Unraveled Visions (A Shaman Mystery) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Avon and Somerset CID. Gary Abbott was a detective sergeant in the CID. I looked up, remembering him. When I’d known him, he’d been a detective constable, and I doubted that he’d suddenly changed for the better with his promotion. It couldn’t be Abbott; only the good die young.
    I went through to the link to find out that Drea had been listening more closely than she’d suggested. A body had been discovered early this morning at the back end of the shopping precinct, where the stores had their delivery bays and rubbish bins.
    I scratched my hairline. Not the churchyard. I tried to recall the explosive darkness of last night. What had I seen? A man obscured by shooting fire and raining sparks. A knee-length coat flapping in the night wind. I’d been sure then that Abbott was the wearer. I’d lost him in the firework excitement. Or had he dropped to the ground, the noise of a gun masked by gunpowder? If I had walked up the lane, would I have seen him being dragged away? Would I have been shot in the crossfire?
    I thought about coppers, the risks they took. Someone had wanted a detective dead. Although I might have joked in the past that I’d’ve preferred a deceased Gary Abbott, I would never have meant it. The thought of him shot and dumped among garbage filled me with trepidation, and the sickness in my stomach confirmed it.
    I shrugged. “Could be anyone.”

three
    “Any chance of a cup of tea?”
    I bounced up from my bar stool. Debs stood on the other side of the working top, her makeup back in place, the spikes of her dip-dyed hair looking jaunty, and her sparkly bag on wheels zipped up ready for the trip back to Bristol. I’d half forgotten, after Drea and the news about last night, that she’d been sleeping in my spare bedroom.
    “Debs! Remember the bloke last night at the carnival? The copper I saw running?”
    “Sort of …”
    “Someone was shot last night. I think it could be him.”
    “Blimey,” said Debs, shaking her head as if she had something irritating an ear. “He’s not … he’s not that detective you had a thing with, is he?”
    “No. Not him. That was Rey. Only we never ‘had a thing.’ ” My knees gave way for a second—until the dead man had been named, it could be any detective. “Please don’t even think that it might be Rey.”
    Detective Inspector Reynard Buckley. Rey to his mates. He’d been given promotion after the successful closure of the Wetland Murders case. Abbott had got a leg-up too. After it was all over, Rey had begun popping in to see me on his way to work. He’d listened to me moan on about Gary Abbot, and I’d managed to get Rey to admit that Abbott did annoy him; he thumbed through classic military vehicle mags in the car and banged on about the rules of things like Australian football until after closing time. And it worried him that after a night’s drinking, Rey and a couple of other cops would have to help Gary out into the night and check he’d got home to his partner. Back then, I was still seething at the way Gary Abbott had treated me, and Rey’s stories confirmed it: Abbott was a smug, spiteful, cynical slime ball with a hatred of anything he couldn’t understand. But in truth, I knew Rey was secretly fond of the guy. He’d worked alongside him through a nasty investigation, after all.
    By the time they’d found that unnamed girl at the Dunball Wharf, Rey’s morning visits had all but stopped, and I’d been glad, because nothing had moved on. He’d come into the kitchen, eat a boiled egg if the hens were laying, drink a coffee, then bomb off to work, like I was some sort of café. He’d never suggested a date. He’d never kissed me.
    Since then, the only thing that had kept me going through the long, lonely nights was his continually changing photo on the social network sites.
    “I’m going to put the kettle on and make us some toast,” said Debs, taking charge. “You look dreadful.”
    “I’m trying to piece last night