Buried in the Past Read Online Free PDF Page B

what do you suggest?’
    ‘We have to make sure he doesn’t get there – ever. I also think it’s time to go visiting and try to get what we need via Perry’s bastard. At least we now know where he is.’
    ‘Look, there’s Perry at that bus stop. What does it say on the stand? Can you see?’
    From behind the net curtains of the ground floor flat, the old man had watched the caller get into the car. Only when he saw it drive off did he turn and complete his tea-making promise. He carried the mugs through into the lounge as the signature tune denoted the end of the radio programme. He set one down on the table next to his wife’s chair. ‘There’s your tea.’
    ‘Who was at the door?’
    ‘Some conman pretending to be a police officer. Showed me a credit card and claimed it was his warrant. I’ve a good mind to report him.’
    As he spoke, the old man bent down to stroke the Labrador lying alongside his wife’s chair. ‘It’s a grand day outside, I needed my sunglasses. Oh, by the way,’ the old man added, ‘whilst I was in town I had a new ferrule fitted on your white stick.’
     
    It was almost dark, which at that time of the year meant it was getting late. Ray Perry wondered if he would reach his destination that night, and what his welcome would be if he did. He had long since ceased to hold out any hope of an open-arms greeting; the door slammed in his face was far more likely. But he had to know for certain, one way or another; all doubt removed.
    He had to find out the truth, not for his own benefit but for the sake of others. He’d had his chance and blown it, blown it in thebiggest way imaginable. Now he had to discover if others had made the most of their chance in life, or even if they’d been given one.
    If he didn’t reach his destination, he’d have to find somewhere to spend the night, an empty barn, a hedge-back, wherever he could. He smiled, a bitter expression lacking all amusement. Even if he did reach the village, he still might have to settle for a night in the open. He wasn’t used to the countryside, wasn’t used to walking, wasn’t even used to being outdoors.
    He was so deep in thought he failed to notice the car. He was walking on the correct side of the road, facing the oncoming traffic. Not that there was much. He’d been on this country road for almost an hour, he guessed, and all he’d seen was one tractor pulling a trailer. What the trailer contained, he didn’t need to guess; the stink was bad enough to give him a clue. The sound of the car engine broke into his daydream. It was the rudest of awakenings. He looked round in time to see the radiator grille, like the open jaws of a metallic monster, bared teeth ready to devour him. He tried to leap to one side, but was too late. The car picked him up and hurled him backwards, to crash against the low stone wall of the field.
     
    DI Mike Nash was about to leave his office at Helmsdale police station when the phone rang. Even without the receptionist telling him the caller’s identity, he’d have recognized the voice of his old boss, Superintendent Tom Pratt, now a civilian support worker helping out at either Helmsdale or at Netherdale HQ.
    ‘Mike, are you busy?’
    ‘No, as I’ll be in Netherdale all day tomorrow I was about to go home. Anything I can help you with?’
    ‘I wondered if you had anything planned for the weekend?’
    ‘I have on Saturday. I’m going through to visit Daniel at school. He wants me to watch him in the nets.’
    ‘He’s a bit young for that, surely.’
    There was a trace of paternal pride in Nash’s voice as he replied, ‘I thought that too, but his teacher and the cricket coach both think he’s got potential.’
    ‘What about Sunday, then? That was the day I was more interested in.’
    ‘No, I’ve nothing planned that I know of, unless I’m needed here. What’s this about, Tom?’
    ‘I wondered if you’d care to go for a walk on Sunday morning. In the woods by the Winfield