she dashes into the building. The buggy has its rain cover fitted and most of what is visible within, from Skelgill’s angle can be summed up in the word tonsils, from which cavity emanates a prodigious yowl. Here is a predicament outwith his comfort zone, and he is compelled to observe how his colleague will deal with it. DS Leyton looks momentarily at sea

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