Death's Cold Hand, J.E. Mayhew [book club recommendations .txt] 📗

By the time Terry had woken, it was late morning. Noel rustled up some bacon and eggs for them and he watched Terry wolf them down with nearly half a loaf of toast.

“So what d’you reckon, Terry, should we go and find this Nicola today? See what she suggests you do?”

Terry stopped chewing and stared at Noel for so long, he thought the young man wasn’t listening. “Yeah,” Terry said, finally. He glanced over at his phone which lay, fully charged on the side. “Maybe I’ll get some orders, too.”

Noel licked his lips. “Have you ever thought, Terry, that whoever gives you those orders might not have your best interests at heart?”

Again, Terry paused. “What do you mean?”

Noel squatted beside the big lad. “I mean, Terry, that they’re setting you up. Think about it. You get a call, it tells you to go somewhere and then you find yourself in trouble…”

“It’s always like that in the army,” Terry said, shrugging. “You get sent into danger…”

“Yeah, I can see that, mate, but this isn’t the army, is it? Looks to me like someone’s using you to cover their tracks.”

Terry looked hard at Noel. “Who are you?” he said, slowly. “Really…”

Noel felt a flurry of panic. He could never outrun Terry, not with his bad ankle. He felt like he was trapped in a small box with an increasingly edgy lion. “I’m Noel, Terry, remember? Noel. I picked you up on the road the other day. I’m just an old man, done a bit of time for burglary and such. Just trying to help you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Terry said, nodding. He rubbed his forehead. “I just wish I knew what to do. Who I could trust…”

“You can trust me, Terry. I think you’re a good lad who’s been treated badly, okay? I want to help you. I think we should find Nicola, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Terry said, after a while. “Find Nicola. She’ll tell me what to do.”

*****

Even though it was early on a Saturday, the Major Incident Room lay almost deserted apart from Blake and his core team. Every hand possible had been drafted in to marshal and observe the horde of protesters headed towards the Wirral. The people of Liverpool had a history of containing and humiliating far-right groups who came to cause trouble. Only a few years ago, one group had to take refuge in the lost luggage kiosk in Lime Street station, such was their hostile reception. They’d jumped on the first train out once they were allowed.

But judging by social media, many people were coming to the area via Chester railway station. This meant that protestors only had to change platforms to join the Wirral Line rather than get kettled in the plaza as often happened at Lime Street. Some Cheshire Police Officers were keeping order in Chester but the bulk of the responsibility fell to Merseyside. Trains and stations were policed as was the route to the war memorial.

The first to arrive at the office after Blake had been DC Kinnear. He looked pale and sleep-deprived. “You okay, Andrew?” Blake asked.

“Yes, sir. Just a lot on my mind.”

Blake nodded and glanced around. The room was empty but he knew the others would be arriving any minute. “Jitters about the adoption?”

Kinnear gave Blake a guarded look. “Y-yes, sir, as a matter of fact,” he sighed and sat down, heavily. “I mean, I want to and the idea of having Niamh in our lives is just so great, sir but I’m just not sure it’s wise.”

“I see. And how does Chris see it?”

“He’s heart-broken but he understands, sir.”

Blake squatted beside Kinnear and took a breath. “Listen, son, when I was your age, I was married and had a little girl. Then she was taken from me. Those few fleeting months were the best time of my life. That sense of loss never goes it’s a weight I carry everyday but that brief time I had with my little girl, it was a treasure beyond value. If it’s this job that troubles you, then don’t worry. The world’s a dangerous place whatever you do. You make the best of it and you don’t let fear take your life away. Knowing what I know now, if I was in your shoes, I’d give little Niamh the best home and all the love I could and live.”

Kinnear blinked at Blake with glittering eyes. “Th-thank you sir.”

“Good,” Blake said, standing up and coughing gruffly. “The others should be here any minute. Here’s Kath now. Let’s get busy.”

Kath and Alex came in, followed closely by Vikki. “Morning, sir. Looks like there are plenty of people going to the rally, sir,” Kath said, dumping her bag on her desk. “It’s not like there’s even anything to protest about. I mean, Travis was killed by someone he knew. It’s a murder plain and simple.”

Blake shook his head. “That doesn’t matter now, does it? Even Superintendent Martin going on TV and explaining that it wasn’t a terrorist attack is dismissed as fake news or a mainstream media cover-up. It’s madness, Kath. Despite his son having admitted that he fed his dad that terrorist bullshit, I bet you Lex Price stands up there on the war memorial and lies through his teeth to save face.”

“He’s bound over, boss,” Kath said. “Surely he’d get picked up if he started rabble rousing.”

Blake shook his head. “And then, what? He’d be a martyr in some eyes. Picked up for speaking the so-called truth.”

“I just hope it doesn’t hamper our investigation, sir,” Alex Manikas said, settling into a chair next to Kinnear.

“It already has, Alex,” Blake muttered. “Just think of the manpower wasted shepherding those people. They could have been out looking for Noel Roscoe and Terry White.”

“One thing it does do, sir, is throw open the possibility of other suspects,” Vikki Chinn said. “I mean, if we’re accepting that Terry White is being manipulated in some way, then it could be anyone. Barry Davies or Dave Jones could