Tag Archives: crime fiction

The Brief-Case Affair – The Prologue

Here it is, the start of The Brief-Case Affair, my first comedy crime story starring Kevin and Marjorie Shakespeare. This is a work in progress so please feel free to make any comments (good or bad – I don’t mind as long as they’re constructive) at the end of this post. The more comments I get, the better a feel I’ll get for how this is being received, so please don’t be shy.

The Prologue

All right, take your seats, please. Hurry up now. Take your seats.

Settle down, Robert.

I don’t care if William has your pencil case. That is no excuse for sitting slumped on your chair with your tie askew, your jacket still on and your finger in Maisie’s ear.

I really couldn’t care less if it’s called a Wet Willy, Robert. The simple fact is we do not lick our fingers and stick them in anyone’s orifices.

No, Robert, not even our own.

No – ‘a Wet Willy for William’ is not acceptable either; no matter how alliteratively pleasing it may sound.

All right, can we settle down, please? Now, we are continuing on from our previous lesson. Now, who has done their homework on Willy Russell’s Blood Brothers?

I see. In that case has anyone read the passage with the policeman?

Yes, Matilda.

No, Willy Russell isn’t called Willy because he was given a Wet Willy. Willy Russell is called Willy because it is a diminutive, or shortening if you will, of the name William.

No, Maggie, that doesn’t mean we can start calling William Willy – not unless that is what he wishes to be called, that is.

Mr Priestly, that is not acceptable in my class.

I couldn’t give a tinker’s toss, Mr Priestly, threatening to drop your trousers to expose your willy to the class is neither big nor clever.

No, I’m not referring to its size – I’m referring to you, Mr Priestly.

Frankly, I don’t care what Kirsty says about your willy. It is neither relevant to this class, nor conducive to the educational atmosphere we are trying to create…

I’m trying to create it.

I really don’t think that is any of your business, thank you, Kelly.

Sorry?

Ah, now that is a very good question, Victor. Who can answer Victor’s question?

He asked what an orifice is.

Victor did.

An orifice.

That’s an office.

No, that is not the same thing, Matilda.

The appearance of several similar letters in a word does not make the words the same.

Does anyone have any sensible ideas of what an orifice is?

Nobody?

Well, orifice is a noun used to describe an opening into something. Frequently we use it to describe particular openings into the human body like a nostril. In this instance, I used it to describe the opening more commonly referred to as William’s ear.

Yes, Suzanne?

Suzanne, I really wish you’d pay attention in class. It really is important that you are alert and on the ball from the moment you arrive. Everything we talk about could be vital to your exams.

Ah – that is why I am the teacher and you are but a humble student.

Yes, well I know you’re not particularly humble. Perhaps if you followed Charlie’s example, you’d be getting better grades…

Charlie! What’s so interesting outside the window that you can’t pay attention to my class?

I don’t think it is.

I definitely don’t think it’s a canary – it looks more like a tit to me.

I think you are confusing yourself there, Martin. Charlie couldn’t possibly be a tit. Apart from the anatomical differences between tits and humans, Charlie doesn’t have the distinctive yellow, blue and white patterning that makes that bird a clear example of the common, garden-variety blue tit.

Yes, Martin, the difference, of course is that the blue tit has those colours naturally. Charlie has blonde hair and insists on caking her face with blue make-up. That’s entirely different.

I don’t think we need to refer to other people’s breasts in such a derogatory term, do we William?

Sorry, Suzanne?

Well, if you were paying attention, you’d know exactly what’s going on.

Excuse me?

What about my orifices?

Oh, I see. Yes. We were talking about orifices. Yes, Robert was trying to put a Wet Willy into William’s orifice, and Victor wanted to know what an orifice is. Does that answer your question?

Yes, Matilda, I imagine you can put real willies into orifices, but I have no intention of going down that line of conversation. Now, I think you’ve distracted me enough for one day. Can you please open your books to page…

Mr Priestly – I will not ask you again. I’m sure Maisie doesn’t appreciate that bouncing next to her ear.

Oh really, and what makes you so sure she does?

Well tell her to put it away. She shouldn’t have that out in class anyway.

Now who can tell me what the significance of the policeman visiting the two boys’ parents is?

Anybody?

In Blood Brothers.

The play we’re reading.

Yes, that one.

Michael?

I’m not sure that’s entirely relevant. You are, of course, correct. I did have a minor run in with the police over the holidays, but I don’t see the relevance with the question at hand…

What’s it like to spend time with policemen? Well, I spent my time with two detectives actually.

Yes, Robert, I suppose you’re right – detectives are not all too dissimilar to policemen.

Yes, well actually they are not all too different to anyone else in the world, really. They are human after all. They are flawed. They tell lies. They make mistakes just like anyone else.

Well, I was just happy to oblige really.

Yes, Harvey?

You’re dad said what about me?

Well, that’s just typical of the… of the small-minded and insignificant views of people who… who… who… know nothing about anything. Just because your dad read something in the paper, he thinks he knows all about it and thinks he… and thinks he has the right – no, the social status – to comment. At the end of the day the only people who know what happened are my wife and I, the police, and anyone who was in court when the case was brought before the magistrates. Anyone else is about as ignorant as… as… as something very ignorant indeed.

Your dad was one of the magistrates?

Well, there you are then. That just goes to show how invalid his view is. The case was too big for the magistrates. They had to send it straight up to the Crown Court. It was too important for it to be wasted on the limited abilities of such small-minded people…

Oh yes, Matilda, I would love the opportunity to set the record straight.

You’re right William. I should write a book about it. It would be a real corker. And, given my classroom experience, I know the sort of thing the exam boards want in a story: foreshadowing; creative descriptions; real hard-hitting drama that cuts right to the heart of civilisation. I wouldn’t be surprised if it would get selected as a set text for future GCSEs. Yes, you’re right. I should write it.

Oh. I couldn’t possibly tell you the story now, Suzanne; we’re far behind the course as it is.

Well, I don’t think it would be appropriate. I mean – it’s not really relevant to what we’re talking about in class today, is it?

Yes, I appreciate your input Robert, but I don’t think inserting a character called Wet Willy into my narrative will really help with my particular predicament.

Yes, yes – that’s true. I suppose I’d be giving you a taste of a future set text that could be in the syllabus. I tell you what, why don’t we put it to the vote? All those in favour?

Anyone against?

Well – I’m deeply touched. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced so much support in my life. And you’re not concerned you might miss out on something important from Blood Brothers if we do this?

Very well then. I am, if nothing, a slave to my students’ needs. I suppose I had better tell you my tale. Feel free to take any notes, and if I say anything that sounds really quotable and brilliant, please do jot it down. Knowing me, I’ll forget it by the time I get home…

Mr Priestly. If you don’t put that away, I’ll cut it off…

What do you think so far? Please feel free to let me know. They’ll be new chapters posted every couple of days so stay tuned for the next one.

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The Brief-Case Affair: or the story of a man who went looking for adultery and came back with a lemon

Here is your first look at my brand-new, comedy crime story, The Brief-Case Affair. I’ll begin posting chapters next week, but have a read of the blurb in the meantime and let me know what you think.

Would you pick this up if you saw the description (and cover)? Does it exude the humour vibe? Or does it just seem silly?

Let me know – all feedback is good feedback!

When a man suspects his wife, Marjorie, of having an affair, there are only two things he can do: assume her guilt and find another wife, or seek help from a private investigator.

Kevin did the latter.

But when the private investigator doesn’t quite turn out to be what Kevin expects, he is forced to investigate Marjorie’s affair alone, and uncovers a web of conspiracy that is so complicated that he hasn’t the first idea where to start.

Until Marjorie takes over…

hatter

From Crime to Comedy (and crime)…

In my last post, I alluded to the work I was doing on the next Giles novel, The Court of Obsessions. Since that post, a few things have changed for me and I think the time is now right for me to update you on the changes you can expect to see.

Some of you may have noticed a few subtle changes on my site. Most noticeably, the site is no longer called The Dark Corrupts Us All… and, instead, is simply called Nick R B Tingley – simple and to the point, I feel. There are a couple of reasons for this change, but before I go into the details, I feel that I should explain why these changes are coming about.

I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember. I’ve spent most of my life writing thrillers, crime dramas – pretty much anything dark and gloomy. And then I started my career as a ghost writer and discovered a lot of my clients thought my particular style was perfect for their comedic stories.

As time went on, I began to realise that my dark and gloomy earlier work was – well – depressing really. And if I, as a writer, was becoming depressed by it, that really wasn’t a good sign.

So now, after lots of advice from the people around me, I’m taking my (alleged) ability to create humour on the page and  branching out into comedy writing. I think testing comedy is essential, so I will be using this site to test out my work in its early stages – warts and all. Some of it may be funny, some of it may miss the mark – but it is all an integral part of the process.

Think of this site in the same way you would think of a comedian testing his work out at small comedy clubs before going out on tour.

That isn’t to say that I’m giving up on the crime fiction – far from it. When my head is the right place, I fully intend to return to DS Giles and finish what I started (and I also have a few other projects that I’d love to complete as well). But, in the meantime, I will be branching out into comedy, and I hope you find as much pleasure in this more light-hearted work than my previous novels.

SO – this is where we get to the exciting part.

I am delighted to announce that I am in the process of writing my first comedy novella and, as you might expect, I haven’t dropped the crime fiction aspect. I will be releasing chapters on this site over the next month or so, and would welcome any and all comments.

So, without further ado, I give you my first comedy crime story  – The Brief Case Affair.

The Brief-Case Affair

Stay tuned for the first few chapters coming soon!

The Bluebell Informant – Chapter 21

If you’re not up to speed on The Bluebell Informant so far, the previous chapters can be found here. Failing that, The Bluebell Informant is now available for free through Amazon.comiBooksKoboNookand Smashwords.

Chapter Twenty-One

Harris’ phone buzzed as he stepped off the train. His hand dived into his pocket and he retrieved the vibrating phone as he headed smartly up the platform with Parsons following close behind him. At the end of the platform, a group of armed officers waited for them, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible whilst keeping a sharp look out for the two detectives marching towards them.

Harris didn’t recognise the number, but he answered it anyway:

‘Harris.’

‘Harris, this is Commander Declan,’ the voice on the other end announced. ‘Met Police.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You are running the Barker case, am I right?’

Harris shot a glance towards Parsons.

‘Yes, sir,’ he replied hesitantly.

‘Are you tracking Barker now?’

‘We believe they are heading towards London Bridge station, sir. We’re here now but no sign so far…’

‘Well, there won’t be, Detective,’ the irritated voice replied. ‘I have some information for you…’

Harris moved through the barrier and hung up the phone. Parson was already a few metres ahead, making their introductions to the armed response team. He knew something was up the moment Harris joined them.

‘Bad news?’

‘Barker,’ Harris replied simply as his mind struggled to find the right words to describe what he just heard. ‘There was a shooting in Brixton. Apparently Barker was seen fleeing the scene with a woman matching Giles’ description…’

Parson bit his lip angrily. ‘I knew we shouldn’t have trusted her.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ Harris replied thoughtfully. ‘The address belongs to Giles’ sister. The victim has been identified as a police dispatch officer – someone called Alison Carew…’

‘Bugger,’ Parsons replied. ‘Not one of ours…’

‘But get this. She was the daughter of Edmund Carew…’

‘Jesus Christ…’

‘And a close friend of Giles herself.’

‘You think she was helping them? That Barker offed her to cover their tracks?’

Harris waved him away – he had something else on his mind. Alison Carew had been the one passing on Giles’ whereabouts. She had been the one to tell them they were heading towards London Bridge station.

Even as Parsons briefed the armed officers, Harris couldn’t help thinking that he had just been massively played…

 

‘Keep going,’ Barker ordered, keeping the gun level with Giles’ waist.

Ever since they left Claverdale Road, Barker had been slumped as low as he could possibly get into the passenger seat of the Micra. Every time he heard a police siren, he pressed the gun tighter into Giles’ body – a helpful reminder that she wasn’t to try attracting anyone’s attention.

Giles drove as sensibly as she could. She knew Barker couldn’t see over the dashboard to work out where they were, but she had an idea that he knew vaguely where she was going. As she drove through the busy streets, she kept her driving as strictly to the speed limit as possible and – wherever she could – she let others pull into the lane in front of her.

She was in no hurry.

She needed all the time she could get.

As the car crept closer to the Thames, Giles’ mind flashed with images of Alison lying sprawled on the floor. The first respondents were sure to have arrived by now – trampling through her sister’s house like it was just another crime scene.

What the hell is she going to say when she gets back?

Giles shook it from her head. There was no time for that now. She had to focus on one thing and one thing only – getting through the rest of the day alive.

It was only after they crossed the junction near to the Brixton Academy that a thought seemed to occur to Barker. With his gun hand still firmly planted in Giles’ waist, he gestured with his spare hand – clicking his fingers at her.

‘SIM card,’ he barked.

‘Sorry?’

Giles knew exactly what Barker was after – that didn’t mean she was going to make it easy for him.

‘The SIM card you took from that girl’s phone,’ he explained. ‘Give it to me, now.’

‘That girl had a name…’

She winced as Barker pressed the gun in even tighter.

‘SIM card. Now.’

There was nothing she could do to resist him anymore. Keeping her eyes set on the road, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the small SIM card, tossing it to her side without even looking for Barker’s hand. As he fumbled to retrieve it, he pressed the gun hard against her skin, relaxing only when the card was safely in his hand.

He examined it for a moment before placing it against the dashboard and smashing it a couple of times with the butt of his gun.

‘What are you doing?’

Barker glanced triumphantly up at her.

‘That card has evidence on it,’ he declared. ‘Now you need to keep me alive.’ He picked up the remnants and dropped them delicately on Giles’ lap. ‘Here, have a souvenir.’

Giles glanced down at the shattered pieces of plastic and metal.

‘They’ll need supporting evidence,’ she muttered. ‘They won’t honour an immunity agreement if you can’t prove it. You’ve just destroyed your chance of freedom…’

‘Don’t worry about it. They’ll get their evidence.’

Barker leant up a little, risking a glance over the dashboard. They were on the other side of Brixton now, but still he didn’t feel safe.

Giles glanced in the rear view mirror – not a police car in sight.

‘You think they’ll just let you walk away?’ she asked. ‘After what you did to Alison and that guy in Edenbridge…’

‘That’s kind of what an immunity agreement is for, Giles,’ Barker smirked. ‘They let me go and I give them something better. Simple trade.’

‘Aren’t you afraid of your conspiracy?’ Giles fired back. ‘How do you know you can trust who I’m taking you to?’

Barker settled himself back down in his seat and peered up at Giles.

‘You know, for all your morals and your hatred of people like me, you aren’t half corrupted yourself. You think that girl… Alison? You think she was innocent in all this? She was up to her neck in it. She was your friend and she nearly had you killed. And as for the guy in Edenbridge, don’t even get me started on what he was. Those people I killed are not deserving of your sympathy – not for one moment. And that’s just what Harris and people like him will think of you if I put a bullet in your head right now – just another chink who broke the rules…’

‘So, who was he?’ Giles fired back. ‘Who was worth you travelling to Edenbridge?’

‘Like I said before, just some hit man who couldn’t do his job properly…’

Giles felt him shuffle his shoulders back as he tried to stretch them out.

‘Why so coy, Daniel?’ she asked. ‘Like you said, you get your immunity either way so what does it matter?’

‘It matters because I haven’t got my deal yet.’ Barker lowered the gun slightly as he swapped hands, stretching out his fingers to restore the blood flow.

‘You have a deal with me…’

‘That you broke when you tried to go around me with that Carew bitch. I don’t trust you, Giles, not after that. I don’t say anything until I have that paper. Signed. In my hands.’

He brought the gun away from her waist and lowered it into his lap. As he relaxed in the passenger seat, his arms shook with nervous tension and his eyes strained hard to try to recognise the passing buildings that towered over the roadside.

‘Do yourself a favour,’ he mumbled. ‘Just drop it. You’re going to drive yourself mad thinking about it. Just focus on what we need to do.’

‘And what do we need to do?’

‘We’re going to Scotland Yard,’ he replied. ‘But we’re going to make damn sure that the world hears my story the same time they do…’

 

The armed response team moved quickly across the station, following behind a couple of plain clothed officers who moved through each section of the terminus in their search for Giles and Barker. Parsons had even sent a few into the nearby Shard building to start sweeping the CCTV cameras there, just in case they had chosen a more obvious place to hide.

Meanwhile, in a small office building that was usually passed unnoticed by the multitude of passengers that traipsed through this station, Harris sat with the station security – watching the screens carefully as a train pulled neatly alongside the platform and the travellers hopped off before heading towards the ticket barrier.

This had been the fifth time that Harris had made them replay the security footage and the operator next to him was starting to get a little restless. Harris scrutinised each passenger’s face, the way they walked and who they were travelling with – and still he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Giles or Barker. And all the while his mind was gripped with a terrible thought – a horrific idea that made him shiver with panic.

Did that Carew woman con me?

For the tenth time in as many minutes, he glanced back down at his phone and reread the message:

‘Giles reported heading for Borough Market. Intercept her there.

He should have known something was up the moment he received that message. It hadn’t occurred to him at the time – he thought it was just some dispatch operator being over efficient – but now his confidence was shaken.

The news that Parsons called in didn’t help either.

‘Sir, we just got to Borough Market. There’s no sign of her.’

It was as Harris had feared.

‘Do they have a CCTV control room there?’

Parson paused for a moment as he spoke to another officer.

‘Yes, sir. There’s a sub station nearby.’

‘Then get in there. I want to be sure that Giles and Barker haven’t been there in the last hour…’

‘Yes, sir, but…’

‘But what, Sergeant?’

Parsons hesitated.

‘But, if Giles and Barker were last seen in Brixton. Why would they still be coming here?’

It was a good question – although Harris didn’t like to admit it.

‘Just do it.’

He hung up the phone and pondered it quietly.

They have to still be on their way here, he thought. They have to be.

It was the only hope he had.

He raised the phone to his tired eyes and scrolled back through his recent calls. One of the Met team had managed to get hold of Giles’ mobile number from one of her team and Harris had already called it three times to no avail.

Whispering a silent prayer, Harris selected the number and raised the phone to his ear. There wasn’t even a ring tone before the number switched to Giles’ voicemail.

This is Evelyn Giles, I’m not available at the moment. Please leave a message and I’ll…

Harris hung up the phone, thrusting it angrily into his pocket.

Dammit, Giles. Where are you?

nick1Nick R B Tingley is a crime writer from the UK. After several years working as a ghostwriter, Nick released his debut novel The Bluebell Informant– the first in his DS Evelyn Giles series. He is currently working on the second in the series – The Court of Obsessions – as well as a Victorian-era mystery novella called The Butcher of Barclay’s Hollow. 

To stay up to date with Nick’s latest releases, subscribe to his newsletter now. They’ll be no spamming – I promise!

The Bluebell Informant – Chapter Twenty

If you’re not up to speed on The Bluebell Informant so far, the previous chapters can be found here. Failing that, The Bluebell Informant is now available for free through Amazon.comiBooksKoboNookand Smashwords.

Chapter Twenty

Barker leapt several feet backwards when the front door burst open. Before he had a chance to recover, Giles barrelled her way back into the front room, leading a curvy, young woman in by the scruff of her neck. Barker recognised the woman from somewhere, but it took him a moment or two to work out why. It was only as Giles shoved her roughly into the chair that he recognised the daughter of the former Prime Minister.

‘Alison Carew?’

Giles ignored him, pulling Alison back in the seat so that she was sat upright. Her friend didn’t struggle, her eyes were fixed squarely on Barker.

‘Giles,’ the politician barked. ‘What the hell is going on?’

‘Shut up,’ Giles muttered as she retreated back away from Alison with the gun still pointed squarely at her chest.

‘Eve, please,’ Alison protested, her eyes never leaving Barker. ‘I don’t know what’s going on…’

‘I said shut up, Ali.’

Alison had never been a particularly strong personality. She had been very forthright when it came to her father’s politics, but otherwise she was perfectly happy to sit in the background and be unnoticed. That was why Giles liked her – she could always rely on her to be quiet and non-judgmental.

But, now that she looked at her, Alison Carew seemed to be little more than a shadow of the woman she had been before. The normally sweet and caring woman was a wretched mass of spite and bile, all of which was directed across the room at the politician. Then, as the seriousness of her situation began to dawn on her, Alison’s eyes moved slowly towards the gun in Giles’ hands and all pretence of anger and hatred was dropped as she descended, clasping her hands tightly in each other’s grip as she became little more than a quivering wreck. She wrapped herself up tightly into a ball, her face screwed up as tears swelled down her cheeks and her breath struggled to escape her lungs. Every time she dared to open her eyes, they would swing back to the gun barrel and she instantly cowered up against the back of the chair, gripping tightly to the wooden frame as though it might offer some protection.

Barker, in comparison, looked on with absolute stillness. Even when Giles gestured for him to take a seat on the sofa, he remained standing behind her, peering at Alison like through the bars of some zoo enclosure. To say that he was interested would be a step to far, but there was a definite look of glee in his face as his eyes flitted between the gun and Alison – a look that almost completely obscured the dawning terror that he was beginning to experience.

As the commotion died down, Giles slowly lowered the gun, placing it on the mantelpiece behind her before stepping forward. Producing a handkerchief, she gently dabbed at Alison’s face, wiping away the tears until her friend could finally open her eyes and stare into Giles’ face.

‘Eve…’ she whispered with a voice quivering in terror. ‘What is happening? Why are you doing this?’

Giles finished wiping away the tears before setting the handkerchief down on the floor. She smiled at Alison, gently rubbing her hand against her friend’s knee.

‘Ali, I’m going to ask you some questions,’ she said softly. ‘And I need you to answer them for me – it’s important.’

‘Why don’t you just ask me?’ Alison quivered. ‘Why did you need to bring a gun with you?’

Giles breathed out a slow sigh.

‘Because I need you to understand how much trouble you are in. But if you co-operate with me, I can help you, do you understand?’

‘Co-operate?’ Alison’s face began to screw up with tears once again. ‘Co-operate with what?’

‘I could ask the same question,’ Barker chipped in. ‘What’s this all about, Giles? Is this some half-baked attempt to frighten me? Because, if it is, it isn’t working…’

His voice told a different story. If Barker was anything right now, frightened was definitely one of them. But Giles had another goal in mind – Barker was nothing but a side-show at this moment. And she was about to prove it to him…

She nodded to the politician stood behind her.

‘Do you know who this is?’

Alison glanced up at Barker, a definite scowl crossing her face, and nodded firmly.

‘People are trying to kill him, Ali. I need to know why…’

A moment passed and then Alison did something quite unexpected. She laughed. She chuckled for a good twenty seconds, her eyes occasionally flashing up at Barker.

‘Really, Eve?’ she whispered. ‘You really need to know why? I would’ve thought out of everyone you would be the one to understand best. After everything he did to you. After everything he did to my father…’

‘Is that what this is about? Revenge for your father?’

Alison sniggered again. ‘I was doing my job.’

There was a bitterness in her voice, but Giles had no doubt she was telling the truth. She had known Alison for a long time – so long that they used to joke they could never lie to each other. Alison always tried though – but Giles always knew, even if she never said anything.

Giles leaned forward a little closer.

‘Who are you working for?’ she asked. ‘Who made you betray me?’

Alison shook her head. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about…’

‘We don’t have time, Ali,’ Giles replied, her voice laced with a little more urgency. ‘People have tried to kill Barker today. People have tried to kill me. I need to know who you’re working for. Was it just Doyle or were you both working for someone else…?’

‘Working for someone else…?’

‘Just tell me the truth, Ali.’

‘The truth?’ Alison’s face filled with anger. ‘I don’t know who this Doyle is. I don’t what he’s done or who he’s working for. I’ve never betrayed anyone in my life – certainly not you…’

‘Then why did you do it?’

It was hard to remain calm under the circumstances. After the day she’d had, Giles could have grabbed the gun and thrust it under Alison’s chin. She could have pressed it right against her jaw and screamed at her until she told her everything she knew. But Alison was a friend – one of the few Giles had these days. She could never do anything to hurt her.

‘I didn’t do anything,’ Alison replied, a little more forcefully than before. ‘I don’t know anything. If this guy – Doyle – tried to kill you, it had nothing to do with me…’

Something snapped in Giles’ mind. She couldn’t stay calm any longer.

Lurching forward, she brought her face right up against Alison’s. She grabbed hold of the chair and pushed it with all her strength. The woodern structure clattered against the wall with a loud, creaking thus and Alison cowered in terror, whimpering and crying as Giles said:

‘We don’t have time for this, Ali. The only person who knew we were getting off the train was you. There was no other police presence there. The only way they could have known was if you told them…’

‘I didn’t,’ Alison cried. ‘I swear, I didn’t…’

‘You have to start telling me everything, now.’

Giles slammed her hand against the wall, prompting Alison to squeal once again.

‘I didn’t do anything wrong, I swear,’ she muttered. ‘Eve, I would never do anything to hurt you…’

‘Then how do they know?’

Behind her, Barker cleared his throat. ‘Giles, she doesn’t know anything…’

‘How do they know?’

Alison squealed once again.

‘They ordered me to do it…’

‘Who did? Doyle?’

‘No,’ Alison replied, shaking her head violently. ‘The higher ups…’ She paused to take a couple of breaths. ‘A few months ago, I was approached by some of the top brass in the force. They said that I had talent and they wanted to recruit me for special services…’

‘And you believed them?’

Alison stared up into Giles’ angry eyes.

‘They were my bosses, Eve, why wouldn’t I believe them?’ She took a few careful breaths. ‘They wanted me report back if I heard anything come through the dispatch office that might interest them – they gave me a list of names that I was to pay particular attention to. If I heard one of the names, I was to pass the information on by text message…’

‘And Barker was one of them?’

Alison nodded.

‘When I heard he was being taken in, I passed on the information as they asked. And when you told me where you were going, I did the same…’ She hesitated, her eyes widening in terror. ‘You have to believe me, Eve, I never tried to get you in trouble. I was just following my orders…’

Giles nodded, her eyes boring into Alison’s.

‘Where’s your phone now?’

Alison hesitated again. ‘Outside on the pavement. I dropped it when you came up behind me…’

Giles didn’t wait a second longer. She jumped to her feet and raced towards the door, ignoring Barker as he muttered:

‘You’re not seriously believing this rubbish, are you?’

 

Giles barged out of the door and turned sharply on the pavement. She marched the few feet to the spot where she had snuck up on Alison and began her frantic search for the phone. There it was, just as she said – shattered into three or four parts. Picking up the pieces, Giles examined the phone carefully, before removing the SIM card and placing it in her pocket.

By the time she got back to the house, Barker was waiting for her by the front door.

‘Giles,’ he said. ‘A word.’

‘Not now…’

‘Yes, now,’ he shot back. ‘Did you find the phone?’

‘It’s broken.’

‘So, there’s no way of verifying her story?’

‘The SIM is intact,’ Giles fired back, stepping around Barker and moving towards the front room. ‘The numbers will still be logged. With any luck, we may have some saved messages as well…’

Barker reached out and grabbed hold of Giles’ wrist, holding her firmly as she halted in the doorway.

‘You don’t believe her?’

‘She’s my friend,’ Giles replied. ‘Of course, I believe her.’

‘But it’s clearly rubbish…’

‘Maybe,’ Giles returned, twisting her wrist out of his grip. ‘But – so far – she has given me far more than you have. If it comes to a straight choice between who I trust more, her or you, I know which one I’d choose.’ She turned back towards the room. ‘Besides, you haven’t been exactly forthcoming.’

‘But what if she’s lying?’

Giles stopped and turned back around to face him.

‘Like you aren’t?’ she muttered through gritted teeth. ‘I know what you are Mr Barker. And if you think I would let a scumbag like you walk, you have another thing coming. You had your chance at a deal – now I’ve got a better one…’

‘You can’t do that.’

Giles smiled. The anger and exasperation in Barker’s face was worth every second. Alison had been a lot easier to convince to co-operate than he had been – now he was paying the penalty for holding back.

‘Watch me.’

She spun around and waltzed into the front room before Barker could say another word.

As she stepped inside, Alison glanced up – her makeup was blurred down her face where her tears had run. Giles walked straight, crouched down in front of her and grasped hold of her hands. With her spare hand, she gently pushed the hair out of Alison’s face and gave her a sweet, forgiving smile.

‘Ali, I can help you,’ she said. ‘If what you’re saying is true, you haven’t done anything wrong…’

Alison shook her head excitedly.

‘I haven’t done anything wrong. It’s all true…’

‘Good,’ Giles said, her smile even wider. ‘I need you to tell me who ordered you to send that information. Who were you in contact with?’

Alison nodded slowly. ‘OK…’

Game over, Barker.

Giles stroked her friend’s face once more, her fingers gently wiping away some freshly formed tears. It wouldn’t be long now – the nightmare was nearly over. Giles would hand Barker over for punishment and walk away with the information she wanted.

A win, win situation.

True justice…

Alison coughed clear her throat, and mumbled:

‘I was approached by two superior officers…’

The bang was so loud and the effect was instant. In a split second, the bullet struck Alison in the middle of her head, blasting her brains out against the wall behind her. She lurched backward in the chair and clattered against the wall, collapsing in a heavy heap down towards the ground. Giles sprang forward although she already knew it was too late. She grasped hold of Alison’s limp body for a few seconds before the weight finally got the better of her and she had to let go. As Alison thudded to the floor, her eyes rolled back into her head and blood cascaded down her forehead, soaking her face with the red, oozing liquid.

Alison was dead.

It took a moment for it all to sink in. And then, as though everything came together in her mind, Giles span around and snarled at Barker who, gun in hand cowered beside the sofa with the barrel pointed straight at her.

‘Nice and easy, Giles,’ he said soothingly. ‘We don’t want to have three deaths on my conscience today, now do we?’

Giles’ eyes flickered toward the mantelpiece.

The gun was no longer there.

How could I be so stupid?

She glared back at Barker and sprang to her feet. As she did, Barker retreated back a step or two and said:

‘A-ah. Don’t do anything rash.’

Giles’ mind was a blur of anger. She wanted nothing more than to leap over the sofa and tackle Barker to the ground although she knew it wouldn’t do her any good. Stood there, with her hands clenched, Giles breathed hard as she tried to control herself. She felt as though her heart had been ripped out of her – her stomach felt weak and empty and the beast inside her mind thrashed around, willing her to lunge at the coward and to hell with the consequences.

In that moment, with all that torrent of emotion sweeping through her body, Giles could say only one thing:

‘Why?’

Barker smiled, his hands holding the gun a little tighter.

‘We had a deal, Giles,’ he said calmly. ‘You get me immunity and I give you information. It was wrong of you to try and break it…’

‘You killed her…’

Barker chuckled a little. ‘I’ve killed. People are trying to kill me… It’s all relative, really. People will stop dying once I am safely in custody with an immunity agreement in my hand, so why are you wasting time?’

Giles shook her head.

‘If you think I will help you after this…’

‘You don’t have a choice, Giles,’ he sneered. ‘You helped a murderer escape from custody. That makes you my accomplice.’

Giles shook her head, taking a step forward.

‘I’ll never help you…’

Barker pulled back the hammer with a loud click bringing Giles to a halt.

‘Like I said, you don’t have a choice,’ he said. ‘And if you think otherwise, maybe you should consider who is pointing the gun at you. Maybe you should think about what will happen to your sister and her family when they come home and find me sat in their lounge…’

The bottom dropped out of Giles’ stomach.

‘You wouldn’t…’

‘Fulfil your part of the agreement and I won’t have to. But make your decision quickly – I don’t fancy being around here when your colleagues show up…’

He glanced out through the lace curtains. The world outside the house seemed peaceful enough, but Giles had no doubt that the gunshot had echoed all the way down the street. Someone somewhere was already on the phone to the dispatcher – there was always someone who reported a gunshot…

Barker turned back towards her and flicked the gun towards the doorway.

Tick Tock.’

 

nick1Nick R B Tingley is a crime writer from the UK. After several years working as a ghostwriter, Nick released his debut novel The Bluebell Informant– the first in his DS Evelyn Giles series. He is currently working on the second in the series – The Court of Obsessions – as well as a Victorian-era mystery novella called The Butcher of Barclay’s Hollow. 

To stay up to date with Nick’s latest releases, subscribe to his newsletter now. They’ll be no spamming – I promise!

The Bluebell Informant – Chapter Nineteen

If you’re not up to speed on The Bluebell Informant so far, the previous chapters can be found here. Failing that, The Bluebell Informant is now available for free through Amazon.comiBooksKoboNookand Smashwords.

Chapter Nineteen

Claverdale Road was quiet as Giles pulled up into a spare space along the pavement. There wasn’t anyone around, and yet the whole street was packed with cars. Giles drove the entire length of the road before doubling back for another pass before she finally spotted a space large enough to squeeze the tiny Micra into. She clambered out on to the pavement and shot a glance up and down the road before striding off along the row of terraced houses.

The house she was looking for was about a hundred metres up the street. It was a similar size to those that were squashed up on either side of it, but the presence of a small magnolia tree in the tiny front garden made the whole house appear even smaller than its counterparts. As she moved up the long street, Giles felt Barker sidle into place behind her. Through the reflections of the car windows, she watched him peering up and down the street, scrutinising every high window as they made the long walk up to their ultimate destination.

She chuckled to herself in satisfaction and ducked under the branches of the magnolia as she strolled up the garden path. She stopped beside an old metal dustbin and, without pausing for thought, bent down and lifted the whole mass up. She reached under the metallic mass, her fingers pawing at the concrete slabs beneath, until her fingers closed around a small, door key, which she quickly retrieved and shoved into the lock. The lock clicked and the door swung open, blasting the two visitors with a rush of warm air and the faint scent of lavender that came from a dispenser sat on a small table nearby.

Barker stepped in behind her and quickly closed the door. He breathed a heavy sigh before turning his attention to the key in Giles’ hand. With a little nod, he muttered:

‘You lot still do that? How trusting…’

Giles slid the key into her pocket and tapped it confidently.

‘People round here keep a close eye on everyone else,’ she explained, stepping further into the entrance hall. ‘Trust me, you’re in the safest place in London right now.’

She disappeared down the hall, heading for a doorway at the far end, which opened up into a kitchen. Barker peered after her before tentatively stepping further into the house, staring up at a variety of photographs that were hung on the wall leading up to the top floor.

It was rather homely – for a safe house. The photographs seemed to show the same couple: a blonde woman in her late twenties and a slightly older man with darker hair. The man was good looking, despite the horn-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose. The house was clean and tidy, and the front room was warm and inviting. By the time Giles returned to it, Barker had settled himself down on the large, white sofa that dominated the room, and was busy staring past the large, flat-screened television and out of the window to the road outside.

‘Make yourself at home,’ Giles said, gesturing to the lace curtains that obscured them from the outside world. ‘You’re perfectly safe. Would you like a tea or anything?’

‘What is this place?’

‘Like I said, you’ll be safe here.’

With an encouraging smile, Giles disappeared back out of the front room, only to return a few moments later carrying a wooden chair that she set down to one side of the room.

Barker peered up at, a look of suspicion flashing across his face.

‘What’s that for?’

‘You’ll find out,’ Giles replied sternly, before retreating back into the kitchen.

 

This place was really unlike any safe house Barker had any seen before. Well, in point of fact, he hadn’t seen any in real life, but he’d seen plenty on television and not a single one looked as detailed as this.

Left to his own devices, he moved across the room to the mantelpiece where a series of photographs sat in immaculately shiny photo frames were perched along the clean surface.

Barker stared at these for a long time.

The family that stared back were the same from the pictures running up the staircase. A good, traditional, white family by the look of them. The blonde woman held a young, giggling girl high above her head whilst her husband cuddled her from behind.

They laughed. They smiled. They were happy.

There were wedding photographs too. And pictures of a young baby – presumably the girl. A whole life was played out on that mantelpiece. The lives of good British people with good British values.

They were so happy…

Giles returned with a cup of tea. She held it out to Barker, who accepted it without hesitation. He hadn’t drunk anything since the morning and any drink – even a poorly made excuse of a cup of tea – was welcome. As he took a sip and nodded towards the pictures.

‘Who lives here then?’ he asked. ‘This place obviously isn’t a safe house.’

Giles hesitated.

‘My sister and her family,’ she replied. ‘They’re away at the moment so we won’t be disturbed…’

‘Your sister?’ Barker repeated, raising his eyebrow as he peered back at the photograph. ‘Well, well. Daddy finally got himself a real daughter…’

Giles’ lip curled in anger.

‘She adopted too,’ she replied, reaching forward and grabbing hold of the photographs.

She squirreled them out of the room, leaving Barker to drink his tea in the relaxed silence of this friendly house. After circling the room several times, he returned back to his seat on the sofa and continued to sip his tea. Having disposed of the photographs, Giles strolled back into the room, moved straight across to the window and peered out through the lace curtains. Barker watched her intently, his eyes snaking their way down her back until they settled on her firm, shapely buttocks.

Such a shame, he thought.

She wasn’t really that bad looking. If she’d been British, he might have tried it on with her. His wife wouldn’t have approved but, then again, when did she ever approve of his extra curricular relationships. He smacked his lips and took a last gulp of tea before setting the cup down on the floor.

‘So,’ he said. ‘What’s your sister’s name?’

‘We’re not talking about it.’

Barker chuckled. ‘Well, it seems we have some time on our hands so we may as well do something. What does she do?’

Giles glanced back at him.

‘She’s a doctor,’ she replied. ‘A paediatrician.’

‘A paediatrician.’ Barker smiled. ‘I bet Daddy was proud.’

‘He’s proud of both of us…’

‘Of course he is. But I bet she has more brownie points, right?’

‘We’re not having this discussion…’

‘Loving husband, a great looking kid. She ticks all the boxes…’

Giles span around, her eyes sparking with bitterness. She took two steps towards Barker, clenching her hands and tensing her arms as though sprawling for a fight.

‘What’s you point?’ she barked.

Barker looked her up and down once more. She really was quite attractive – for a chink…

‘What are we doing here, Giles?’ he asked slyly. ‘What are you trying to prove? You’ve got a good British family so that makes you just as good as the rest of us?’

Giles didn’t answer at first. She didn’t even look angry anymore. In fact, if Barker had to guess, she almost looked triumphant.

She turned back towards the lace curtain and peered outside once more. The next time she moved it was to make her way out of the room and to the front door. It came with no narration and no explanation. The anxiety that took hold of Barker was strong and instantaneous:

‘What are you doing?’ he asked, jumping to his feet.

‘Relax,’ Giles replied, letting loose a small smile. ‘I’ll be back in a moment. You’ll be safe here.’

‘Safe? Why? Where are you going?’

Giles reached the front door. ‘I’ll be back soon. Just watch the television or something…’

She was out the door before Barker had a chance to say any more. As he watched the door slam shut, he was tempted to bolt outside after her. But, as he reached for the door handle, a fear gripped hold of him like metal in a vice. He retreated back away from the door and back into the front room where he stood, frightened and apprehensive, staring through the lace curtains at the world outside.

 

It took Alison several attempts to find a space to pull in. Parallel parking was never her strong point and she didn’t want to draw too much attention to herself by having to make several botched attempts at it. On the third time down the street, she found a space that was far enough from the house that she didn’t mind spending a good few minutes making sure she was parked safely.

With her car safely nestled in amongst the others, she switched off the engine and clambered out. She wasn’t sure which house it was but a quick look at the house numbers gave her clue. She crossed over to the other side of the road and trooped smartly along the street, her eyes searching for the house number.

After a minute or two, she found the right house and, with her best attempt at subtlety, she slowed her pace and walked straight on by, peering at the lace curtains from the corner of her eye.

Something moved behind them, she was sure of it. As she ducked under the magnolia tree, the curtains had flickered slightly revealing a glimpse of a suited man peering back out at her.

She’d recognised him instantly. She had seen him enough times, although she doubted he would ever recognise her. He was one of those smarmy men who always looked past you if you were a woman – unless, of course, you were dressed in a skimpy dress and had the figure of a super model.

She continued on, trying to remain calm although her heart pounded relentlessly in her chest.

She’d been right. Giles hadn’t suspected a thing.

She came to a stop just a little way past the car and reached into her pocket. She pulled out her phone and quickly started to compose a text.

This means promotion for sure, she thought as she frantically typed the message. Finally people will start to take me seriously.

Alison didn’t even notice the footsteps of the person marching up behind her – she was too engrossed in her own excitement. Had she been a little bit quicker, she might have finished the message before she felt the gun barrel pressed into the small of her back.

In her panic, she let go of the phone and it crashed to the floor. It smashed into several pieces as it pummelled against the concrete pavement, but Alison wasn’t concerned. All she could think about was the person with their finger around the trigger – the person who was going to kill her…

‘Hello, Alison,’ Giles whispered, pushing the gun tighter against her friend’s back. ‘I think we need to have a little talk, don’t you?’

nick1Nick R B Tingley is a crime writer from the UK. After several years working as a ghostwriter, Nick released his debut novel The Bluebell Informant– the first in his DS Evelyn Giles series. He is currently working on the second in the series – The Court of Obsessions – as well as a Victorian-era mystery novella called The Butcher of Barclay’s Hollow. 

To stay up to date with Nick’s latest releases, subscribe to his newsletter now. They’ll be no spamming – I promise!

The Bluebell Informant – Chapter 18

If you’re not up to speed on The Bluebell Informant so far, the previous chapters can be found here. Failing that, The Bluebell Informant is now available for free through Amazon.comiBooksKoboNookand Smashwords.

Chapter Eighteen

‘How did they find us?’

Barker peered out of the bushes at one end of the layby. Shakily puffing on a cigarette, he scrutinised each car that passed by. There had been no sign of Doyle so far, but Giles knew he wouldn’t be far behind.

Crouched down behind a blue Nissan Micra, Giles straightened out a coat hanger. There hadn’t been much in the back of the Ford for her to go on – a couple of old magazines, some empty soft drink bottles, an empty popcorn bag – but the spare suit, complete with clothes hangers, had provided her with a much needed opportunity. She straightened out the hanger, looping the end to form a hook, and glanced up at Barker, smiling mischievously.

‘I told my contact that we were going to jump the train at East Croydon. She was the only one know knew…’

‘What about your team? You said you’d contacted them.’

‘Don’t be an idiot,’ Giles shot back. ‘I told you that because I didn’t trust you. I still don’t.’

She took a moment to consider the man loitering in the bushes. The spare suit had been a surprisingly good fit for Barker. He almost looked smart now they had dispensed with the standard issue police trousers and shirt. Only the keenest observer would notice that the trousers were just that little bit too long and the collar just a little bit too tight – but now Barker had it unbuttoned it was barely noticeable anyway. He looked just like everyone else in the city.

That was the whole point.

‘Besides,’ Giles continued. ‘I knew you wouldn’t approve. But if there was anyone I thought I could trust, it would be Alison Carew…’

‘Carew?’ Barker spluttered. ‘Edmund Carew’s daughter?’ He slapped his hand angrily on his thigh. ‘Well, that explains everything.’

‘It doesn’t explain why a legitimate detective wants you dead,’ Giles returned sharply. ‘It doesn’t explain who has the influence and control a handful of police officers. The incident at the station was only the beginning – they won’t stop after just one failed attempt.’

She stood up, the straightened coat hanger in her hand, and carefully fed the wire through the open gap at the top of the passenger side window. Carefully, she lowered the hook down the inside of the window, inching it ever closer to the door handle.

From the shadow of the bushes, Barker watched with interest.

‘This is the second time someone tried to kill me, Giles,’ he said bitterly. ‘Not the first.’

Giles chuckled a little to herself.

‘Mr Barker,’ she said coldly. ‘You and I both know that isn’t true.’

The central locking clicked open. Giles swiftly retracted the wire and opened the passenger side door a fraction and waited for a moment for the sound of alarm. Finally, with a smile of satisfaction, she stepped away from the car and towards Barker who, looking rather flustered, retreated back a few steps.

‘Are you getting in or not?’

She didn’t wait for a response.

She marched around to the driver’s side door and, with a quick glance at the passing traffic, pulled it open and ducked down into the seat. Barker waited nervously by the bushes, scanning the passing traffic wildly until he finally felt confident enough to make a dash for the car. By the time he joined Giles in the passenger seat, she was already well engrossed in hotwiring the vehicle. He pulled shut the door and glanced nervously through the back window just as the engine choked into life. With a small smile of satisfaction, Giles shifted the car into gear and pulled her seatbelt around her body.

‘I haven’t done that in years,’ she said triumphantly.

‘A little thief in your younger years, were you?’

Giles ignored the quip, glanced over her shoulder and gently pulled the car out into the traffic.

Barker fidgeted beside her, examining the variety of levers and switches around the base of the seat. Finally he found what he was looking for, pulled on the lever and pushed the seat back until he’d gained enough legroom to sit comfortably. When he finally got himself settled, he glanced back behind them once again and muttered:

‘I would have thought you’d go for a speedier car.’

‘You thought wrong,’ came the reply. ‘Doyle knows we have his car. He’ll know that I’ll be changing it for another as soon as I can. But no one will expect us to be driving round in a Micra.’

‘And what if they find us? How do you propose to outrun them?’

Giles smiled playfully.

‘No one expects a Micra driver to be fast.’

They said little else to each other until Giles had safely made it back on to the main road towards London. As they merged in amongst the traffic, Giles cruised the car along at the speed limit, checking the rear view mirror periodically. Beside her, Barker took out a cigarette and contemplated it for a moment, chuckling to himself.

‘I assume it was these that gave me away,’ he said jovially.

Giles risked a quick glance at him.

‘Nothing about the pillbox made sense,’ Giles replied. ‘The openings were large enough to crawl through, but not so much that you think to do it in a panic. The inside smelt heavily of gunpowder and damp cigarette – you’d obviously waited around for a cigarette so you weren’t in any hurry. The missing bullet casing was just the final straw.’

Barker chuckled and took a long drag of his cigarette.

‘I’ll bear that in mind next time.’

Giles tried her best to suppress a scowl. She turned over her right shoulder to pretend to look for traffic as she merged into the fast lane and didn’t turn back again until she was sure she was under control. Not that it mattered. Barker was lounging back in the passenger seat like a man without a care in the world. He probably wouldn’t have cared even if he did know what she was thinking.

He’s not even trying to deny it, Giles thought. The sick bastard…

            ‘What did you do with the casing?’ she asked, trying to remain as casual as possible. ‘Just out of interest.’

Barker exhaled smoke through the small gap in the window, raising his eyebrow with coy triumph.

‘Did you throw it in the river?’

Barker smiled. ‘Nice try, Giles.’

‘After all this time, don’t you trust me?’

‘When the ink is dry on my immunity agreement, I will trust you with whatever you want. Until then I’m not saying anything – not about the Bluebell Killer, not about the guy in Edenbridge.’

He took one last drag of his cigarette before tossing it out the window. As he closed the glass behind him, he peered up at the signposts with casual interest.

‘Where is this safehouse anyway?’

‘Just on the fringes of Brixton,’ Giles replied. ‘You’ll be safe there.’

‘Is that where your boss is meeting us?’ Barker fired back. ‘I mean, that’s who you were talking to on the phone, wasn’t it?’

‘Something like that.’

 

For the next twenty minutes or so, Alison Carew sat quietly in her seat, deep in thought.

What have I done?

Was her contact right? Had she really been exposed? Maybe she was the only person that Giles spoke to and she would be suspicious, but they had been friends for years – she wouldn’t really suspect her?

Would she?

It didn’t matter now. The order had been given.

She didn’t attempt to calm herself. It would have done her no good and, besides, it was all part of the plan.

As time ticked on, her heart rate quickened and her hands began to feel clammy with terrified sweat. Her reflection in the computer screen gradually turned pale and ghostly and, she could feel her mind fogging over with confusion.

Her twenty minutes were up.

Alison started to breathe heavily – quietly at first but progressively getting louder as time wore on.

Shot sharp breaths, she told herself. Quicker.

Five minutes later even Lawrence began to notice. With a wry smile on his face, he turned from his desk and stared at her at her quivering body, enjoying every moment right up until she finally took her chance.

Leaping out of her chair, Alison moved swiftly across the control room, heading for the toilets at the end of the adjoining corridor. Cradling her stomach and screwing her face up as hard as she could, she barrelled past people in the corridor and raced through the toilet door, locking herself safely inside one of the cubicles.

Once inside, she turned to face the toilet and bent down onto her knees. With her left hand, she forced her fingers down her throat and waited as her neck pulsed and her mouth wretched.

The display had its desired effect.

As she vomited into the bowl, she heard the toilet door open and a woman’s voice drifted through the cubicle door.

‘Are you alright, Alison?’

It was Carrie Unsworth, the shift supervisor. Shoving her fingers down her throat again, Alison waited until the last possible moment before retrieving them and trying to speak.

‘I’m fine, thank you, Carrie…’

Her body instinctively did the rest.

Ten minutes later, with her permission to leave granted, Alison descended the steps out of the Headquarters building and moved quickly across the car park. The taste of vomit was vile in her mouth, but she hadn’t had time to clear it.

Every second counted.

She was in her car with the engine running when she received the next message.

Go to this address. Someone will meet you there. Wait for him.

She had no idea how much time passed as she peered down at her phone. Her mind was flushed with questions and thoughts. Whatever she had done, it was obviously serious enough for her contact to want to get her out of there.

But it can’t have been illegal, she mused. I’m only following orders, so why the rush to get me to safety?

She locked her phone and slid it into her pocket. She turned on the engine and, as the car vibrated rhythmically beneath her, she rapped her fingers against the warm leather of the steering wheel.

Her contact hadn’t believed that Giles would be heading to a safe house. They thought it was a rouse straight off.

But Eve wouldn’t think that I would do anything to hurt her…

Even as she shifted her car into gear, she still hadn’t quite made up her mind.

What if Eve was telling the truth? What if this is our chance to apprehend Barker?

She pulled out of her parking space and made her way towards the car park exit.

What if I could be the one to catch him? Surely that would make up for what he did to my father?

As she turned out of the car park, there was only a short stretch of the road until the T-junction marked the main road. She knew it well. Turning left would take her south towards the river – towards Vauxhall, Battersea and Brixton. Turning right would take her north towards East Finchley where she’d been told to wait.

She flicked her indicator and pulled out on to the main road – negotiating her way through a series of one-way streets and crossing over the river…

nick1Nick R B Tingley is a crime writer from the UK. After several years working as a ghostwriter, Nick released his debut novel The Bluebell Informant– the first in his DS Evelyn Giles series. He is currently working on the second in the series – The Court of Obsessions – as well as a Victorian-era mystery novella called The Butcher of Barclay’s Hollow. 

To stay up to date with Nick’s latest releases, subscribe to his newsletter now. They’ll be no spamming – I promise!