Indefensible (DI Sara Ramsey Book 12), M Comley [world of reading TXT] 📗

darling. You choose, we’ll be grateful for anything you put in front of us.”

“Leave it with us. We’ll see you, then. Love you, Mum. Send Dad my love, won’t you?”

“Of course I will. Thank you for thinking of us, sweetheart.”

Sara ended the call and turned up the radio to enjoy the rest of the drive home.

8

Adam had watched from afar when the coppers had taken his father away. Panic had set in and forced him into hiding. He was sure his dad would drop him in it with the police, so he’d made the conscious decision not to go back to the house, just in case they came to arrest him. He glanced around at the squat he was taking temporary refuge in and shuddered. This type of life wasn’t for him, although it would have to do for now. He’d learnt about this place from a friend of his; Wayne was down on his luck, but Adam hadn’t known that when he’d got in touch, seeking help.

He had itchy feet, needed to get out of this dosshouse, but where else could he go? This area was relatively new to him and without his father being on hand, he didn’t have a clue where to go or what to do for the best.

Had the police arrested him? How did they know where to find him? What about his car, had it been impounded? He had dozens of legitimate questions rattling around in his head and no sign of any clear answers.

He decided to get out of this dump and go for a few beers while he contemplated what to do next with his life, now that his lifeline had been cut off. He left the squat and strolled into the Traveller’s Rest public house on the corner of the next street. There were enough customers in there for him not to stick out in the crowd. He ordered a pint of bitter and sat at the bar, people-watching. Several men were knocking their drinks back as if it was the last beer they were ever likely to taste. Maybe the pandemic had caused their anxiety or maybe it had always been there to start with.

Observing the other customers, he gulped large mouthfuls of his drink and mulled over what to do next.

Where can I go? Not back to the house with the cops crawling all over it. Have I left any possessions behind? They’re sure to get a warrant to search the property. Damn, this wasn’t in the plan at all. Why did I screw up? His mind dwelled on the last point as the image of the second victim drifted into it. He grinned, remembering her squirming beneath him as he took advantage of her slender body. Good job I used a rubber. No chance of them pinning that one on me. Maybe the old man will admit to both crimes, he’d better! I won’t be pleased if he doesn’t. Relief had flooded through him when the police had come to arrest the wrong guy.

Things had turned rowdy in the corner. There was a card game going on, no money involved from what he could see, but that might have been for the landlord’s sake. He watched for the next five minutes as the situation escalated, until the landlord had to step in and ask the drunk, who appeared to be causing all the problems, to leave.

“Come on, Bob, what have I told you about starting trouble in here? I won’t have it. I run a peaceful gaff, where people come for a drink, knowing they will be safe. It would be better for all concerned if you went on your way, without any fuss.” The landlord had muscles the size of Popeye’s.

Bob stared up at him, and he seemed confused by what was going on, to begin with, until his shoulders relaxed and he admitted defeat.

Something sparked in Adam’s mind. He glanced on, intrigued by how things would play out. He got to the bottom of his glass and didn’t bother ordering another pint. His interest in what was taking place on the other side of the room was drawing him like a magnet.

He left his bar stool and tottered a little. Shit, how many have I had? The drunk began tussling with the landlord, objecting to being manhandled and refusing to leave the pub. Adam had an inkling as to what was about to happen and pre-empted it. He left through the side door and waited out in the car park, hiding in the shadows of the large oak tree at the edge close to the exit.

The door to the pub flew open. The landlord chucked poor Bob out on his arse.

“’Ere, you cawn’t tweat me like that! I’wl get the copsss on you,” Bob shouted from his cold spot on the tarmac. The man remained seated for the next few minutes as if gathering the willpower to attempt to get to his feet. He turned over onto his hands and knees and paused, likely trying to figure out how to proceed next. Defeated, he slumped back onto his bum and slowly rotated his head around the car park.

“Will someone please ‘elp me?”

Adam waited it out for a little while longer, until the man faced the other way and then he emerged from the shadows, whistling a merry tune. “Hello, there. What’s all this? Been kicked out, have you?”

“Yes. Can ye get me up? Me legss won’t work.”

Adam helped the drunk to his feet. It was a genuine effort, he wasn’t the strongest of men and the drunk was a dead weight, not willing to assist him at all. “Jesus, will you at least try to help me, moron?”

“’Ere you cawn’t call me dat. Get away from me, I down’t need ye ‘elp.”

“I’m here now. Come on, give me a break and at least put your legs underneath you, ready for them to take your weight; they’re no good being stretched out like that, are