Sheer Fear by Geoffrey David West

Author:Geoffrey David West [West, Geoffrey David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Amateur Sleuths, Crime, Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Thriller
Amazon: B00OY578V6
Publisher: Unknown
Published: 2014-10-25T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

JACK DOESN’T SUSPECT A THING

The rapping on my car’s window roused me from my dazed state. It was the grizzle-bearded landlord. I wound down the window.

“Do you want anything else?” he asked.

“No, thanks.”

“Cheers then. If you hear of anyone who wants to rent a cottage, my agent’s number is on the board.”

* * * *

It’s all been sorted now. J doesn’t suspect a thing .

I got home in a daze of misery trying to work out what it all meant.

I’d spoken to Mary only a day ago, ironically just before Nick Child’s arrival. I’d listened to her talk about her mother being a bit better, the relatives she’d met again after years and years. And all the time she’d already decided to leave Canterbury, to leave me, and virtually arrange my death at the hands of a ruthless criminal. I tried Directories Enquiries to get the number of Mary’s mother in Dublin, but I was informed that there were thirty-eight Doyles in the area, and I needed the address before they could give me a number. Twice I dialled her mobile number, but every time it went to answerphone. The third time it was unobtainable.

So I did my best to try and think clearly. I had to face up to the reality of Mary’s betrayal, and also to work out how I was going to save my skin. I Googled Pat Garvey, the man who used to own Adelaide Grange, that Nick had referred to. Wikipedia informed me that he was a well-known ‘businessman’, who during the 1970s and 80s had dabbled in pop music and show business and had owned clubs and bars. He was currently serving a life sentence for murder in Longmartin prison in Cambridgeshire. The only connection that Garvey had to my home was that he’d lived at Adelaide Grange from 1979 until 1984, before selling up and moving out to his villa in Spain, apparently on the run from the authorities, who had ultimately caught up with him.

It all seemed like a ghastly nightmare that just couldn’t be happening. But the cigarette stub on the saucer on my table was real and the tang of Nick Child’s cheap aftershave was still in the air. As was the memory of his words, the way he’d jeered at me, telling me how Mary and him had discussed her relationship with me. She had talked about our love affair with Nick, the man she’d told me she hated and despised.

Someone like Pat Garvey would kill a man who owed him fifty quid, simply as an example. Anyone who stole a large amount of money from him wouldn’t have a hope of survival.

Paper trail. That was the banal phrase that was overused in TV cop programmes, and it was true enough. To travel anywhere Mary would have had to book train or air fares, for which she’d have used a credit card. If I had police resources I could track her movements, I could even pinpoint her via her mobile phone.

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