Snake in the Grass
A DI Mitchell Yorkshire Crime Thriller
Oliver Davies
Contents
Prologue
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
Epilogue
A Message from the Author
Prologue
The rain had been coming down hard for days and, from the heavy look of the bruised-grey clouds overhead, it would carry on pouring for some time yet. I hoped that the lad would remember to bring a brolly this time, because he’d certainly need it in the soaking gale that was whipping down the street outside.
Liam must be getting on for fifteen now, I mused as I made my way through into the kitchen to fix myself a warming cup of tea. He’d grown every time I saw him, and even in the few months since I’d first met him, his articles writing up my tales of the past had gotten increasingly sophisticated. My wife and I had no grandchildren, so to see the young lad growing up in the gaps between his visits felt a privilege, and I always looked forward to seeing his shock of red hair, freckled face, and the protruding ears he was still growing into.
My wife was out, attending a friend’s funeral, and the house was thick with quiet. There were the quiet ticks and creaks of a cooling house that were almost out of my hearing range these days, and the lonely battering of the wind at the windows and walls. The fireplace in the sitting room held only a gas fire now and was securely blocked up, but the one in the upstairs bedroom was an original that whistled hollowly and dripped in the wet weather.
Here in the suburbs, well away from the river, my wife and I weren’t in danger from flooding, but I’d seen on the national news that it was worse than usual in York city centre. I’d not been to see the river when it was high in some time, but I remembered perfectly clearly what it looked like when the brown water rose, swallowing up the banks and drowning the paths all along the river’s sides. The churning flood water wetted the arches of the ancient bridge right up to the keystone when it was at its highest, and great clumps of wood and debris got caught against the thick, stone supports. Afterwards, when the water finally retreated, weeds strung the bankside trees, and mud painted them thickly, and the paths along the sides would be a scattered mess of freshwater flotsam and jetsam: plant matter, plastic rubbish, and the occasional dead fish.
The doorbell rang shrilly, and I startled, jolted from my thoughts. My cup of tea had gone cold in my hand, and I tipped it down the sink before heading down the corridor and towards the door. Crossing even that short distance took me longer than it used to, and I frowned at the stiffness in my legs. I usually made sure to get a long walk in every morning, but this incessant rain had driven me indoors, and I could feel the difference in my aching joints.
Opening the door to see the little lad, still not tall enough to reach my shoulder despite his growth spurts, on the doorstep lifted my mood immediately. His dad was hovering behind, both of them sheltering under a beleaguered umbrella that was being blown every which way in the gusts, and I ushered them inside.
“Awful weather, isn’t it?” Liam’s dad, Douglas Perry, said as he stepped onto the porch and shook himself off, collapsing his dripping brolly.
“Aye, miserable,” I agreed.
I noticed Douglas’s car parked up outside the house and nodded in approval to see that it wasn’t blocking the drive, so my wife wouldn’t have trouble parking up later. I pushed the door shut to keep out the cold and damp and followed Liam and his father into the sitting room, where Liam was already setting himself up.
I smiled at his eagerness, and his dad and I shared a fond look. The lad’s enthusiasm and drive were both impressive and endearing, and I thought he would go far with an attitude like the one he had now.
“Can I get you two something to drink?”
“Hot chocolate?” Liam looked up.
Douglas nudged his son gently. “Manners, kiddo.”
Liam huffed at that.
“Can I have a hot chocolate, please?” he said, all in a rush, before looking at me hopefully.
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “We’ve got some cocoa we can sweeten up. And you, Mr Perry?”
The man, an older carbon-copy of his son, smiled up at me from where he was sitting on the sofa.
“Call me Douglas, please,” he corrected. “And I’d love a good, strong coffee.”
“A man after my own heart,” I said in approval. I didn’t drink much coffee these days, since the high caffeine affected me in ways it hadn’t when I was Douglas’s age, but I appreciated someone who loved the stuff as much as I had.
I turned up the gas fire before leaving them alone, filling up the kettle and getting the drinks on. The wind still gusted wildly outside, and the rain came down in thick sheets. The little garden me and my wife planted was sodden, the grass like an oversaturated sponge, and the water butt was overflowing.
I carried the drinks on a tray, along with a plate of gooey brownies baked earlier today in preparation for Liam coming over. The lad’s eyes went comically wide when he saw the brownies, and Douglas chuckled quietly.
“Hot chocolate and brownies? You’re being spoilt, son.”
“It won’t ruin his tea, I hope?”
Douglas shook his head. “Liam can eat more than the rest of us put together,” he said, ruffling his son’s hair, much to the lad’s annoyance.
But the kid was quickly appeased with a square of brownie and the hot cocoa, which Douglas was looking at with apparent envy.
“I can make you one too,” I said, amused, as Douglas watched his son lick a half-melted marshmallow off the top of his drink.
Douglas looked a touch sheepish and picked up his coffee. “Too much sugar for me these days,” he said, “but it sure as heck looks good.”
“Aye,” I agreed as I settled myself into the armchair by the window and took a sip of my tea. “Too sweet for us adult folk, but perfect for cold high-schoolers.”
Liam had sucked down half of his cocoa within a minute and had mostly devoured his brownie, too, already starting to fidget. He wanted to get on with hearing the story, I knew. I took another sip of tea and settled back into my chair, getting comfortable. It was just after four now, but telling an entire case, with all the little details that Liam was interested in, had taken us several hours in the past, and I expected it’d be past dark by the time we finished up.
“Alright then,” I said. The gas fire hissed quietly in the grate, and I could feel the flickering warmth of it on my legs. “What case do you want today?”
Liam perked up immediately, swallowing the last mouthful of his still-steaming cocoa and set it down so he could type on his laptop with two hands.
“I thought it’d be good to have another murder case,” he said, speaking quickly. “People are always interested in those, and it’s been a while since we did one.”
I nodded at that; the last couple of cases I’d relayed to Liam hadn’t involved outright murder, though the last one had come too close. I listened to the rain hammering down on the other side of the double glazing and thought again about the floo
ding.
“There were a series of murders,” I started, as the thought came to me and I tried to remember exactly how the case had unfolded, “a long time back, at the same time as some awful flooding.”
Liam looked eager at the sound of that. “That sounds great,” he said warmly, before continuing on almost to himself, “I can relate it to the flooding happening now, and compare the flood levels, and it’ll make readers more engaged.” He gave a little nod and tapped away at his laptop, noting down his ideas, no doubt.
His dad and I waited patiently for the lad to finish, and then both Liam and Douglas Perry’s eyes were on me, waiting for the story. I took another sip of tea to wet my mouth and looked past them towards the window as I thought.
“The floodwaters always churn the river right up,” I began, “and sometimes, they wash up more than rusty shopping trolleys and old wood. That winter, we had more than a few grim finds.”
One
That evening, the streets of York felt as wild, empty, and wind-buffeted as the moors that I’d once run. The dark November nights had closed in, the gusts alternated between pushing me forwards and pulling me back, and the rain was as hard and cold as chips of ice, coming in at a sharp angle. My heart thudding hard with exertion and excitement, I ran hard and fast. In this weather, I felt the same rush I used to feel when the wind got up on the Yorkshire fells, and I relished in the feeling of being the only person out in this weather.
I’d heard about the floodwaters in the city centre as the River Ouse spilt its banks and left the surrounding buildings wrapped in murky water. I ran down the streets towards the modern Millenium Bridge near Fulford park, pulling up short at the gate to catch my breath.
Not only was the path by the river overrun with water, but the grassy parkland was, too, the pools of river water lapping against the soaked grass. I looked out at the swollen river, spinning and seething with fast currents and fleeting whirlpools, as the rain continued to lash down. My hair was plastered to my skull, droplets running down my back, and I shook my head like a dog before heading back the way I’d come.
Sam would likely be back at my flat by now, waiting for me to hurry home so that we could eat dinner together. We’d parted ways after work with her veering off into the dry warmth of the gym, and me off out on my wet, cold, and thrilling run.
I could feel the drag in my tired legs, and my chest was heaving, but the boisterous weather kept my energy up as I ran back towards the block of flats where I’d lived the past two years. I’d expected to miss running the fells when I moved from rural Lockdale to central York, following my ambition to be a DCI, but I’d found enough joy in city running, and the friendships I’d made at the police station in Hewford made my life feel plenty full enough.
I shook off the worst of the wet as I unlocked the door with wet, stiff fingers and climbed the stairs up to my flat. I fumbled to get the keys in the lock, beginning to shiver now that I was no longer running, but Sam opened the door before I could.
“Come on- Oh, you’re soaked,” she said, her bright, hazel eyes widening. “Stay there. I’ll get you a towel.”
I huffed in amusement as she hurried off, leaving me dripping in the hall. I stripped off my mud-splattered outer coat, fluorescent yellow to make me stand out in the wintry dark, and unlaced the clammy laces of my filthy trainers.
“You’re a state,” Sam said fondly as she wrapped me in towels, drying my hair off. We stepped into the flat, and I nudged the door shut behind us, stealing a kiss from Sam.
I was getting myself sorted out, craving a shower to warm me up, when Sam called through.
“The station called for you.”
“What about?” I stilled.
She came through into the bathroom as I was climbing into the shower and leaned on the doorframe. “I don’t know, but the Superintendent sounded agitated.”
That was my boss, John Gaskell, and Sam’s words made me frown. Gaskell wasn’t one to get het up about much, so it must be something more serious than a few drunken yobs getting into a fight. In this weather, even the usual troublemakers stayed indoors and, though traffic accidents were more common, rainy winter nights normally made for an uneventful time at Hewford. But, apparently, not so tonight.
I got showered quickly, getting briefly distracted by Sam before she laughed and skipped out to finish our dinner, and got dressed again. On a normal evening, I’d have put on something more comfortable, but I was expecting to have to dash again, so jeans and a thick jumper it was.
The kitchen smelled heavenly of warm dough and baking cheese from the homemade pizza Sam had made, and I reluctantly picked up my work phone from where I’d left it on the counter. If it was something serious, I’d have to head out and abandon our planned evening, and I wanted little less.
But it was the way of the job and what I’d signed up for when I was promoted to a senior position, and I tapped in Gaskell’s number to call him back.
“Where’ve you been?” were Gaskell’s first snapped words down the phone.
I tensed, taken aback. “Out running, sir.”
Gaskell heaved a sigh, and even through the phone’s poor sound quality, I could hear his tiredness.
“We need you over here, lad,” he explained. “Sedgwick is off on another case, and we’ve got a dead body.”
I pressed a hand to my forehead and closed my eyes briefly. I could hear the wind and rain in the background of Gaskell’s call and guessed that he was outside.
“I’ll be there, sir,” I said wearily. “Where are you?”
Gaskell reeled off a set of instructions for where I was to park, and how to find them, before he abruptly hung up the phone.
Sam was taking the pizza out of the oven as I put the phone in my pocket, and she caught sight of my expression almost immediately. I saw her confusion move into disappointment as she took in the resigned look on my face, before she gave me a small, weak smile.
“You have to go.” It wasn’t a question.
“Aye,” I said, coming over to wrap my arms around her. She sighed and relaxed into my hold, her head resting on my shoulder. Her fair hair smelled softly of lavender and tickled my jaw. She kissed me on the cheek and let me go.
“Be careful.”
“I always am, ma’am.” I tipped an imaginary cap.
She quirked a smile. “From what Stephen tells me, you most certainly are not.”
“He exaggerates,” I said, tugging on my thickest coat and bundled up with a scarf, expecting to be out in the cold for some time. Even when it was soaked through, a pure wool scarf will still keep you warm.
“Don’t forget gloves,” she said, pressing them into my hands.
I stuffed them into my pocket and picked up my keys. “Leave me some pizza.”
She smiled crookedly. “Don’t be too long, then.”
“I’ll do my best,” I promised, before I regretfully left her and the warmth of the flat behind and jogged down the stairs not half an hour since I’d come up them. I’d hoped for a quiet evening with Sam, but it wasn’t to be. She was staying over tonight, though, so at least I wouldn’t be returning to an empty flat and, if I did get back late, we could have breakfast together tomorrow morning.
Gaskell hadn’t told me much on the phone which left my imagination to run free as I drove over, parking up close enough to the river that I could hear the rush of the water as I climbed out. There were voices, movement, and the bobbing of hand-held torches further down, at the edge of the rippling water, and I made my way carefully towards them.
Someone shone a torch in my face as I drew close, but they hastily lowered it before I could protest.
“About time you turned up,” Stephen said in his low, jovial voice. He passed me a torch of my own, and I flicked it on, the beam catching the heavy rain still coming down. He leaned closer to say, “I’m glad Sam let us have you for the evening.”
I shoved him lightly. Sam and I had met at work and were colleagues, though we worked in different
departments, her in the labs and me working as a detective in the office area. Technically, Gaskell had forbidden us from being involved together, but keeping it quiet seemed to be working so far. I started walking towards the main hub of activity, picking my way down the path towards the hub of activity, and Stephen joined me at my side.
“Fill me in?” I asked.
He sighed, and even in the dark, I knew exactly what his expression would look like as he shifted gears from friendly and joking to seriousness.
“A dog walker found the body after the dog made a fuss about it,” he said as we walked.
“Is it a student?” I frowned, watching where I was putting my feet but listening closely. The most frequent incidents of drowning in York were of students who didn’t understand how dangerous the river was. They thought they were invincible and jumped into the river, or fell while drunk. Every year, the university held a talk about river safety for the incoming freshers, but there were still near-misses and deaths.
But Stephen shook his head, the movement visible as we drew closer to the cluster of lights that I could see now focused on a body pulled a short way from the water’s edge.
“No. An older man, actually. He’s not been in the river long, it looks like.”
“Do we know who he is?” I asked as we came to a stop close to the body, but not so close as to get in the way of the forensics team.
Illuminated under the harsh, magnesium-white LED lamps, the dead man lying on the silty ground looked grey, his cheeks sallow. His thin, dark hair was slicked back by the water, and he dressed in smart black work trousers and a blazer jacket, like he’d come directly from work. He looked about my age, and pity pinched my heart.
Snakes in the Grass (A DI Mitchell Yorkshire Crime Thriller Book 5) Page 1