Buried With Honours: A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crime Thriller

by Davies, Oliver

  Buried With Honours

  A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crime Thriller

  Oliver Davies

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  2. Thatcher

  3. Thatcher

  4. Thatcher

  5. Thatcher

  6. Thatcher

  7. Thatcher

  8. Thatcher

  9. Thatcher

  10. Thatcher

  11. Thatcher

  12. Thatcher

  13. Thatcher

  14. Thatcher

  15. Thatcher

  16. Mills

  17. Thatcher

  18. Thatcher

  19. Thatcher

  20. Thatcher

  21. Thatcher

  22. Thatcher

  Chapter 23

  24. Thatcher

  25. Thatcher

  26. Mills

  27. Thatcher

  28. Thatcher

  Epilogue

  A Message from the Author

  Prologue

  I watched the screensaver on my monitor bounce from corner to corner, struggling to keep my eyes open as I half-listened to the radio, drumming my fingers on the desk. Most everyone else was already gone, skittering from the doors the moment the clock struck five, the night shift team making their way in. It was dark outside, despite it having only just gone six, and the room was lit by the glaring screen of my monitor and the lamp in the corner of the room. Probably not the best for eyesight, but I couldn’t be bothered to get up and turn the main lights on.

  I checked my phone yet again to see if I had missed any messages, emails, or calls. Nothing. As it had been for the last few hours every time I checked it. I wondered if it was worth calling, but I knew that would just put me in the way, and I knew better than to annoy doctors by getting in their way. I’d been given enough scolds and slaps on the arm from Dr Crowe to have that rule of thumb solidified in my brain as a self-defence mechanism more than anything else.

  With a sigh, I put my phone back down, the volume on high, the screen facing up, just in case, I kept telling myself.

  I’d stuck around late today, plodding through some paperwork that had piled up. Paperwork that could very well wait until tomorrow to be done, but that would mean leaving, and I wasn’t really in the mood for that. I knew someone would come along and shoo me out eventually, mostly to save having to deal with me sleep-deprived and grumpy tomorrow, but I was happy to stay here, my stare shifting from my phone screen to my computer screen and back again.

  “You’re still here?”

  The sudden voice made me jump, and I looked up to find Sharp in the doorway, pulling her coat on with a frown on her face.

  “Still here,” I confirmed, leaning back in my chair, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the fairly dark room. I reached over and turned the radio down as Sharp walked in and flicked the light switch. I grimaced, shielding my eyes with my hands as the sudden light flooded the room, making my head ache.

  “You’re like a teenager,” she told me. “Lurking in a dark room all on your own.”

  “What a glowing description,” I murmured, rubbing my eyes and lowering my hands. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Her frown deepened as she walked over to my desk, looking at what I had been doing, or rather, not doing. “There’s nothing there that needs to be done right now, Thatcher, you know that.”

  “Just keeping on top of things,” I replied. “You’re normally on my case for being behind with paperwork.”

  “You’re not normally here late doing it as an excuse not to leave,” she pointed out tartly, pulling her bag up over her shoulder. A phone dinged, and I hurriedly looked to mine, still sitting blankly on the desk. It was Sharp’s then, and she smiled fondly as she replied to whoever had texted her. Her husband, most likely, those little smiles were reserved for him and him alone. She put her phone back in her pocket and returned her attention to me, sighing.

  “You look awful,” she told me.

  “Thank you.”

  “Go home, Thatcher. Call it a day, go home and get some rest. That’s an order,” she added, sensing my reluctance. I held her stern gaze for a little while, knowing full well that this was a battle I wouldn’t win. She’d drag from the building by my chair, or my collar, or maybe even my ear if she felt so obliged, and nobody from this room to the front doors would try to stop her.

  I sighed and pushed my chair back from the desk, standing up on aching limbs. I hadn’t realised how long I’d been sitting there, hunched over my computer like a gargoyle. As I stretched, reaching for my coat, my back clicked loud enough for Sharp to grimace. It made me feel better, though. The tension in my shoulders was a whole other problem and not one that I had the energy or the bother to think about tonight. Sharp lingered in the doorway, waiting for me to turn everything off and grab my things, then we walked to the stairs together, heading down towards the main doors. She nodded firmly to the desk sergeant, who nodded back, offering me a tight smile, his eyes raking over my appearance. Did I really look awful? I’d not studied my reflection at all today. Mills hadn’t said anything, and he was usually the first to point out any state of disarray I might be in.

  “See you tomorrow, ma’am,” I said, buttoning up my coat as we hit the cold air outside. The cold snap we were in seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere, the gentle autumn shoved away by dark nights and mornings, cold air and runny noses.

  “See you tomorrow, Thatcher. Get some rest!” She called, striding over to her husband’s car that lingered on the side of the road. I waved to him and then to the small eight-year-old lad in the back seat and watched them drive off. Then I sighed heavily, my breath turning to fog in the cold air. I wasn’t ready to go home, not just yet, and there’d be nothing for me to do there but sit and stew. I needed something to distract me for a few hours before I had no choice but to collapse into bed.

  With that in mind, I walked down the road to the pub a few doors down, where already several officers were chatting together over pints and steaming plates of grub.

  The Bell had served as my local ever since I came to York, the familiar Victorian pub as homely to me as anywhere else in the city, and I relaxed as I strolled in, propping myself up at the bar, relishing in the warmth of the building. A few minutes outside and already my hands were freezing, and I could see the pink tinge to my nose from the corner of my eye.

  Paul, the landlord, noted me and wandered over with a smile, steadier on his feet than he had been for a while, or maybe it had just been a while since I came in here. Mills and I just tended to end up in whatever pub we were nearest to at the time.

  “Evening, Max,” Paul greeted me, reaching over to shake my hand.

  “Paul. How’s the hip?” I asked, watching him beam with delight. It was, other than his wife and grandchildren, his favourite thing to talk about.

  “Better now. I tell you,” he said, taking a clean glass from the shelf, “these new medical gadgets are good, aren’t they? You’ll be able to get an aluminium kidney one of these days. Usual?”

  “Please. And I think a kidney might be setting your sights a bit too high, there.”

  Paul chuckled, pulling my usual pint of local lager that he placed on a coaster and pushed over before leaning on the bar.

  “And yourself?” he asked. “Everything good with you?”

  “Same as ever,” I answered, taking a sip of beer. Paul was giving me a long look, his bushy eyebrows drawn together.

  “What?” I demanded.

  “Not what I hear,” he told me, picking up a cloth and wiping the a
lready clean wooden top.

  “What have you heard?” I asked, wondering who in here had been sharing gossip about me.

  “Nothing much,” he said. “Most don’t know much about what goes on with you, do they? And your sergeant never tells me anything.” Good old Mills.

  “Something though?” I pressed, interested now.

  “I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” Paul said, shaking his head. But he didn’t leave. For all the old man was a stickler for loyalty, he also loved a bit of gossip to take home to the wife.

  “Come on, Paul,” I urged him good naturedly. “I need to confirm whether or not it’s true, don’t I?”

  “Oh well,” he said gruffly. “I’ve only heard that you’ve had some trouble at home. With your girl? Someone said something about an accident.”

  I nodded, raking my hair back from my face. “She’s alright,” I told him. “Just got a nasty scratch that got infected.”

  Working at my bloody coaching house, I didn’t mention. She was in the hospital still, whilst they kept an eye on her.

  “That’s why you’re here then,” Paul nodded to himself. “Don’t fancy pottering around the house alone?”

  “Not particularly. And there’s always work to be done.”

  “Not so desperately needed to be done that you’d send Mills home.”

  I laughed. “How do you know I sent Mills home?”

  “He was in here not long ago. Took a pie home for himself, good lad. He seems to be getting there.”

  “He is,” I nodded. His breakup with Suzanne had knocked him down for a while, but Mills was tough, and he was on the mend quickly.

  “Heartbreak’s never easy,” Paul said sagely. “That’s why I married the only girl I’ve ever been with.”

  I smiled. “You and Vera put us all to shame, Paul,” I told him, lifting my glass in a salute. “Where is she tonight?”

  “Watching the grandkids. Speaking off,” he said excitedly, reaching down below the bar. “Look what they got me.”

  He reappeared clutching a “World’s Best Grandad” mug with the biggest grin on his face I’d ever seen.

  “Just keep that under there to show off to people, do you?” I asked.

  “I’ll have you know I drink all my tea from this lovely thing. Kind of them, wasn’t it?”

  “Certainly was. And I’ll bet it’s true, as well,” I said. “And I say that knowing who my grandad was.”

  Paul put his mug away, looking at me with narrowed eyes. “You’re after something,” he said.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are, complimenting me. You always do that when you want something. Don’t you forget,” he waggled his finger at me, “I used to sit on that side of this bar, too.”

  How could I forget? Paul had been a Chief Inspector at the station for years. He was already behind the bar here when I arrived, but his reputation hung on. There was still a picture of him on the notice board that nobody ever cared to take down.

  “Alright,” I admitted, “I was hoping to barter for some chips.”

  Paul rolled his eyes, then leant back with his arms folded and studied me.

  “I’ll give you chips,” he said. “If you tell me about your recent case. I’m in need of a good yarn these days, and I know that Sharp gives you all the best cases.”

  “She gives me all the ridiculous, impossible to solve cases,” I corrected him.

  “Like I said, the best. You did solve this one, didn’t you?”

  “Of course we did,” I said.

  “Tell it to me then, and I’ll feed you up proper. On the house. Chips, maybe even some scampi.”

  Scampi was hard to refuse. It had been my grandad’s food of choice at every pub we ever went to, and he’d put me onto it back before I ever knew what a prawn was.

  “Throw in some mushy peas, and we have a deal,” I said.

  Paul grinned, slapping the bar as he winked at me.

  “Wait here, my boy, I’ll get the oven going.”

  He vanished back into the kitchen, leaving me with my pint.

  “Evening, sir,” someone greeted me from behind. I swivelled to find PC Fry behind me, sliding her empty glass onto the bar, coat already on.

  “Evening, Fry. Here on your own?” I asked.

  “I felt a bit weird about that, but then I saw you were too,” she said with a smirk.

  “Rude. I’m with Paul,” I said, pointing to the door he had slipped through.

  “I can’t believe that’s really him,” she said, sticking her hands in her pockets. “I mean, I heard all these stories about him when I first arrived and then there he is, rattling about the pub telling people about his new hip in far too much detail.”

  “Ask him about his wife,” I told her. “He’ll talk about her for hours. It’s the easiest way to get him off his hip.”

  Fry nodded, “I’ll try that, sir.” She hovered for a bit, looking at me warily. “How are you?” She asked, sounding genuinely earnest, rocking slightly on the balls of her feet.

  “I’m alright, Fry, thank you for asking.”

  She nodded, tucking a strand of long black hair behind her ears. It was strange to see her with it down, framing her copper skin.

  “And Mills?” she asked, her eyes dropping to the ground. Interesting.

  “He’s getting there,” I told her. “Breakups are never easy, but he’ll be alright.”

  “No, they’re not,” she agreed emphatically.

  “Got a similar experience yourself? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  She shrugged. “I moved here from Norwich,” she told me. “Had a partner down there who didn’t want to move with me.”

  “That’s a shame,” I told her. “Well, their loss is our gain.”

  Fry stuck her hands in her pockets and smiled. “Kind of you, sir. I should be getting on. If I don’t feed the dog, she gets antsy.”

  “What kind of dog have you got?” I asked, realising that I didn’t really know all that much about her.

  “Bloodhound,” she said. “Had her for a few years now.”

  “Big dog,” I observed.

  “I live alone so,” she trailed off with a shrug. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said as Paul came back out from the kitchen. “See you tomorrow, sir.”

  “See you, Fry,” I nodded back. She gave Paul a smile and made her way to the door.

  “Nice girl. Constable?”

  “She is. Been a big help to Mills and I in recent times,” I said. Especially now that Smith was gone, transferred to Leeds, where they had the need of a new Detective Sergeant. That had been a bittersweet farewell, but nobody deserved it more.

  “Features in your story, does she?” He asked, tossing his rag over his shoulder.

  “Crops up once or twice. How long on those chips?” I asked, my stomach rumbling.

  “Long enough for you to get started on this story of yours.”

  “Don’t you have other customers to serve?” I asked, looking around the room. Most of the other customers were settled around tables, fully relaxed, nursing their drinks sensibly. Paul followed my eyeline and rolled his eyes.

  “I’m sure I can manage. That’s why I have Sophie as well. Isn’t it Soph?” He called the barmaid across the room, cleaning up a table. The young girl looked back, confused, but nodded and smiled at Paul all the same.

  “See? In your own time then, Max,” he said, resting his arms against the bar and waiting patiently. I took one last sip of beer, then began.

  One

  Major Alexander Riggs navigated his way through the unfamiliar countryside with the radio turned low, the heaters on full blast, windscreen wipers working overtime to fend off the rain. It was cold everywhere, of course, but it didn’t half seem worse up here than it had in his hometown down in Devon.

  It was beautiful, he had to admit. Rugged moors, rolling hills and craggy rocks. It was a shame that he didn’t have more to pull on a pair of walking boots and really give the place a good expl
oration. But this weekend was tightly packed, and he couldn’t use up any days of his leave, not until the weddings itself, anyway. He wasn’t surprised that his sister had made him drive all the way for the rehearsal. She was anxious enough as it was, regarding her somewhat stuffy new in-laws, and Alec couldn’t very well leave her to fend for herself, not with everything else she still had to do. She offered to find room for him in her house for the weekend but was full enough as it was, so Alexander had found an inn in a village a few miles away that would give him some well-needed peace and quiet during what would no doubt be a rather exhausting weekend. Sybil didn’t mind. If anything, she’d probably want to be out in an inn on her own as well.

  Alexander leant forward over the steering wheel, admiring the village he drove through. In the summer, it would probably be quite magnificent, but even now, under the grey sky and rain, he could see its charm, even with his headlights casting an ominous glow over the buildings. He followed the road through, making a mental note of a few shops he wanted to see in daylight, and the location of the pub, to the other side of the village where the inn sat on the side of the road as it slipped back into the countryside. It had probably been here as long as any other building in the village, and he could imagine it with horses and carriages outside it at one point. Ivy climbed up the walls, around the front door and sash windows, all of them pleasingly light up yellow and orange against the dark night sky. Yes, Alexander would get on very well here.

  There was a carpark to the side of the building that was rather empty, and Alexander grabbed his things from the boot and jogged around to the front door, pushing it open and walking into the large, warm and wood-panelled entrance. There was a living space to one side of him with a large stone fireplace, a small, intimate dining area to the other and a narrow staircase winding up to the higher floors. The few people that were in there, seated and reading or working, looked and watched as he walked in. No surprise, he’d come straight from work, not bothering to change out of his uniform until he could get here and shower, then likely fall straight into bed. He nodded politely, ducking his head as he walked over to the desk in the corner and the young lady seated there, bent over a book.