Condemned, R.C. Bridgestock [most romantic novels TXT] 📗

Condemned

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Acknowledgements

DI Charley Mann Crime Thrillers

About the Author

Also by R.C. Bridgestock

Copyright

Cover

Table of Contents

Start of Content

At this time, amid the current pandemic of Covid-19 the emergency services across the country are being pressed to their limit. Morale is tanking and the stresses of the job are ever increasing…

We would like to dedicate this book to the countless doctors, nurses and healthcare workers treating coronavirus patients, for their selfless commitment and diligence as they undertake vitally important roles to protect and improve the health of people in these testing times, and to all these who have lost their lives fighting the virus.

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To our police family who put themselves in harm’s way every day in the pursuit of justice and to make the world a safer place, by bringing to justice those individuals who seek to inflict pain, injury and suffering. For this they are rarely shown gratitude - in fact they are frequently ridiculed for their virtuous acts. Your commitment is laudable and necessary work.

‘Blessed are the peacekeepers, for they shall be called the children of God.’ Matthew 5.9

Chapter 1

Cold air, peppered with icy rain, smacked Charley’s face the minute she opened her front door, temporarily blinding her. Immediately she put her chin to her chest and pulled her hood over her head. She turned her back on the snowstorm and stepped down onto the gritted pathway as she put the key in the door, and locked it. On doing so, she stole a glance up at her bedroom window, and a shiver came from deep within. The yearning for the warm bed she’d abandoned was overwhelming, but duvet days were seldom come by for a Senior Investigating Officer in charge of serious crime. Aristotle’s words hovered on her quivering lips; ‘To appreciate a snowflake, you have to stand out in the snow.’ Yorkshire weather was rarely predictable.

Ghostly, freezing fog hovered above the thin layer of snow, every inch of the path ahead covered with the white powder. Teeth chattering, Charley cautiously put one foot in front of the other, fearing with every step that she might slip on the ice lurking beneath. With shaking hands, she rummaged in her coat pocket for the car keys. Relieved to be out of the worst of it, once safe inside the vehicle she sat patiently waiting for the windows to defrost, letting the engine idle for a few moments. There was no rush about her. The dead body was going nowhere until the SIO arrived, suspicious circumstances or not.

Tuning in to the local radio station, Charley listened with interest to the forecast as she considered her route out of the village of Marsden, coming quickly to the conclusion that it would be best to avoid her preferred route to the Calder Valley over the Packhorse bridge, via the scenic valleys, rugged peaks and crags, and head for the more reliable A62.

As if in response to her thinking, the radio presenter announced, ‘Take care if you’re driving on the A62 between Marsden and Diggle, it’s allegedly the fourth most dangerous road in Britain.’ Charley raised an eyebrow. How come she had lived in Huddersfield all her life, yet she didn’t know that? The following news distressed her: a report of the fire brigade attending a house fire at the local property known as Crownest.

Rubbing her palms over her face, she groaned. There had long been accounts of strange events reportedly taking place, and numerous mysteries associated with the family who owned the property. Charley wondered if these would now cease? The last she’d heard was that the house had been put up for sale, and that plans for its demolition were imminent, and for some reason that news had made her extremely sad.

When the windscreen cleared, she saw that her neighbours’ curtains remained firmly closed, shutting out the outside world. ‘You must be wrong in t’head to have sought the position of a regional Head of Crime in the fourth largest police force in the land. Especially in winter.’ she said to her reflection in the rearview mirror.

As she spoke her breath formed plumes of vapour, and as it rose, she saw what looked like the blurred image of two black eyes looking back at her. Adjusting the direction of the car’s airflow vents made them vanish. She chuckled, she was definitely ‘wrong in t’head’.

On the approach to Marsden Moor Charley was delighted to see the ghostly outline of the orange flashing lights on a gritter wagon on the road ahead. Once the road surface was treated, it was left to the traffic to do the rest; to wear ruts into the ploughed snow that would turn to slush and eventually clear. She knew that following the gritter slowly was her best chance of making progress to the scene of the body that Control at Headquarters had requested she attend. The crime’s location wasn’t her normal patch. Although, she conceded, if the formidable, legendary Detective Inspector Jack Dylan doubted his ability to get there, God only knew what made them think she could! Harrowfield was his domain, and he was closer than she was to the cadaver. She weighed up the HQ controller’s thought pattern – maybe given the conditions, it was likely wise having two officers attempting to get to the scene, to determine if it was foul play or not?

Born and bred on the Marsden moors, she was aware more than most, that the four seasons brought dramatic changes to the land across which she travelled, but thanks to her folk whose ancestors were all farmers, she knew the moors like the back of her hand. Today the going was slow. The patchy low cloud made sure of that. In