‘I know what I heard,’ he said with a laugh. Then he spotted the taxi pulling up outside. ‘’Ey up,’ he muttered, peering through the window. ‘Who’s this?’
It took a moment for him to realise. The implications of a taxi up here. It had to be bad news. They’d found something up at Rainsrigg.
He stepped out into the yard. Heart thumping. He saw the rear door open, a woman get out, hood up. She paid the driver and turned towards him, the car pulling away. Then she spoke.
‘Hi, Jiminy Cricket.’
He thought he’d misheard. The nickname. The one only she used.
The woman put down her hood and he saw the hair. The face.
‘Livvy . . . ?’
She was nodding, coming towards him, her arms open. He felt the tears on his face, heard Gemma calling from the house. And then she was hugging him. His sister. His very own Livvy. Back from the dead.
29
‘What a rum do!’ muttered Sergeant Clayton, pushing back his helmet and staring at the desolate landscape. ‘She was alive all this time.’
‘The Craven Herald will have a field day with this,’ said Danny Bradley, eyes wide with amazement.
‘As will Mrs Pettiford,’ muttered Delilah, provoking a laugh from Samson standing next to her.
On Samson’s return from Hardacre’s farm, the two of them had ridden up to Rainsrigg on the Royal Enfield to break the news about Livvy’s return. In the grounds of Quarry House, the forensics team were already packing away their equipment under the wall of rock that reared above them.
‘We’ll need a statement, most likely,’ said Sergeant Clayton.
‘I’m sure Livvy will be happy to produce one,’ said Samson.
The sergeant scratched his head, pulled his helmet back into place and hitched his trousers up over his generous waist. ‘Well, well, well,’ he murmured. ‘I don’t think we’ve ever had the like around these parts before.’
‘Will there be an investigation?’ asked Danny.
‘Into what?’
The young constable shrugged. ‘I don’t know. The lies. The reasons behind them.’
‘Seems fairly cut-and-dried to me,’ said the sergeant. ‘A man beating his wife and daughter. Threatening to kill them. I’d lie, if it meant I could get away from that.’
‘And they haven’t broken any laws, have they?’ asked Delilah.
‘None as I can think of.’
‘I still think it warrants more scrutiny,’ insisted Danny.
‘Aye, well, when you reach my age and you’ve got a bit more experience under your belt – and I’m not talking just doughnuts – then you’ll see it differently. The lass is home. That’s a better result than we were expecting to find up here. As for what happened back then, it’s like Livvy told Samson. Domestic abuse. It were a mercy Carl Thornton took the way out he did. Even if it was over misplaced remorse. So enough about investigations and the like, young Danny. How’s about you get over there and help them lads pack up instead?’
The constable cast a glance at Samson, shrugged and then wandered over to help in the dismantling of the tent that covered Red’s resting place.
‘He’s sharp, that one,’ said Sergeant Clayton watching Danny walk away. ‘Reminds me of you.’ Then he turned to Samson and, from the look in his eye, Samson knew that Bruncliffe’s sergeant wasn’t fooled by the suicide of Carl Thornton. The man was a lot more astute than Samson gave him credit for. It was something worth bearing in mind over the coming weeks.
‘Right, we’d best go rescue Tolpuddle,’ said Samson, turning towards the bike.
Delilah laughed. ‘Yes, Ida’s probably polished his paws and dusted his ears by now.’
‘Thanks, O’Brien.’ Sergeant Clayton shook Samson’s hand with a firm grasp. ‘I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. It’s good to have you back. And as for you, lass,’ he turned to Delilah, taking a step back, a twinkle in his eye. ‘You know how to make a proper brew.’
She grinned. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
Shouting a last goodbye to Danny, Samson and Delilah walked away from the garden of Quarry House to the motorbike out front. The snow had melted, leaving the green of the lawn vibrant and sprinkled with the drooping heads of snowdrops. In the borders, a few early daffodils were opening in bursts of yellow, new life coming with the spring.
‘We make a good team,’ said Delilah.
Samson grinned. ‘Of sorts.’
‘I mean it,’ she continued. ‘Not just this case, but the others too. And the work for the social club.’
‘What work for the social club? You didn’t even turn up for the meeting!’
‘I was busy,’ she protested. ‘But it’s not too late to add my expertise. We should go into business. Properly.’
‘Let me think about it,’ said Samson.
Delilah pouted. ‘Don’t spend too long thinking. I might withdraw the offer.’
They reached the motorbike and Samson paused, turning back to her. ‘You haven’t asked,’ he said. ‘How I got on with the mystery letter writer.’
She smiled. ‘Some things are better off not talked about,’ she said. ‘No harm done in the end.’
He stared at her, sensing a wisdom that sprang from a life lived amongst people – people she really cared about. Another one he’d have to be wary of in the coming weeks.
Then she took a deep breath of the fresh air that had a hint of warmth to it. ‘So, back to the office? Amazingly, Clive Knowles has had a couple of enquires on his dating profile, which I need to field.’
Sensing she was as reluctant as he was to go back to work on such a lovely day, Samson shrugged. ‘If you want. Although I thought I’d go and see my dad.’
‘That’s a great idea.’
He checked to see if she was being sarcastic, but she wasn’t, her face flushed, slightly averted from him.
‘Seriously, Samson,’ she said, turning back to him with a smile as bright as the morning, ‘that’s a really great idea.’
Her smile and the sunshine made him reckless. ‘Do you want to come, too? With Tolpuddle? We could go for a walk or something . . . ?’ He grinned. ‘Maybe even have a picnic down by the river. As long as we bring our coats.’
Delilah laughed. ‘That would be lovely.’
Samson nodded, and was about to put his helmet on when he paused, head cocked towards the fells. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘What?’
‘A curlew.’
Delilah listened, straining to hear the mournful cry of the bird that heralded spring in the Dales. She heard nothing but the caw of a distant crow and the whistle of the wind coming down through the quarry.
‘You’ve been away too long,’ she said, slapping her helmet on. ‘You’ve forgotten what a curlew sounds like. And besides, it’s way too early.’
He laughed, got on the bike and started the engine, Delilah climbing up behind him. Thinking about families and secrets, and the burdens children were often made to carry, he rode down towards Bruncliffe. Spring was coming. On a day like today, it was possible to feel all would be right with the world.
Epilogue
‘How long’s he been in there?’
‘Too early to say, guv.’
DCI Frank Thistlethwaite stood up, the smell of the canal mixing with the stench of the body lying on the towpath. It wasn’t the best way to start such a lovely morning.
‘Murder?’
‘I reckon, guv. That jacket didn’t get tightened round his throat of its own accord.’
Frank glanced at the tattered black fabric that was wrapped around the dead man like a garrotte. Whatever had occurred before the killing, the jacket had been torn to shreds in the savagery of it. ‘Anything else of note?’
The sergeant held out a plastic bag. ‘We found this in one of his pockets. Might be something. Might be nothing.’
It was a business card, a small laminate wallet protecting it from the watery grave that had held the man’s body. Frank turn
ed it over, taking in the name on the front. And he knew it was something. Something big indeed.
‘Samson O’Brien,’ he muttered.
‘A private detective, by all accounts,’ said the sergeant, gesturing at the card in Frank’s hands. ‘Reckon we might need to talk to him about this.’
Frank handed back the bag. ‘Keep me posted on this one.’
He walked away deep in thought. Thinking about Samson O’Brien. The man was trouble. And it looked like trouble was about to catch up with him. In more ways than one.
Acknowledgements
As the third instalment of the Dales Detective comes to a close, it merely remains for me to express my gratitude to a brilliant bunch of people who have helped shape this novel. All of them have offered up their expertise willingly – what I have chosen to do with their advice in no way reflects on them. I owe each and every one a couple of Mrs Hargreaves’ steak-and-ale pies!
First up, a massive thanks to forensic scientist Kevin Jack, whose patience with my rookie questions is unfailing and whose enthusiasm for his subject is contagious. Another man who shows no disdain for my amateur approach to his profession is Harry Carpenter – thanks for keeping the police bits as real as they can be in a work of fiction, Harry (and for providing great shelter on a bike!).
Someone else who keeps me company on a bike while sharing her knowledge freely is Catherine Speakman of North West Equine Vets. Being blindsided with random questions about Weimaraners and alcohol doesn’t seem to faze her. I’ll have to try harder. Equally, thanks to my two cousins (two of many), Josephine and Laura Taylor, who didn’t blink when I bombarded them with queries about the note-taking habits of the younger generation.
A special mention in this book must go to the wonderful ladies that make up Austwick WI. Not only did they invite me to speak at one of their sessions but together they helped me name Tom Hardacre who walks across these pages – I only hope he doesn’t disappoint you, ladies! And as always, I have to acknowledge the amazing support of my family – in a busy year, particular thanks to Claire for finding the time to read the first draft of Date with Mystery. Cheers, ears!
Three books in now and the team at Pan Macmillan are still excelling. A big thanks to my editor, Vicki, for putting me through my paces and encouraging me to produce my best, and to her fabulous assistant, Matt. I’m also indebted to the editing crew of Natalie, Mandy and Fraser, whom I continue to learn from and love working with. On the PR side of things, Alice remains the best publicist I’ve ever had the pleasure to work alongside – arigatō, Alice – and the sterling efforts of Andy have ensured that every bookshop in the north of England knows about the Dales Detective series. Last but not least, thanks to my agent, Oli – a great champion of my writing and a lovely man to have a pint with.
Finally, my eternal thanks go to the gods that sent me Mark – you’re an absolute rock and after a manic twelve months, I reckon it must be my turn to cook by now. Luckily I know where I can get some cracking steak-and-ale pies . . .
DATE WITH DEATH
Murder’s no cup of tea . . .
Samson O’Brien has been dismissed from the police force, and returns to his home town of Bruncliffe in the Yorkshire Dales to set up the Dales Detective Agency while he fights to clear his name. However, the people of Bruncliffe aren’t so welcoming to a man they see as trouble.
Delilah Metcalfe, meanwhile, is struggling to keep her business, the Dales Dating Agency, afloat – as well as trying to control her wayward Weimaraner dog, Tolpuddle. Then when Samson gets his first case, investigating the supposed suicide of a local man, things take an unexpected turn, and soon he is discovering a trail of deaths that lead back to the door of Delilah’s agency.
With suspicion hanging over someone they both care for, the two feuding neighbours soon realise that they need to work together to solve the mystery of the dating deaths. But this is easier said than done . . .
Date with Death, the first in the Dales Detective series, is out now
DATE WITH MALICE
Deep in the dale, murder is brewing . . .
When a pensioner turns up at the Dales Detective Agency and tells Samson O’Brien that someone in her old people’s home is trying to kill her, he dismisses her fears as the ramblings of a confused elderly lady. But after several disturbing incidents at Fellside Court, he begins to wonder if perhaps there is something malicious at the heart of the retirement community after all.
With Christmas around the corner, Samson is thrown into an investigation that will require all of his detective skills. And the help of the tempestuous Delilah Metcalfe in order to infiltrate the local community that Samson turned his back on so long ago. Against the background of a Yorkshire winter, Samson and Delilah must work together to uncover the malevolence which is threatening the lives of Bruncliffe’s senior citizens; a malevolence that will come perilously close to home.
Date with Malice, the second in the Dales Detective series, is out now
Praise for the Dales Detective series
‘A classic whodunit featuring two very likeable characters
. . . A satisfying read riddled with dry Yorkshire humour
(and dry stone walls)’ – CATH STAINCLIFFE
‘Chapman delivers on every level in this intriguing
murder mystery . . . a big helping of recognizable
small-town life, a suitably menacing air of malevolence,
an undercurrent of suspense, lashings of Yorkshire wit
and a seductively simmering relationship between
handsome Sansom and the delightful Delilah’
– Lancashire Evening Post
‘Great fun’ – CAROL DRINKWATER
‘All the ingredients of a good murder-mystery are here,
served up with a generous dollop of humour. It makes
for a delightful read’ – Dalesman
‘Nicely told and rather charming, so it should give
traditionalists hours of innocent delight’
– Literary Review
‘Bags of Yorkshire charm and wit’ – Northern Echo
‘An engaging twist on the lonely-hearts killer motif . . .
should leave readers eager for the sequel’
– Publishers Weekly
‘An engaging cast of characters and a cleverly clued puzzle
move Chapman’s debut to the top of the English village
murder list’ – Kirkus
Date with Mystery
Julia Chapman is the pseudonym of Julia Stagg, who has had five novels, the Fogas Chronicles set in the French Pyrenees, published by Hodder. Date with Mystery is the third in the Dales Detective series, following on from Date with Malice.
Also by Julia Chapman
Date with Death
Date with Malice
First published 2018 by Pan Books
This electronic edition published 2018 by Pan Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-5098-2386-4
Copyright © Julia Chapman 2018
Illustrations by Emily Sutton
The right of Julia Chapman to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Pan Macmillan does not have any control over, or any responsibility for, any author or third-party websites referred to in or on this book.
You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Lib
rary.
Visit www.panmacmillan.com to read more about all our books and to buy them. You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events, and you can sign up for e-newsletters so that you’re always first to hear about our new releases.
Date with Mystery Page 35