Vicious Cycle (A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crimes Book 9)

by Oliver Davies

  Vicious Cycle

  A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crime Thriller

  Oliver Davies

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  2. Thatcher

  3. Thatcher

  4. Thatcher

  5. Mills

  6. Mills

  7. Thatcher

  8. Thatcher

  9. Thatcher

  10. Thatcher

  11. Thatcher

  12. Thatcher

  13. Thatcher

  14. Thatcher

  15. Mills

  16. Thatcher

  Chapter 17

  18. Mills

  19. Thatcher

  20. Thatcher

  21. Thatcher

  22. Thatcher

  23. Mills

  24. Thatcher

  25. Thatcher

  26. Mills

  27. Thatcher

  28. Thatcher

  Epilogue

  A Message from the Author

  Prologue

  Spring was running late this year. It was already May, but still, the cold weather hung around, rainy days and frosty nights refusing to budge. Climate change, Mills had said the other day, glaring out of the window in the station. He was probably right, but I didn’t know enough about it myself, so I’d just grunted a response and gotten back to the paperwork that had mounted on my desk.

  At least it wasn’t raining today, just grey skyed and chilly, which was good, as I had my first day off in a while, one that Sally had hoodwinked me into spending with her, rather than out at the coaching house. I owed her that much, given I’d not been to visit since the christening. It had been a battle I would never have won anyway from the moment I answered the phone and heard the tone of her voice. Even if I had said no, that would have meant Tom appearing on my doorstep and likely dragging me to his wife by the ear. Ever since she’d been pregnant and given birth to Ena, he’d become a lot more defensive over his wife and anyone who’d made her upset. Good for Sally, less good for me.

  But I was looking forward to today, heading back out to the village and having a walk around some of the old routes. I’d offered to just come to her house and spend a few hours there, but apparently, she was feeling the cabin fever after the hard rain had kept her inside for a while, and now nothing short of a blizzard would change her mind. I was also, secretly, very excited about seeing my goddaughter.

  I pulled my jumper over my head and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked tired, but no more than usual. The shadows under my eyes had been there for the better part of twenty years, and I doubted that they were in any particular hurry to leave. I ran a comb through my still slightly damp hair and finished my coffee, carrying the empty mug from the bedroom and into the hall.

  I grabbed my coat, threw it on over my clothes, arm getting stuck in the sleeve, and wandered into the kitchen where Liene was sitting at the table, huddled in one of my jumpers, frowning over the work before her. She’d been working a lot lately; a new exhibition was being donated to them, and she had the fun task of figuring out how they should be looked after and where they should go and apparently that involved a lot of information about temperature and sunlight and a whole host of other things that I was useless to help with. I placed my empty mug in the sink and walked over to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder at the images of old artefacts that she was studying. They looked like dishes, the pieces stuck back together with chips and holes all over, faint paint or artwork just about visible. Very old, apparently, and very, very valuable. Her long brown hair curtained her face, hanging over her shoulders, her face propped up in her hands. I moved her hair out of the way to kiss her cheek and smiled when she looked up at me, her cheeks squished beneath her hands.

  “I’m heading out now,” I told her. “Do you want anything while I’m out?”

  “No, I’m okay.” She sat up straight, turning her head to look up at me. “Thank you, though. Say hi to Sally for me, won’t you? And baby Ena.”

  “Of course. Don’t work too hard,” I said. “You sit there any longer, and you’ll turn to stone.”

  “Who are you to lecture me about working too hard?” she asked with a sly grin.

  “An expert. I’ll be home in a few hours. Maybe we can go out for dinner?”

  “Max Thatcher wants to go out for dinner?” she said incredulously, looking up at me properly. “Are you ill?”

  “No. I Just thought it might be good to get you out of the house before you turn into a hermit.”

  Liene laughed and looked back down at her work with a sigh. “This isn’t the hands-on work I signed up for, you know?”

  “I know. I also know that you’re the only person in the city who has any idea what all of that means,” I said, resting my hand on her shoulder. She leant her head to the side, resting her cheek on my hand.

  “Can you bring home some pie or something? I’ll use it as a reward for getting through this report.”

  “Not a bad tactic. Any kind?”

  “Any kind,” she said. “You know what I like. And have fun,” she added, poking me in the chest. “It’s been a while since you and Sally got to hang out alone, so enjoy it.”

  “There will be a baby there,” I reminded her.

  “Ena’s a good baby, but I mean there’ll be no me or Tom or Elsie. Just the pair of you, it’ll be nice.”

  “It will be nice,” I had to admit. Sally and I hadn’t hung out the way we used to for ages. Partially because of her pregnancy and the fact that Ena had been born a few weeks early, and partially because of me working my arse off these past months. I was keeping myself distracted, truth be told, and she’d picked up on it, naturally. Sometimes I wondered if she had some strange sort of sixth sense that could only pick up on me being an idiot. She’d called me right at that time, after all, when I was alone in the station, sitting in the dark staring at old phone records for a case, and talked me into a visit, sending me home like she was in the room herself.

  “See you later,” I said to Liene, giving her another kiss on the cheek before turning and walking to the front door.

  “Have fun!” she called. “And don’t forget the pie!”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it!” I answered, grabbing my wallet and keys, slipping them into my pockets. I pulled my boots on, tugging at the laces and slipped outside, turning my collar up against the breeze, looking around. I spotted my landlady, Mrs McTavish, in her front garden, trying to encourage some plants to grow and gave her a wave as I walked to the car.

  It parked just outside, and I slipped in, turning the heaters on and sat there for a bit whilst it warmed up before steering away from the kerb and heading out of the city. The road to my old village was as familiar to me as any, and sometimes I wondered if I’d be able to do it blindfolded—provided there was nothing else on the road, of course. My brain turned off as I drove, not needing to know which corners to slow for or which potholes to watch, muscle memory kicked in, and before I knew it, I was driving through the sleepy village, the early signs of spring to show up in people’s gardens and along the roadside. I went up past the coaching house, looking at it through the window as I went. It was looking much better, no longer with any boarded-up windows, which was a plus. From the outside, at least, it looked good. The inside was another story.

  I followed the road up towards the top of the village, down the narrow lane to where Sally and Tom lived. I ducked through the gate and wandered up to the front door, rattling with the knocker and sticking my hands in my pockets. I heard Sally shout something from within, but could not make out the words, so I reached out and trie
d the handle. The door was unlocked, and I pushed it open, sticking my head into the warm hallway.

  “Sally?”

  “Come in!” she shouted from upstairs. “I saw your car.”

  I could hear the baby fussing up there with her and decided to hang out down here until she came. I strolled around the house, looking at all the little changes they had made since my last visit. A few more photos, mostly of Ena, were hung on the walls, baby toys hanging around on chairs and in corners. A few more rooms were decorated, the walls recently painted, but the house had the same lived-in feel that it had always had, long before they ever moved in.

  I heard footsteps coming down the stairs and walked back into the hallway as Sally appeared, holding the baby on her hip.

  “Hi Max,” she breathed.

  “Sally.”

  “Hold her,” she said, thrusting the baby into my arms. I took her carefully, never very comfortable with babies, as Sally pottered around, grabbing her coat and shoes, pulling the pram out from the cupboard under the stairs. I shifted my arms so that Ena was on my hip, her small hands holding onto my coat. God, she was small. She had settled now, bundled in a coat and a funny woollen hat with a bobble on the top, and she looked up at me with eyes the same colour as Sally’s.

  “Hi, Ena,” I muttered, giving her a little tickle under her chin. “What is your mother up to, eh?” I asked, looking over to where Sally was now sitting on the floor, pulling a pair of shoes on.

  “Her mother got her all dressed in her very sensible layers, only to have her need her nappy changing a minute later,” Sally muttered.

  I chuckled, looking down at Ena. Sally grunted, forced herself to her feet, and took her from me, kissing her chubby cheek before putting her in the pram. Once she was safely in, Sally turned to me with a sigh and threw her arms around me.

  “Long time no see,” she said, pulling away. I ruffled her hair.

  “We’ve both been busy.”

  She raised an eyebrow and grabbed the pram, steering it to the front door. I opened it for her, and she passed me the key, locking the door behind us.

  “So, I’ve heard,” she said.

  “Where are we walking?” I asked, ignoring her comment. She narrowed her eyes at me, but started down the garden path and through the gate.

  “Down by the church? Not so windy down there.”

  I nodded, walking alongside her down the road.

  “How are you, Sal?” I asked.

  “I’m pretty good,” she said. “Tired, but this one’s getting better at sleeping, which is a plus.”

  “Tom?”

  “Also, good. Say’s hello.”

  “So does Liene.”

  “How is she?”

  “Busy as well,” I chuckled.

  “And Billie?”

  “Billie’s good. Plodding along.”

  “Which is all any of us can do, as Elsie says. Should we call in?” Sally asked. “I’ve not been around there for a while.”

  “Might as well. I’ve not spent much time with her since New Year’s,” I realised, scratching my head.

  “You really have been busy,” Sally said, reaching into the pram to pass Ena the small teddy she dropped. “And wanting to be, no? I can always tell when you want to stay busy.”

  “Maybe there’s just been a lot of crime recently, Sally,” I said.

  “Maybe. And maybe you’ve been working overtime rather than letting anyone else solve it. Keeping distracted, Max?”

  “Distracted from what?” I asked. “I’ve nothing to distract myself from.”

  “No?” Sally raised an eyebrow. “Not even a certain journalist who’s back in town?”

  I sighed heavily, my breath fogging in the air, and looked down across the village. “I haven’t seen her,” I said. “Not really.”

  “Do you want to?”

  “Yes and no. I want answers, I suppose,” I said, rubbing my jaw. “But I’m happy now. Things are good.”

  “She’d ruin that?”

  “Not on purpose,” I said. “We just— It’s how it is. Her and I.”

  Sally hummed, and in the silence that followed, the only sound was the crows in the trees above Ena and us, babbling away to herself.

  “You have seen her, though,” Sally said. “Tom said she did an article on a case of yours. I didn’t read it.”

  “Not keeping tabs on my good work?”

  “Baby,” she pointed to the pram, “remember? Heard it on the news, though. One of your older cases, wasn’t it?”

  “Connected to it. Back from when I was a sergeant.”

  “God,” she muttered. “Bloody lifetime ago.”

  “We’re not that old,” I replied.

  “Must have stirred up some memories,” she said, looking sideways at me. “Was it all okay?”

  “I’m in one piece, aren’t I?”

  “Thereabouts,” she said. “But she was there, was she?”

  “Briefly. Had something to offer, as usual, and wanted the story, as usual.”

  Sally looked up at me thoughtfully, then steered the pram off the road and over to a bench on the grass. I trailed after her, sitting beside her, the pram in between us.

  “Tell me about it,” she said, one hand reaching into the pram to hold Ena’s little fingers.

  “I didn’t come to see you to talk about work, Sally,” I said. “I came to see you and Ena. Tell me about Ena.”

  Sally gave me a dry look. “Because the topic of child development is really a winner with you,” she said. Then she grinned. “She can hold a spoon.”

  “Well done,” I looked down at Ena. “Better than mummy already.”

  “Max,” Sally nudged me. “We meet up because we’re family, and we love each other, and that means hearing each other complain about work and stuff. This case was big, wasn’t it? So, tell me about it.”

  “I’m more interested in Ena and her spoon holding abilities.”

  “Tell us about your life, and we shall demonstrate the spoon holding abilities in person,” Sally said, reaching in to pull Ena out and hold her on her lap. “You can cuddle her for emotional support if you want,” she added, staring at me knowingly.

  “She’s a baby, not a teddy bear,” I said. But I reached over and took her anywhere, cradling her on my knee, wrapping my coat around her a bit. Sally smiled, reached her phone from her pocket and snapped a picture of us.

  “Really?”

  “The only two pictures I have of you two are in the hospital and at her christening. This is nice,” she smiled down at her phone. “I’ll put it in her room. You and Uncle Max,” she cooed, squishing Ena’s cheek.

  “She’s very cute,” I told her.

  “I know,” Sally beamed. “Now,” she put her phone away and clapped her hands down on her knees, “storytime.”

  I knew there was no getting out of it. When Sally wanted to know something, she would know it, and I didn’t put it past her to track down Mills and drag the case out of him if she had to. I thought I’d spare him that, and I also knew that if anyone understood what this case had meant for me, now and from back then, it would be Sally. I gave her a nod, looking down at Ena’s little head.

  “You win,” I told her.

  One

  Julia Brooks stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom, fixing her hair in a plait away from her face.

  “Where are you going?” Her mother asked, leaning against her door frame.

  “Just for a walk,” Julia replied. “I’ll be back for dinner.”

  Her mother hummed, a crease between her brows. “I still think we ought to meet this friend of yours,” she said.

  “Mum,” Julia sighed. “He’s just a friend, don’t worry so much.”

  “Nasty weather for a walk.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Looks like it’s going to rain.”

  Julia turned to face her mother, hands on her hips. “It’s not going to rain; I checked the forecast. It’s a walk, mum, honestly. I
will be back for dinner,” she insisted, kissing her on the cheek. “Where’s dad?”

  “Garden. He says there are newts in the pond.”

  “Thrilling stuff. Can I borrow your walking shoes?”

  Her mother nodded, turning and wandering from the room, grabbing the laundry from the basket as she went. Julia walked into her parent’s room and opened their wardrobe, grabbed the shoes from the shelf at the bottom and sat at the end of the bed, pulling them onto her feet. She’d been looking forward to this walk, to spend some time with him away from work for once. She’d met him there, serving his table a few times, and he was a little older than she was, but her dad was older than her mum, and they were happy enough.

  Plus, she thought with a smile, he was very good looking and her last boyfriend from university and looked a little like a weasel in the face. He was tall and strong, and if he wanted to go on a walk, then she would borrow her mum’s things and go for a nice walk. She doubted they’d go far anyway, maybe just along the river and back up, stopping in a pub or something. After the long shift she’d worked last night, she could use a relaxing date.

  Julia grabbed her mother’s raincoat from the wardrobe too, just to be on the safe side, and pulled it on over her jumper, zipping it halfway up. Walking back into her own room, she grabbed her purse and phone, checked her reflection once more in the mirror, and skipped downstairs.

  “Got everything?” her mother called from the kitchen. Julia walked in, joining her where she stood at the window, watching her dad potter down by the pond.

  “Yup,” she said.

  “Purse and phone?”

  “Got them.”