Righteous Anger
A DCI Rob Miller MYSTERY
B.L. Pearce
Contents
DCI Rob Miller Series
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Untitled
What’s Next for DCI Rob Miller?
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright © B.L.Pearce 2020
The right of B.L.Pearce to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without prior written permission of the author, except in cases of brief quotations embodied in reviews or articles. It may not be edited, amended, lent, resold, hired out, distributed or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s written permission.
Permission can be obtained from bl@blpearce.com
All characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. All references to real people are to add colour and are the product of the author’s imagination and have absolutely no basis in real life.
DCI Rob Miller Series
The Surrey Stalker
The Revenge Killer
Righteous Anger
Prologue
The Shepherd carried the body of the young girl into the clearing.
It was a beautiful afternoon, the sun-dappled leaves cast flickering shadows on the ground, tall trees stretched up into the clear blue sky as if standing to attention, and as he walked, he inhaled the heady scent of wildflowers, underscored by the earthy smell of decomposing leaves.
The only sounds breaking the idyllic silence were his own boots crunching on broken twigs and pine needles, and the odd squirrel rustling in the branches above.
It was a perfect day for the burial.
He laid his young victim down on the leaf-strewn ground, her dark hair haloing out around her like an avenging angel. Standing up, he admired her for a moment. Her skin was so pale, almost alabaster in the muted sunlight. The faint blush that had once stained her cheeks was long gone, but so was the pain and fear that had scarred her eyes. She was at peace now. No one would ever harm her again.
A surge of something close to happiness rose in his chest and he gasped with the suddenness and intensity of it. It was the feeling he’d got when he’d helped his dear friend find peace, so many years ago. He’d forgotten how good it felt, like he’d done something noble, something righteous. How he’d righted a wrong and ended someone’s suffering.
Shaking with adrenaline, he picked up the spade and began to dig. He’d found the perfect spot to lay her to rest. Under an ancient oak tree, surrounded by nature, rimmed by cornflowers and meadowsweet that would soon cover the gravesite, their pretty flowers her only marker.
It was hard, backbreaking work. He hadn’t done anything so manual in a long time. Still, it was worth it. For her.
An hour later, he stopped and wiped the sweat from his brow. Was it deep enough? He didn’t want the foxes to get at her. She would decompose naturally, become one with the earth, like God intended.
He dug on, just a little more, to make sure. Then he smoothed over the bottom, patting it down with his hands. Gathering some leaves, he spread them over the flattened earth, creating a verdant mattress on which she would lie.
Then, ever so gently, he lowered her into the grave.
“Sleep well, my love,” he whispered, placing her hands onto her chest as if in prayer. A leaf fell off an overhead branch and swept down onto her chest. The woods were already claiming her as their own.
He removed it, then took a fold-up comb out of his trouser pocket and arranged her hair over her shoulders, brushing it to a high gloss. Then he secured it at her temples with two sparkling blue clips. They had glitter on them, just like she’d had. Leaning forward, he kissed her cool forehead for the last time, then climbed out of the grave.
In his backpack, he had a linen sheet. He shook it out and watched it billow above her, before lowering it over the body. He blinked at the sudden loss of her image, then, bent down and tucked it around her.
Covering her up again didn’t take long. As the first crumbs of dirt fell on the sheet, he began to pray.
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside quiet waters. He restores my soul.
He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”
He finished reciting the Psalm as he filled in the grave. He tried to make it look natural, even throwing some more leaves and twigs on top. It wouldn’t fool anyone looking for a grave, but then no one knew she’d be buried here, less than a mile from where she’d been taken a fortnight ago.
He’d waited until the furore had quietened down, keeping her safe in the shed on his allotment. No one had thought to ask him. Why would they? He was nobody. Most people walked past him on the street without batting an eyelid. He was the grey man.
But inside, he was a seething, red-hot mass of righteous anger. A saviour. The Shepherd. That’s what he called himself when the darkness threatened to overwhelm him. He led the little children into the light. Delivered them at the right hand of the Lord.
He packed up his backpack and swung it onto his back, carrying the shovel
