Trouble and strife a dci.., p.1
Trouble and Strife (A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crimes Book 7), page 1
Trouble and Strife
A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crime Thriller
Oliver Davies
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
2. Thatcher
3. Thatcher
4. Thatcher
5. Thatcher
6. Thatcher
7. Thatcher
8. Thatcher
9. Luca
10. Thatcher
11. Thatcher
12. Thatcher
13. Thatcher
14. Thatcher
15. Thatcher
16. Thatcher
17. Thatcher
18. Thatcher
19. Mills
20. Thatcher
21. Thatcher
Chapter 22
23. Thatcher
24. Thatcher
25. Thatcher
26. Thatcher
27. Mills
28. Thatcher
Epilogue
A Message from the Author
Prologue
It was a nice change of pace, working on the coaching house in daylight. Rather than relying on torches and dying light bulbs, we had the benefit of the sunlight streaming through the windows. Surprisingly sunny for the time of year, though it was deceptively cold outside. I’d made that mistake leaving the house this morning without a proper jumper on. At least the old building was weatherproof now, and despite its shabby appearance, it was amazingly warm inside. Made more so by the fact that we’d been up here for a few hours, painting all the upstairs rooms. The plaster had been redone, finally, and once the paint was dry, I could start moving things back in and get to work, making downstairs look more normal.
We’d arrived early in the morning, not wanting to get caught out by the early dark that was creeping in. Good old winter, making it dark at five in the evening. It was also a nice change, not being here on my own for once. However, I wouldn’t have minded this time. After the few weeks I had, the case that we’d worked, I needed to distract myself with some hands-on work. Liene and Billie had decided to come along with me to help, the weekend suddenly busy enough that I didn’t have to think too much about the case.
The work was, as always, relaxing, the methodical motions of painting keeping me from spending too much time in my own head. I was in the room that had once been my grandparent’s bedroom, the windows propped open to let some fresh air in, my sleeve rolled up to my elbows, patches of paint on my forearms and down my clothes. I wasn’t sure how I’d made such a mess of it, really, but that was the beauty of old clothes. Liene stuck her head in, a smear of paint on her cheek. She’d been next door, working on the old room that Sally and her parents used to stay in. Sally herself had wanted to come, but her doctor had placed her on bedrest, much to her chagrin. We’d swung by before coming to the house, where she lay down, one hand on her swollen belly, the other flipping me off for poking fun at her. Poor Tom had my sympathy, running around for her, dealing with her mood. At least it would all be over in a month, a little baby there to make it all worth it.
“Hi,” I said to Liene. “You okay?”
“I finished the coat, and I’m starving.”
I glanced down at my watch and blinked. We’d been here longer than I realised, and it was the afternoon already.
“I’m popping out for some food,” she said. “Do you want anything specific, or shall I surprise you?”
“Surprise me,” I murmured. “I’ll head over to Elsie’s in a bit, see if I can scavenge a cup of tea for us all.”
Liene smiled. “Sounds good. You have paint in your hair, by the way.”
“You have some on your face.”
She lifted a hand to her cheek, rubbing her skin. “Christ. Why did I agree to this?”
“Something about loving and supporting me after the hard month I’ve had.”
“Oh yeah.” She walked over and kissed me on the cheek. “I knew it was a good reason. Back in a bit,” she called as she walked back out into the hallway.
I blew out a long breath, turning to the room and looking around. I’d painted the walls a very pale blue, the closest match to how I remembered the room looking when I was a boy. Most of the house was working out that way. What I remembered rooms looking like, the colours of things, the styles. We didn’t have many photographs to work off, so we really were relying on my dodgy memory. The only rooms that I knew would look different were my childhood bedroom, which would definitely not be sporting the space theme it used to have, and my grandmother’s old craft room at the end of the hall. Billie was in there now, painting it green.
I finished the wall I was on and dropped the brush, wiping my hands on an old towel and walking out to where she was, music playing quietly from her phone. She appeared to have more paint on her dungarees than on the walls, but she was smiling, which was a welcome change, her black hair tied back with a scarf.
“Looking good,” I praised, standing in the doorway. “Nice and neat.”
“Thanks, Max.” She climbed down from the stepladder she was on, dropping the brush into the pot before she stood back to appraise her work. “I like it,” she said softly.
“Good, I’m glad. Any word from your dad recently?” I asked.
Billie shook her head. “Not since last time. His new job is going well, though. Seems like he plans on staying out there.”
I nodded. “I’m sure he’ll visit soon enough.”
“I’m not so bothered.” Billie bit her nails. “If I need a grumpy man to help me fix my bike chain, I’ve got you for that now. Right?” she asked apprehensively.
“Right,” I confirmed with a smile. I was still getting used to that, the pride that came along with her coming to me for help. “Liene’s gone out for some food.”
“Thank God. I’m very hungry.”
I frowned. “You should have said. Come on, shall we annoy Elsie into giving us some tea and biscuits for when Liene gets back?”
“Absolutely.”
“Wipe your face before we go,” I said, nodding to the speckles of green across her face. “Else she’ll whip out a handkerchief and do it for you.”
Billie grimaced and picked up a towel, getting it wet with her water bottle and scrubbing at her face until her skin went red.
“Got it?” she asked.
I reached over, took the towel, and carefully wiped away a bit she’d missed by her eye. She stood still, making an annoyed face.
“I’m not five,” she muttered.
“Done,” I said, flicking her on the end of the nose with the towel. “And you’re short enough to be.”
She rolled her eyes and sat down on the floor to pull her boots on. “Stella got the tall genes.”
I didn’t comment on that. I’d learnt that any mention she made about her sister was best left alone. If she wanted to say more, she would, but just the casual use of her sister’s name was a great improvement.
“You don’t have to worry about knocking your head on door frames,” I said. “Which is a comfort.”
“A struggle of yours?” Billie asked with a grin, tugging her laces up.
“Occasionally,” I nodded, looking back at the low door I had ducked through to enter the room.
She laughed and clambered to her feet, using my sleeve to climb up. “Is that why you’re always so grumpy?”
“No, that’s because my shoes are too small.”
“Makes sense,” she grinned.
“Come on, toerag,” I said, steering her towards the corridor. “Where’s your coat?”
“We’re literally going across the road; I don’t need a coat for that. Also, once again, I’m not five.”
I rolled my eyes as we walked down the stairs, grabbing my coat from the bar, and spotted hers draped over a stool. I snatched it and threw it over. Billie scowled at me but pulled it on, muttering under her breath.
“Gonna make me wear mittens soon,” she said.
“When it gets colder, absolutely. Especially out here,” I added, grabbing the keys and ushering her outside. It was cold, the wind was biting, and I hurriedly pulled the door shut and locked it. Billie huddled down in her coat, and I held back my ‘told you so’ as she stuck her shivering hands deep into her pockets.
We walked over to Elsie’s house, and I sent a quick text to Liene to tell her where we were when she got back. Not sure which shop she’d gone to, but always better to be considerate and let her know. Billie reached the door first and rattled the knocker.
Elsie appeared in the little window beside the door, a smile forming on her face as Billie waved. She unlatched the door and swung it open, stronger on her feet every day.
“Hello, Billie,” she said, letting Billie into the warm cottage. “Max.”
“Hi, Els,” I said, bending down to kiss her cheek.
“Liene not with you?” she asked, shutting the door and shepherding us to the kitchen. Billie sat herself down happily by the radiator, and I sat beside her.
“Popped to the shop, she’ll be back in a bit.”
Elsie nodded, making herself busy with the kettle. “Can’t remember the last time I saw you in the daylight, Max, let alone on a weekend.”
“You saw me a month ago, Elsie.”
She tutted at me, sliding the biscuit tin over to Billie. “How’s the place looking?”
“More like its old self,” I answered, snatching a bisc
Elsie nodded. “I look forward to seeing it again,” she said, filling the teapot. “He making you do manual labour, girl?”
“I volunteered,” Billie replied, dusting some crumbs from her coat. “I like painting. Gets me out of spending all day talking to the cat.”
Elsie laughed, pushing the teapot and cups onto the table and settling down in her chair. “Will you bring him with you?”
“With her when?” I asked.
“Whenever you visit.”
Billie looked at me questioningly.
“You can bring Cat,” I told her, smiling when she answered with a beaming smile of her own.
“There’ll be no mice,” she said.
“We don’t have mice,” I said, pouring the tea for Elsie.
“Well, now we definitely won’t.”
Elsie was watching the two of us, her soft eyes flicking between us with a smile on her face. She was quiet for once, not offering her otherwise infallible opinion on things.
“How’s your month been then, Max?” she asked eventually.
I cradled my tea in my hands, deliberating.
“Not the easiest,” I told her slowly. Billie silently slid me another biscuit, looking very interested in her mug.
Elsie fixed me with a hard look. “Have you talked about it?”
“Not really,” I replied, dunking the biscuit into my tea. Elsie hummed and looked over to Billie.
“Is he being pig-headed?”
“That’s nice, Elsie, thank you,” I drawled. “Really comforting.”
“Don’t get snarky with me, Max. Talking’s important. Was it a bad case?”
“It was an interesting one,” I answered. “More of what happened during the investigation than anything else.”
“How is he?” Elsie asked.
“What?” I asked.
“Mills. How is he? He out of the hospital?”
“Got out last week,” I answered, studying the table.
“Have you seen him?”
“Not yet,” I replied, leaning back. I was spared from any more of her onslaughts by a knock at the door. I was on my feet in a flash, walking over to let Liene in, Billie and Elsie’s low voices following me from the kitchen. I opened the door, standing back for Liene, who bustled in, half-hidden behind her scarf, her nose pink from the cold.
“Foods in the car,” she muttered, unwinding her scarf and walking to the kitchen. “Afternoon, Elsie.”
“Liene, love. Have a seat. Tea?”
“Please.” Liene walked around the table, squeezing Billie’s shoulder before collapsing in an empty chair. “It’s freezing out there.”
“It’ll be a cold one, that’s for sure,” Elsie muttered. “That frost we had last week hasn’t done my gardens any favours.”
“Have you thought about a greenhouse?” Liene suggested lightly. “My mum swears by hers.”
“Can build one for you in the spring,” I added, sitting back down.
Elsie narrowed her eyes at me, handing Liene a cup of tea. “Don’t think you can change the subject on me, lad. Or distract me with greenhouses.”
“I didn’t even bring up the greenhouse,” I objected. Liene raised her eyebrows, looking between us.
“He won’t talk about the case,” Billie filled her in.
“Ah,” Liene nodded. “I barely know the details, Elsie.”
“It’s not something I really want to talk about.”
“Pfft,” Billie scoffed. “Hypocrite.”
“I’m not a hypocrite.”
“You’re always telling me to talk about stuff,” she said, reaching for another biscuit. “Besides, we can just ask Mills when we next see him. He’ll tell us.”
“That’s true,” Liene said. “He tells those stories very well.”
“It will make you feel better,” Elsie went on. “Get it off your chest so you can figure out what you want to do next.”
“What I want to do next?” I repeated.
“You haven’t visited Mills because you feel guilty,” Billie stated simply. “If you tell us about it, it might make you feel better and then you can go and see him. He’s your only friend,” she added. “You should probably visit him.”
“He’s not my only friend,” I replied.
“Name another one.”
“Lena.”
“Okay, name another one not from work.”
“Mills is from work,” I pointed out.
Billie sighed and slumped back in her chair, leaning her head against Liene’s arm.
“She’s got a point, Max,” Liene said softly. “You always feel better after talking about it, and we know the basics, anyway. It was all over the news, after all.”
I sighed through my nose and looked around the table. The three of them stared at me, unflinching.
“I’m not going to be able to talk my way out of this one, am I?”
“Short of getting up from that table and running back to the coaching house like you used to when you were seven, no,” Elsie said happily, slurping her tea.
I rolled my eyes with a groan. I knew they were right, of course. It always helped to talk through what had happened, and I knew that the three of them would listen without any judgement or concern. After all, I knew both Liene and Billie because of my work, they’d been involved in a case in one way or another, and Elsie knew all of my worst stories, both from work and life in general. The women had enough dirt on me to send me moving with a new identity to Prague or something.
“What do you know?” I asked.
“Man died,” Billie said. “Something about his wife? Mills got hurt, end of story.”
“That’s about it, actually,” I said, “but alright. No more badgering me, though? Once I’m done telling it, that’s it. We can go back to painting. Elsie, you can help.”
“Not likely,” she muttered. “Though I’m happy to watch.”
I took a long sip of tea and leant back in my chair, crossing one leg over the other, and tipped my head back slightly to look up at the ceiling.
“You remember that Mills and I were working a robbery at the time,” I began, “but then the call came in.”
One
Leonardo Conti strolled around the house with his brother, looking around with awe. It was an impressive building, an old house a few miles from the city, now a private hotel that they had rented out for the whole weekend.
“Nice place,” he remarked. “How did you find it?”
“Guy I work with does the policies for this place,” his brother answered. Luca looked nervously at his older brother. “You like it?”
“I love it!” Leonardo grinned, wrapping an arm around his brother and tugging him into his side. “You did, good, Luca. It’ll be one hell of a bachelor party.”
“Well, you only get married once, and I doubt Di will let me plan her bachelorette.”
Leonardo smirked. “I highly doubt that. Thanks for doing this, by the way. I know it’s usually best man duties, but I figured it was more your area than Hector’s.”
“A weekend of drinking and poker? What are you trying to say?” They grinned at each other, taking another look around the house.
The place had been set up for them, with some rooms locked and off-limits. They had a dining room to themselves, a living room, and a game room setup with a poker table, pool table and a box of cigars on the table. The boys all had a few rooms upstairs, and the staff had been briefed on the sort of weekend they would be having. Bachelor parties weren’t uncommon, and at least the men attending all seemed to be sensible, older chaps that were more interested in a weekend alone than they were about getting completely drunk and trashing the place.
Luca was proud of himself for pulling this together, especially for the price. Turns out having a friend in insurance was useful after all. He looked over at his older brother. Leo was standing staring up at the ceiling, his hands on his hips, a frown on his face. He’d been quiet as they drove out, distracted. He said it was work, but Luca knew his brother better than that. Something was weighing on him. He wondered if it had anything to do with Marion. Or perhaps his brother just needed a good weekend with his friends to unwind. Marriage was a big deal, and the day was getting closer and closer. Maybe this was how Leo’s cold feet looked.
