The Crying Cave Killings by Wes Markin

Author:Wes Markin [Markin, Wes]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Boldwood Books

24

The snow was coming down hard on Riddick’s windscreen, and his wipers were having a torrid time batting it away. So, despite riding a wave of adrenaline, Riddick kept his speed down on the journey to HQ. He wasn’t about to put himself back in hospital.

Especially not after his discovery. He was close to something. He was positive.

The Rt Hon Cassandra Jacoby MP had been formerly known as Cassandra Rice. DCI Derek Rice had been her elder brother.

So, Cassandra, you were the minister of crime, and your brother, DCI Derek Rice, an SIO investigating a child’s murder. What happened when you found out that Anders was sniffing around your son, Cassandra?

Was it you who had Anders’ suspicions shut down by top brass?

Or was it Derek? Desperate to protect his own nephew?

Riddick sighed, hoping that the truth wasn’t dead and buried with Cassandra and Derek.

He thought of the two remaining people left in the Rice clan.

One was, according to the medics, immobile and unable to communicate.

The other, well, the other was a detective inspector, and also the assistant SIO on this current bloody case.

He narrowed his eyes. Did Phil Rice know anything about this?

He wouldn’t put it past the sanctimonious prick.

His phone rang. The caller was unknown. Riddick answered using the hands-free.

Silence. A quick burst of static. Then more silence.

‘Hello?’ Riddick said again, readying his finger to kill the call.

‘Paul Riddick?’ It was a male voice, and not one he recognised.

‘Who is this?’ Riddick asked.

‘The past, I’m afraid—’

‘Think you got the wrong number, mate,’ Riddick said and killed the call.

The world was full of nut jobs. He’d received a fair share of crank calls over the years, especially during the time he’d investigated the mother of a suicide victim. He’d had the patience sucked out of him then – hanging up on the nutters was the best option.

The unknown caller rang back.

‘Bloody idiot,’ Riddick said.

Against his better judgement, he answered, his current build-up of adrenaline needing an outlet. ‘Listen, I’m a police officer, so—’

‘I know Detective Inspector, I know.’

‘Well, if you know, what’s with this daft bloody phone call?’

‘I’m trying to help you, Detective Inspector … keep you alive.’

‘Who is this?’

Silence.

Riddick pulled up. He wasn’t overly concerned about this crank, but he didn’t want to be distracted from the heavy snow. ‘Was that a threat?’

Silence.

‘Well, buddy, if it is, best we meet up and hash it out – what do you say?’

‘Good idea.’

‘Do you fancy being arrested then?’

‘You wouldn’t arrest me.’

He sounded different from most crank callers he’d experienced in the past. Less emotional. Cold and straight to the point.

Riddick snorted. ‘You sure about that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know what? This is a waste of time.’ Riddick went for the button on the dashboard to kill the call—

‘I know all about Ronnie Haller, Paul.’

Riddick’s finger froze mid-air.

The man continued, ‘It took them hours to clean that prison shower block. You had him emptied out good and proper, didn’t you?’

Riddick could taste bile. ‘Who is this?’

The man laughed. ‘Who are you? Aren’t you supposed to be a copper?’

Riddick narrowed his eyes.

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