The Dungeon House (Lake District Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF Page A

which he’d acted as a one-man firing squad in some godforsaken Latin American country, gunning down blindfolded bandits, one after another. That same day, he’d taken the rifle out in his car to the lonely dunes at Drigg, just to make sure it still worked. The shots didn’t make much noise at all, he’d disturbed nothing more than a flock of gulls.
    He couldn’t explain, even to himself, what had prompted him. Anyway, he found it oddly reassuring to know the rifle fired as well as ever. People let you down, but you could always rely on the Winchester.

CHAPTER THREE
     
     
    ‘The Dungeon House?’ Ben Kind said to his host. ‘A sinister name for somewhere so idyllic.’
    His airy wave took in the lily pond and lavender bed, the winding beck and the distant sea, shimmering in a haze of heat. The view beyond the grounds of the house had scarcely changed since Roman legions marched down from the fort at Hardknott to their garrison on the coast. You could tune out the hum of conversation, and even Amber’s favourite rock bands screeching from the temporary loudspeakers.
    A sudden peal of laughter from Amber’s friends knotted Malcolm’s stomach. They were mocking the way he’d stumbled over his words in welcoming everyone to the annual Dungeon House barbecue. He’d kept his speech brief, on Lysette’s strict instructions, and despite having drunk more booze than he’d intended, he thought he’d got away with it. But Cheryl struggled to keep her face straight,and the ghost of a smile flickered even on her boyfriend’s poker face.
    Ben Kind unnerved him. It wasn’t simply that the man was a police officer. This wasn’t some local PC Plod, but a flinty Mancunian who’d cut his teeth detecting serious crime in the city before meeting Cheryl, and leaving his missus and kids to be with her. According to Lysette, the wife had begged Ben to come back, but Ben Kind was determined to make a new life for himself in the Lakes. A stubborn man, judging by the set of his jaw, someone who stuck to his guns. Those dark eyes seemed to read your thoughts, and his cynical jokes implied that anyone living in a big house must have paid for it with ill-gotten gains. Malcolm wouldn’t want to be on the other side of an interrogation conducted by Ben Kind.
    ‘This name, Dungeon, goes back centuries.’ He chewed his steak. Red meat, there was nothing tastier, and fried onions complemented it to perfection. ‘Not that we have our own underground prison cell, if you’re in search of an overflow for Millom Jail.’
    ‘You’ve got mustard all over your chin,’ Lysette said. ‘Here, use this.’
    Snatching the paper napkin without a word, he wiped the yellow smear away. Lysette had hung her daubs inside the summer house. She reckoned her painting had come on in leaps and bounds since she’d started taking lessons from Scott Durham. What else was the bastard teaching her? His nephew Nigel and his accountant, Gray Elstone, were cooking in the gazebo, while Amber and Joanna served from trestle tables covered in gingham cloth. Deano and two lads who helped him in the garden were in charge ofthe booze, giving host and hostess a chance to mingle.
    Not that Malcolm was in the mood for social chit-chat, least of all with a detective inspector. It wasn’t as if he could quiz Ben Kind about the alibi Cheryl had supplied for Lysette’s tryst with her secret lover. The policeman’s abandonment of marriage for someone pretty, vivacious, and unworthy had set a disturbing precedent of betrayal.
    Ben downed a mouthful of lager. His self-assurance made Malcolm’s flesh creep. What had Cheryl been saying, were she and Ben poking fun at him behind his back? Adultery meant nothing to this pair. Ben’s divorce was nowhere near finalised. Lysette said the wife was fighting tooth and nail, but she’d never win.
    ‘You saw the deep split in the rocks beyond the stretch of grass where everyone is parked?’ Malcolm demanded. ‘ Dungeon means