Guilty Consciences
A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crime Thriller
Oliver Davies
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
2. Thatcher
3. Thatcher
4. Thatcher
5. Thatcher
6. Thatcher
7. Mills
8. Thatcher
9. Thatcher
10. Thatcher
11. Thatcher
12. Thatcher
13. Thatcher
14. Thatcher
15. Mills
16. Thatcher
17. Thatcher
18. Thatcher
19. Thatcher
20. Thatcher
21. Thatcher
22. Mills
23. Thatcher
24. Thatcher
25. Billie
26. Thatcher
27. Thatcher
28. Thatcher
Epilogue
A Message from the Author
Prologue
Autumn was on its way in. All around the city, the trees were starting to turn yellow and orange, the hubbub of the warm summer faded as tourists dwindled and children returned to school. October was a dreary month, more so this year, as several weeks ago, I’d had a call from the hospital. Elsie was unwell. I’d paid her a few visits there, thrown back by the sight of her, so small in the large bed and the fluorescent lights. She’d been asleep most of the time, but she was home now, back in her cottage, so I readied myself after an early shift to head out there.
Because it was Elsie, and she’d likely send me packing if I showed up looking rough around the edges, I took a long, hot shower, combed my hair back from out of my face and fished out some clean clothes. I walked out from the bedroom, looking around for my shoes, into the living room where Liene lay sprawled on the sofa. She poked her head up and looked me over.
“Nice,” she said. “Very handsome.”
“Thank you,” I answered, kissing the top of her head as I walked past.
“When are you heading off?” She sat up properly, resting her arms on the back of the sofa.
“As soon as I find my shoes,” I muttered back.
“By the radiator,” she said, pointing to the far end of the room. I followed her finger, oh yes. I went over and picked them up, sitting down beside her to pull them on.
“You’re welcome to stay,” I told her. “If you want to.”
“Might take you up on that,” she replied, resting her head against her hand, brown hair spilling across her shoulder. “My place is still freezing.”
“What’s your landlord doing about it?” I asked, lacing my boots up and dropping my feet to the ground, twisting in my seat to look at her.
She shrugged. “No clue. Old boy’s having to call his son in to take a look.”
I laughed through my nose. Having met Liene’s dodgery old landlord, that wasn’t a surprise. “Well, you’re welcome here any time,” I assured her, reaching over to lay my hand on hers. “Can’t have my girl freezing her little socks off.”
She chuckled, turning her hand over to lace her fingers with mine. “Certainly can’t.”
“And the next time I visit Elsie, I am bringing you with me,” I added, lifting her hand up and kissing her fingers.
She smiled warmly. “You will?”
“I’d take you now, but she’ll be in bed, and she won’t thank me for that. She likes to make a good impression. When she’s back on her feet, able to put a brew on and chase me around the kitchen table with a tea towel, then I’ll bring you.”
Liene looked up at me with a touch of sadness in her eyes, but she nodded. “Well, say hello for me. And tell her I hope she feels better soon so that she can whip you back into shape.”
“Unkind,” I told her, standing and letting go of her hand. Her laughter followed me around the room as I pulled my coat on, making sure I had my keys and wallet. I checked my phone briefly, just in case anything had come through from Sharp or Mills. Nothing. Though I doubt they’d call me in tonight, even if there were. The two of them had more or less chased me from the station earlier. Mills even took a great wad of my paperwork to finish for me. Good lad.
“Right. I’ll see you in a few hours,” I said, opening the front door.
“Take your time,” she called back, already settled back down onto the sofa, flipping through the Radio Times. I smiled at her, though she wasn’t looking my way, and stepped out into the brisk evening.
Across the road, my neighbours had put out a few Halloween decorations already, a skeleton in the window, a few bats hanging from the nearly bare branches in the tree outside their front door. Maybe I’d do something this year. I wasn’t working on Halloween for once. Liene and I had set aside the evening to watch scary films and binge eat all the seasonal chocolates with Sally and Tom. Could always put one of those creepy hands out or a pumpkin for the trick-or-treaters. In the village I grew up in, they did Halloween right. I had fond memories of myself and Sally running around the village dressed in old sheets, hands covered in chocolate, a sugar rush turning us into feral little animals. The older villagers always had some good stories, too, about the creatures lurking in the moors or a chained giant wandering the roads.
The thought kept me amused as I walked down the stairs, waving to another neighbour as they tried to shepherd the three children and two dogs back into the house. The children were small and in their puffy coats, looked a bit like marshmallows legs with little legs on the end. I’d wager they were old enough for trick-or-treating, though, even if everyone else on this street was too old and slightly senile.
I hopped in my car, rubbing my hands together in the cold and switched the engine on, turning the heaters up full blast to warm the car up. I sat on the kerb for a while as I waited, looking back at the house, the windows lit up and the curtains drawn. It had been nice having Liene over, nice having someone there when I got home, even when I got home at godforsaken hours in the night or morning. She left me food if she was in bed by the time I got in, with little
