Who's Next?: A completely gripping and unputdownable crime thriller (Detective Lockhart and Green Book 2) by Chris Merritt

Author:Chris Merritt [Merritt, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781838880217
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2020-09-10T16:00:00+00:00

Forty-Five

Lockhart had needed to get out. It was the talk of warrior genes and killing without blinking that’d done it. He was picturing the recent victims and then, suddenly, he’d been right back in that house in Afghanistan. His heart was pounding, his palms sweaty, mouth dry, and all he knew was that he couldn’t be there, in Green’s kitchen, talking about murder. Now he’d put some distance between himself and her house, and his panic had subsided, he could think a bit more clearly.

Green’s theories had given him a lot to mull over. Her ideas made sense, and her arguments were persuasive. But there still wasn’t much hard evidence behind them. She’d linked the pieces of the puzzle with some fancy words that he didn’t completely understand, like anthropology and idiosyn-something or other. Remembering what she’d said, he briefly wondered whether defending others was programmed into his DNA. Did he have this ‘warrior gene’ or whatever it was? It would certainly explain some things.

There hadn’t been much time, however, to contemplate that further before he’d arrived at Xander O’Neill’s house. The two-storey building was a squashed mid-terrace on one of the streets that ran off Balham High Road, about a mile north of Green’s home. Scanning the exterior, Lockhart could see it was clearly in need of maintenance. It barely looked big enough to fit the five people O’Neill had told him lived here. A small roof window suggested that there’d been a loft conversion, which was about the only way Lockhart could imagine them all squeezing in. He guessed it was a rent-saving set-up; O’Neill had said he was struggling to find work.

Lockhart could hear voices inside as he pressed the buzzer; then laughing, the baseline of some music. Nothing happened. He pushed it again and, eventually, the door was opened by a fit-looking young woman with large, inquisitive eyes and masses of dark curly hair. A huge glass of red wine dwarfed one of her hands. The other rested on the lintel, forming a barrier across the threshold.

‘Sorry to disturb you,’ he said pleasantly, holding up his warrant card. ‘I’m with the Met. Is Xander O’Neill in?’

‘Oh my God!’ she exclaimed, her face lighting up with intrigue. ‘What’s he done? Naughty boy!’

‘Is he at home, please, Ms?…’

‘Rosamund.’ She cast a glance over her shoulder down the hallway to where a dinner party was obviously gathering pace. Or maybe this was just a normal Thursday night at Xander O’Neill’s home.

‘No, he’s out. I think. Xandy!’ she yelled up the stairs.

Lockhart peered past her. He was tempted to see if he could talk his way in, perhaps even check out O’Neill’s room for the stolen watch or anything else he might be hiding, but he had no authority for that. He’d need to wait. Better to keep his powder dry, for now.

‘Yeah, sorry, he’s not here,’ she said, shrugging and eyeing Lockhart.

‘OK, thanks anyway. I’ll call back another time. It was just a few follow-up questions from a chat we had last week.

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