The DCI Yorke Series Boxset

by Wes Markin

  ‘Leaving without us?’ he said, darting forward and grabbing her hand. ‘I don’t think so somehow!’

  At first, she looked shocked, but then the expression on her withered face burst open like a salted slug. ‘Shoot him!’

  He looked at the broken girl, softening his expression. She looked as if she was about to collapse into tears. He attempted to offer her some kind of hope in his eyes. A promise of a way out.

  ‘For God sake, Martha, shoot him, he’s hurting me!’

  After throwing a sideways glance at her mother, Martha looked back at him and her lips started to tremble.

  ‘Are you fucking stupid, girl? Do it!’ Stella said.

  The boars charged again. Clattering around the enclosure, clashing with the door, calling out to their potential victims.

  Still gripping Stella’s hand, Yorke said, ‘Paul, help your mother up.’

  Yorke watched Martha’s eyes widen as she observed Paul assisting his mother.

  ‘Martha, do as you’re damn well told!’ Stella said.

  The young girl continued to stare at Paul and Sarah. Has their close bond caught her attention? Is there longing in her eyes? A desperation for something she doesn’t have?

  Stella leaned forward as she shouted and bubbles of spit appeared at the corners of her mouth. ‘You stupid fucking animal, Martha, I should have got rid of you years ago when my daughter died!’

  Tears started to roll down the girl’s face. She could barely hold the shotgun straight, and Yorke heard the fast, heavy beat of his heart as he considered what an accidental discharge would do to all of them. He said, ‘Martha, I’m begging you, we’re all innocent, put the gun down.’

  She lowered the gun. He was careful that his sigh of relief wasn’t audible and then he released the witch’s hand.

  ‘Idiot.’ Stella reached out to Martha. ‘Give me the fucking gun!’

  Martha pulled it back out of her reach. ‘No. You lied, Mother. You said they were bad.’

  ‘They are! Do you not listen to anything? Bad people are good at tricking folk.’

  Yorke stepped forward. ‘Okay Martha, give me the gun, then we can all leave, safely.’

  One of the boars took the door head on. Startled, Martha dropped the shotgun.

  Yorke turned to the Ray family. ‘Go now, and take Martha with you.’

  With his mother’s arm hooked around his shoulder, Paul took Martha’s hand as he passed her, and the three of them headed towards the door.

  ‘Stupid little bitch. Your father will turn in his grave,’ Stella said. There was a buzzing, followed by a thumping, as the door to the enclosure unlocked and came ajar. ‘You’re all too late anyway.’

  Fear whipped through Yorke’s belly. He shouted as loud as he could. ‘Run.’

  He watched the three of them retreat while the old woman darted forward and smashed her footrest into his shins. Wincing, he stumbled forward into her, and the chair toppled. He hit the floor, knocking the bottom of his spine and squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. When he opened them again, he saw his aggressor lying a metre in front of him like a pile of dirty laundry.

  The door of the enclosure creaked opened.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Paul called from near the exit.

  ‘Get the hell out!’ Yorke shouted back.

  Desperately, he scanned the floor for the shotgun that Martha had dropped. Once he sighted it, he crawled towards it as the first wild boar, a sizeable grey beast with huge tusks, emerged from the enclosure. From the corner of his eye, Yorke watched it take several deep sniffs of the air and look around.

  He heard Stella gasp beside him.

  From the exit, the others continued to call to him, but he struggled to understand everything they were saying; he was breathing too quickly and his heart was beating too fast. He saw the boar take several lumbering steps towards both of them. His hand closed on the gun, but the creature already seemed too close for him to make any sudden movements.

  Paul’s shouts suddenly seemed like they were miles away. ‘You have to get up and run!’

  The boar was barely a metre away from them. Its emotionless, black eyes seemed to regard Yorke for a moment, before swinging to Stella, and then back again.

  Jesus! Was it choosing?

  It began to sniff at Stella’s feet. ‘Help me.’ She scrunched her eyes up, and tried to shuffle away.

  Now or never. He held his breath and slowly rose to his feet.

  Almost whispering, he said, ‘Listen to me, Stella.’

  She nodded while the boar continued to investigate her. ‘When I tell you to, kick it!’

  ‘I can’t! Just shoot it, please!’ The boar was dragging its twitching snout up her leg.

  ‘It’ll hit you too. You have to kick the thing away first.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You really don’t have a choice.’

  Yorke heard the second wild boar emerge. He glanced over. ‘Ah shit.’

  This one was smaller, but far more energetic, and turned in circles while exiting, as if conducting a ritual dance. Clumps of mottled-grey hair rose from different parts of its body like weeds. It paused, clearly watching its companion sniffing at the crumpled-woman’s stomach.

  ‘Now, Stella!’

  Stella kicked out. The stunned boar scampered back and Yorke fired. The force of the shot propelled him back a step and the bang reverberated off the corrugated-metal walls. Despite the sudden ringing in his ears, he could hear the boar squealing as it reeled in the air. For a second, he panicked that it might just have enough in it to charge back, before it slumped to its side.

  ‘Shoot the other!’ Stella said.

  ‘There’s only one shot.’

  The second, more energetic, boar wasn’t scared by the death of its companion; rather, it seemed incensed. It sprinted towards Stella and leapt. There was a sickening crunch as the beast closed its teeth on her face as if it was a piece of fruit.

  The boar shook the screaming old woman; her arms and legs flapped about. Yorke charged forward, wielding the shotgun as a club, but the beast sensed him and started to back off toward the enclosure, dragging its catch along with it.

  He followed, but the beast continued to back away, sizing him up with its mouth full.

  She wasn’t moving. A deep growling sound from its throat warned him that it would fight back. On his own, he had little chance. The creature was too savage.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He ran for the door, trying to ignore the sounds of tearing and crunching behind him.

  Outside, the barn was suddenly illuminated. Chewing the snowy field up with their vehicles, the troops advanced.

  He waved his hands in the air, desperate for help, but knowing already it was too late.

  Inside the barn, the boar was feasting.

  Emergency vehicles spread like a rash and everything changed. Darkness and desolation were replaced with the beat of light and life. By the ambulance, Sarah had a motherly arm hooked around Martha. Paul had been given some glucose and looked a little better already.

  The snowfall had also started to relent.

  Yorke’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out of his coat and looked. Voicemail. He recalled the phone call from Jake earlier which he’d almost answered.

  He pressed the voicemail button on his phone, but when Paul walked over, he ended it before he’d heard the message.

  ‘I thought we were going to die in there,’ Paul said. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Don’t mention it. You were the brave one in all of this. Besides, it wasn’t just me - there were many others involved,’ Yorke said, thinking also of Jake who was worthy of some gratitude following the onerous task of collecting dirt samples. ‘The care you took of your mother was incredible. She must be proud.’

  ‘Is Lewis really dead?’ Paul said.

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry that he lied to you. It’s never good when a friend turns out not to be a friend after all.’ And it won’t be the last time you experience that either.
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  ‘Was he really related to me?’

  ‘It’s not confirmed yet, but it looks that way.’

  ‘Everything will be different now,’ Paul said, turning around and looking at Martha and his mother.

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t help your father in time, Paul.’

  Paul looked down at his feet. ‘You did everything you could.’

  ‘But not enough,’ Yorke said, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘You go and take care of your mother.’

  Paul started to turn.

  ‘One more thing,’ Yorke said.

  ‘Yes,’ Paul said, turning back.

  ‘Be nice to that girl, Martha. I don’t think she has much experience of people being nice to her.’

  ‘I will do, sir.’

  Yorke watched Paul walk off to join his mother, who was still holding Martha tightly. He turned away and took his phone out. He hit the voicemail button again. ‘You have one new message, received―’

  He saw Gardner walking toward him from the van. She had a purposeful stride.

  Now’s the time to start relaxing, Emma!

  He listened to the message from Jake. ‘Hi, sir, returning your call from earlier. Been with Sheila. Went well ... someone at the door, she’s either forgot something, or finally succumbed to the Pettman charm! Speak later.’

  He hung up and called Jake. As the phone rang, Gardner reached him. ‘We can’t get through to Jake.’

  ‘I’m trying now,’ Yorke said. ‘He tried to phone me, before.’

  After he was put through to voicemail, he felt his blood run cold. ‘He’s not answering.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re probably right. Still ...’

  He tried again. This time it seemed to ring for an eternity. And when he heard the click of the phone being answered, he assumed it was voicemail again, and his eyes widened from the sudden bolt of adrenaline.

  ‘Hello?’

  A woman’s voice. A familiar voice ... ‘Hello?’

  ‘Thank god. Sheila, are you okay?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine ... well at least I am now.’

  ‘Why? What happened?’ He saw Gardner’s eyes widen with concern.

  ‘Lacey Ray ... again. Jake will explain. Here he is.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Yes, what the hell happened?’

  ‘Lacey threatened Sheila with a knife, outside, while she was walking home.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  Gardner moved in closer and mouthed, ‘What?’

  Jake said. ‘She didn’t hurt her. Sheila ran straight back here, but she’s no idea where Lacey went.’

  Yorke looked at Gardner, sighed and mouthed, ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘Sheila thinks that if she hadn’t told her she was pregnant, she might have actually hurt her. Mike, I’m going to be a dad! Can you believe it?’

  Yorke ran his hand through his hair. ‘Congratulations, Jake. Now lock your fucking door and don’t move until we get there.’

  Epilogue

  LUCY EVANS WAS enjoying her first day.

  A night in the Holiday Inn, followed by a train journey from Salisbury to the airport had been and gone without incident.

  There had been a few curious police officers at Waterloo station, but the dark-brown wig and the heavy make-up covering up her bruises had kept them off her scent.

  At the airport, she stood in line for check-in. At the front of the queue an attractive BA check-in girl asked for her passport. A name badge read Jessica. She had a hole in her bottom lip where a stud belonged, and a Chinese letter tattooed behind one ear. Lucy smiled at her longer than she needed to. If only I had time, we could have some fun, she thought as she handed over her passport.

  ‘Any bags for check-in?’ Jessica said as she tapped on the keyboard.

  ‘No.’ Of course not, I am new to the world, I have no possessions.

  She was handed her boarding pass, and then a dangerous look of curiosity spread over Jessica’s face. She kept hold of the boarding pass as Lucy tried to take it, locking it between them.

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  Had Jessica seen today’s papers? Was she noticing the resemblance to Lacey Ray?

  ‘No, Ms Evans,’ Jessica said, smiling and releasing the boarding pass. ‘I just thought we’d met before.’

  ‘If you’d met me before, you wouldn’t forget me,’ Lucy said, winking. You were just daydreaming about a night of passion, weren’t you?

  Jessica blushed.

  She headed toward the security gate, threw her passport, boarding pass, shoes, purse, phone, belt and some loose coins from her suit pocket into the plastic tray, and watched them disappear down the conveyer belt. A tired-looking man with a few remaining strands of hair glued down with gel waited for her on the other side of the security gate. She lifted her arms and he swept her with a metal detector. ‘Looks like you’ve had a nasty accident,’ he said.

  No amount of make-up seemed to be covering up these bruises. Ah, Phil, you were such a bastard!

  When she returned to the conveyor belt, a wiry man was holding the plastic tray and eyeing her up and down. ‘Could you step over here, please Ms?’ He nodded at a small area to his left.

  ‘Why, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Please, Ms?’

  She did as he said. ‘Is there something in my purse?’

  ‘No, it’s not that.’

  Lucy was yet to experience the thrill of killing. Of course, it came highly recommended from the now-departed Lacey. She wondered if it would be worth killing the security guard, before his colleagues arrived to arrest her. She didn’t have any weapons on her, but she wondered if she could break his neck. He was thin and bony, and she did have strong upper body strength; Lacey had left her with a well-toned body.

  She heard another security guard approaching her from behind.

  It can’t end now - I’ve not been given the chance to shine yet!

  ‘John,’ the wiry man said, ‘is this really her?’

  Lucy turned and looked at John; he was squat and well-built. It would be much more difficult to break his neck. He took another step toward her, looking her up and down.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ John said.

  How unfair, what a waste! What a legacy I would have left, if I’d only got to France. Well, if I go down, you two are coming with me.

  ‘Sorry, Ms,’ John said. ‘But I wondered if I could get your autograph?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘My wife always watches your show.’

  Lucy smiled. ‘Really?

  ‘Yes, she hangs off your every word!’

  Lucy shook her head from side to side, smiling. Unbelievable! ‘Who do you think I am exactly?’

  ‘The presenter from that daily show, you know, the one after six, the name escapes me, as does yours sorry, but─’

  Lucy laughed. She couldn’t help herself. And it wasn’t a giggle either; it was a full-on, teeth bared, chest-shaking laugh. It took a moment for her to collect herself, and when she had done, she noticed that John was red-faced.

  ‘Her name’s Lucy Evans,’ the wiry man said behind her, looking through her passport. ‘Ring a bell, John?’

  John frowned. ‘No, that’s not the name. Sorry Ms, I could have sworn you were that lady.’

  She turned back to the wiry security guard and collected her belongings. ‘Never mind, I’ll take it as a compliment!’

  She walked off to find her boarding gate, still laughing. Her new life was proving to be a lot of fun already.

  Later, during take-off, Lucy slipped Jake’s business card out of her pocket.

  She sighed and screwed it up.

  You can’t have everything.

  She stared out of the window at the shrinking airport, chewing her bottom lip, thinking. Then, she looked back down at the ball of card in her hand and unscrewed it, smiling.

  No, you can’t have everything ... at least not in one go.

 
It was a Saturday like any other for Michael Yorke.

  Alone, worn out after a week of warming up cold cases, slightly hung over from six take-out beers from the Wyndham Arms the previous evening, desperate to go for a run despite the bad weather.

  The letterbox flapped. He groaned and dragged himself from the sofa to retrieve a soft-brown package from the front door.

  He read what was scrawled on the front of the package:

  Eileen died yesterday.

  She wanted you to give this to Paul.

  Her way of saying sorry, I guess.

  Roy Holmes.

  Yorke tore off the brown paper and took a deep breath.

  Holding it against his stomach, he let the blue and white scarf unravel like an umbilical cord.

  He breathed out, put the scarf to his nose and smelled the smoke from the fire that had burned beside her.

  He remembered the sound of her knitting needles. Click-click. Click-click.

  He then thought about Charlotte. Not many days went by without his thoughts turning in her direction. He thought about his experience all those years ago. Thought about a time which, he believed, had truly defined him.

  After slipping the scarf in his pocket, he opened the door and went out into the cold, suddenly determined to make this day different from all of the others.

  Acknowledgments

  Massive thanks must go to both Jake for his encouragement, enthusiasm and know-how – without him, this book would surely still be just an ambition; to Debbie at The Cover Collection for her relentless pursuit of a good front cover; and Ian for his work on the website design.

  Thank you to all of you who took the time to read early drafts and offer valuable feedback, especially my wife, Jo, my father, Peter, and fellow author and editor, Eve Seymour. Please know that every recommendation to a friend, share on social media or kind message, means so much to me.

  Lastly, thank you to every reader who has taken the time to read my work and listen to my stories, and to the amazing bloggers who have done so much to help me along this journey.

  The Repenting Serpent