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Ballroom, Bars and Seawater Baths: Sequel to The 24 Hour Jazz Cafe
Ballroom, Bars and Seawater Baths: Sequel to The 24 Hour Jazz Cafe
Ballroom, Bars and Seawater Baths: Sequel to The 24 Hour Jazz Cafe
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Ballroom, Bars and Seawater Baths: Sequel to The 24 Hour Jazz Cafe

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It is eighteen months since the Midland Hotel burned to the ground in the small town of Morecambe. Now the 24 Hour Jazz Cafe stands in its place.
Owner Mitch Johnson is missing, leaving his oldest friend and business partner Rupert Watts to run their new venture.
A woman's purse is found by children playing on the beach. Then a man is brutally murdered in his bathroom. Newly promoted female detective DS Jane Harper must connect the pieces to find a killer.
But when Harper learns that the purse belonged to the wife of the murdered man, and that the missing woman has run away with Mitch, Harper begins to wonder if her psychic consulting detective might actually be the prime suspect.
This thrilling sequel to The 24 Hour Jazz Café pushes Mitch and Rupert to their very limits as they are exposed to a case far wider reaching than anything they have faced previously. Even detective Harper, usually in total control, is floundering as the clues lead nowhere and mistakes are made.
In the end, with Rupert in danger and a lack of options, it is a vengeful Mitch who is willing to risk everything to see justice done and push organized crime from their town.

Praise for Ballroom, Bars: "For those looking for a good detective story Mr Sinclair delivers a number of twists and turns carried in a neat and witty prose. I particularly enjoyed the development of the characters from the first book and the interplay between Mitch and Rupert. There are some poignant moments that add to what is essentially a fast moving and highly enjoyable read."

"This story weaves gang rivalries and family feuds into a gripping plot. The main characters become real; Mitch the larger than life and slightly off-the-wall man affected by his childhood and his unusual abilities and Rupert, the man still grieving eighteen months after the death of his beloved Emily, the woman they both loved. A great sequel!"

LanguageEnglish
Release dateAug 22, 2016
ISBN9781311860873
Ballroom, Bars and Seawater Baths: Sequel to The 24 Hour Jazz Cafe
Author

Jamie Sinclair

Originally I’m a Yorkshire boy (as of 1976 when I was born) but have lived in Lancashire since I was four. My parents moved to the seaside town of Morecambe. To this day I still love looking at the sea. When my wife and I bought our first house together, condition number was that it had to be near the sea. We were lucky enough to get one with a view right across Morecambe Bay. The town might be struggling, but I’ve been all over the world and have yet to see a better view. I occasionally post pictures of where I live on social media so if you’re interested that’s the place to look. I have various qualifications including an MA in Creative Writing from Manchester Metropolitan University. I’d thoroughly recommend the course to anybody with an interest in writing if for no other reason than it’s great to be around like minded folk. I also have a BA (Hons) in English and Urban Policy as well as a Post Graduate Diploma in Health Management. My favourite author is Stephen King. I maintain that when he’s on form he’s as good as anyone has ever been. He’s often sold short as merely a horror writer. Still, he’s hardly struggling for readers. My favourite book is Catcher in the Rye. I accept it’s not everyone’s idea of fun but if there was a book I wish I’d written (or was capable of writing) it’s that one. I tend to post about what I’m reading on the Goodreads website. They’re a friendly bunch so it’s worth stopping by. I’m an armchair sports fan. I’m a passionate supporter of Liverpool Football Club and long for a return to the glory years. I also love watching golf but freely admit I enjoyed it a lot more when Tiger Woods was at the top of the game. Tennis is also a favourite. At school I was a big fan of Pete Sampras but in my view Roger Federer has changed the game beyond all recognition. When he’s at his very best, it’s more like art than sport. I wrote my first novel – Playground Cool – in the summer of 1999. I had just graduated with my BA and was waiting to start the MA in September. I ended up submitting the book as part of my coursework. I was lucky enough to get an agent from my very first letter but then got a dose of reality in the form of a dozen rejection letters from publishers. My second novel came close to publication with Transworld but the traditional book deal still eludes me. The advent of Kindle and Indie Publishing has made that less of an issue. If you want to keep up with the latest news then you’re probably better off following me on Facebook or Twitter.

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    Ballroom, Bars and Seawater Baths - Jamie Sinclair

    Prologue

    ‘Look, Victoria has been in the wind for days. We can’t wait any longer. We need the information so we can get the package moving. People are waiting.’

    Maurice Tucker gripped the phone. He knew action was required. Any uncertainty on his part would be exploited. ‘Fine, fine. Go to her house, I have a key. All the info will be on one of her computers.’

    ‘That’s not much help. I could do with a hint as to a file name, a folder, something.’

    ‘We’ll worry about that when you’ve actually been to the house to get the damned machines,’ he growled.

    ‘Fine, fine, you’re in charge. I’ll go this afternoon, less suspicious in daylight.’

    An hour later the man was inside the house. There was a laptop computer in the living room and a tablet in the bedroom. The info he needed could be on either machine. He brought the tablet into the living room and placed both devices side by side. He powered them up; clicking immediately to the hard drives to see if he was in luck and Victoria had labelled the files in an obvious way. He swore. She had not. He dialled Tucker’s number as per instructions.

    ‘Well?’ Tucker demanded.

    ‘I’ve found two machines. The files could be on either or on both. I won’t know until I’ve poked around a bit.’

    ‘So get on with it, you’re the one with the degree in computers.’

    ‘Yeah, yeah, might take a while. Hello, what’s this?’ He noticed an icon in the corner of the tablet and tapped it with his finger. He raised his eyebrows. It was software to control a wireless music system.

    ‘Success?’ Tucker asked.

    ‘No, but I think Victoria might have a networked drive in the house. If it was me that’s where I’d hide this stuff.’

    ‘Am I supposed to ask why?’

    ‘Because you can access a networked drive from anywhere in the world. That’s good because you never have to carry the info with you, which means you aren’t going to get caught with anything you shouldn’t have. It’s clever.’

    Tucker smiled. ‘But you can still find the info?’

    ‘Yeah, it’ll take as long as it takes though.’

    ‘You’d best crack on then.’ There was no goodbye. Just a click, then a dial tone.

    He went to make a cup of tea and then sat down to scour the drive, beginning with any partitions and folders which had been hidden from view or password protected. Twenty minutes later he opened a folder which was apparently empty. He quickly revealed another folder hidden within and, when it turned out to be password protected he smiled.

    ‘Right then, lets gets you opened shall we?’

    He inserted a memory stick which ran some decryption software and within seconds the contents of the folder were revealed.

    ‘Oh shit!’ He grabbed the phone and dialled hurriedly, his eyes wide as they scanned the files.

    ‘Found it?’ Tucker asked. ‘Didn’t seem to take…’

    ‘Boss, we have a problem. You need to get over here, sharpish, boss, now!’

    Several hours passed. It grew dark. Tucker had checked and knew that the man they wanted would arrive sooner rather than later. Finally, a little after midnight they heard a key in the door. Tucker’s men stood behind the living room door. They heard a bag being placed on the floor and then a hand reached out to switch on the hall light. They grabbed him and dragged him upstairs.

    Once he was subdued, gagged and prone on the bathroom floor Tucker showed himself.

    ‘Evening Peter, just back I see. How’s that teaching job of yours going?’

    The gag prevented anything other than a moan.

    ‘I don’t suppose you happen to know where your lovely wife is? She seems to have gone AWOL.’

    The man shook his head frantically, his eyes wide with confusion and fear.

    ‘Pity. I need some info for a project we’re working on. Unfortunately for you I asked one of my men to look for it and he stumbled across something…’ Tucker paused, nodded at one of the men with him who left the room and returned with a black holdall. The same man then turned on both bath taps and put the plug in. Tucker then continued. ‘Something that concerns me a great deal.’

    He knelt down and put his face close to that of his prisoner. ‘In many ways Peter I’m traditional, though my critics would call me old fashioned. I was never one for blood and guts, that’s why I was never much good at the farming as my dear departed father used to constantly remind me.’

    Peter, still pinned to the floor, moaned and struggled, his eyes streaming tears. Tucker made a soothing sound and stroked the man’s head.

    ‘I could never see the point of making a mess if you didn’t have to. We’ve got that lovely deep bay right on our doorstep, why not just take a boat out and leave your problems behind you? Giving someone a seawater bath we used to call it. Of course it was the last bath they ever had but that’s not the point.’ Tucker chuckled at the memory.

    ‘The point is you’ve stumbled onto my radar and now I’m obliged to do something about it, even though you’re married to my daughter. I’m in a rush and tide’s out so we’ll have to conclude our business here.’

    One of the men turned to confirm the bath was filling and Peter seized his chance. He leapt to his feet and bounced out of the bathroom. The second man managed to grab Peter’s trailing foot. He stumbled and then fell headlong down the stairs where he lay in a heap, injured and groaning.

    Tucker’s men ran after him. ‘He’s in a bad way boss, broken his leg at least.’

    ‘Bring him back up here, let’s get this done.’

    They stripped Peter of his clothes and dropped his injured body into the water with a splash.

    ‘In the old days,’ Tucker said, ‘they had a word for blokes like you. Nonce. You know where that word comes from Peter? Not on normal communal exercise. Segregated prisoners Peter.’ Tucker looked up. The man who had brought the holdall opened it to reveal an array of tools. ‘And why were men like you kept away from everyone else? Because of men like me, Peter. Because of men like me.’

    21st March

    Chapter 1

    Rupert Watts, owner of the 24 hour jazz café, wandered across to the window of the rotunda bar looked out at the sea. It was eighteen months since the Midland Hotel had burned to the ground. It had seemed impossible then that anything would be built on the site of the iconic hotel and yet here it was; a joint venture between himself and Mitch, his oldest friend, in memory of Emily, his deceased partner.

    ‘Quiet tonight,’ he observed.

    The bartender shrugged. ‘Midweek boss, it’s raining out. Plus, there’s football on the tele…’

    Rupert smiled and shook his head. He knew that offering live sport in the bar would very likely bring in a few more punters but he was adamant that the jazz café was not going to be that type of venue. But that still didn’t stop the staff mentioning it whenever they sensed he was in an approachable frame of mind.

    He looked at the print on the wall behind the bar. It was Catch the Breeze by Chas Jacobs and showed the Midland Hotel in its pomp, before the decline of the town, before the events of last year which saw the hotel razed to the ground.

    It was Mitch’s idea to use Chas Jacob’s work in the jazz café. The artist had been a year or two above them at school and Mitch liked the link. Plus the scenes depicted in the paintings suited the style of the jazz café. Jacobs himself attended the opening of the new venue and had signed a few prints on the night for a charity auction with all proceeds going to the local hospice in recognition of the care provided to Emily.

    ‘Fetch me a bottle of beer would you? Since we’re quiet and there’s no big screen to occupy you.’

    Rupert looked at his watch. 11:45PM. Since opening its doors six weeks earlier the jazz café had become Morecambe’s most popular venue but it still couldn’t compete with rising unemployment and a windy, rainy night.

    ‘Will you put track seven on?’ He said over his shoulder to the bartender. A few moments later Rosetta by Earl Hines floated from hidden Kef speakers. Rupert began to tap his foot along to the piano. He would never appreciate jazz in the same way that Emily had, but the more he discovered, the more he found to like. Earl Hines was new to him and the upbeat rhythm of this song lifted his spirits. He listened for a while, finished his beer and walked back to the bar for another.

    ‘Mr Johnson not coming in tonight?’ The bartender asked as he put the bottle on the bar.

    Rupert shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

    He hadn’t seen or spoken to Mitch in almost a week. The fact that this felt strange was a sign of how far their relationship had progressed since the period up to Emily’s death when they hadn’t been in contact for a number of years. Her death had been the catalyst, certainly one of them, which brought them together again. It had been strained at first, remained so for a long time, but now they were as close as they would ever be to their original friendship.

    Rupert plucked his phone from his pocket and checked his emails, texts and missed calls knowing there would be nothing from Mitch but going through the motions anyway. He worried about his friend, had done since they were little kids, just the same as Mitch worried about him. Now in their mid-thirties, a lot of things had happened yet that fundamental never changed. Rupert sighed and returned to looking out across the bay.

    Just then a car swung onto the promenade and turned in a semi-circle so that the beams of its headlights were aimed directly at the rotunda bar. Rupert’s eyes squinted in protest at the sudden brightness. Almost immediately the passenger door opened and was slammed shut and a figure hurried towards the bar. Judging by the sign on top of the vehicle Rupert guessed it was a taxi dropping somebody off for a late night drink. Odd, but welcome.

    The man heaved open the large glass door and marched past Rupert to the bar where he confronted the young barman.

    ‘I’m here to see Mitch Johnson. I know this is his place.’

    The man was breathing heavily and sounded agitated. He appeared to be perhaps in his late forties or early fifties and had black hair which was both greying and thinning. The barman quickly assessed the stranger in case he proved to be troublesome and saw nothing to cause too much concern. He was slightly built and wore glasses and his clothes, while casual, were clearly expensive. Rupert was also watching the man and guessed he was a professional of some sort, perhaps someone with whom Mitch had done business.

    The barman smiled and shrugged amiably, showing he was calm in an attempt to pacify the stranger. ‘Sorry mate, he’s not been in tonight. Perhaps leave him a message, or try tomorrow?’ His tone was friendly, casual, designed to disarm and dilute a potentially awkward or violent situation. It didn’t work.

    The stranger leaned across the bar and tried to grab the young bar tender who anticipated the clumsy attack and simply stepped back, raising his hands in a gesture of placation and surrender. Rupert stepped up behind the man.

    ‘Excuse me, sir. My name is Rupert Watts and this is my bar. I don’t appreciate you trying to assault my staff. I think it’s time you…’

    The man spun round and swung a generously telegraphed haymaker which Rupert barely needed to sidestep. He replied with a swift blow to the man’s solar plexus causing him to double up as the air left his body. Rupert was younger and fitter than his opponent and met little resistance when he grabbed the man’s right arm and twisted it behind his back, using it to propel him to the door. Seconds later they were on the steps outside where Rupert pushed the man towards the taxi.

    ‘It goes without saying that you’re not welcome here again. But thanks for popping in.’

    ‘I need to see Mitch Johnson, tell me where he is,’ the man insisted.

    ‘Clearly he’s not here,’ Rupert replied firmly. ‘If you tell me…’

    The man’s eyes were wide with what looked like panic. ‘He has no idea who he’s involved with. She told me about him, I know they’re together. But he doesn’t know her. You can’t protect him.’

    Rupert took a step back. ‘Protect him from what exactly?’

    The man laughed maniacally and Rupert wondered if perhaps he was on drugs. ‘Not what. Who! It doesn’t matter. If they want him, they’ll find him. Especially if he’s with her, the robbing bitch. Your friend is in way over his head with her. Remember, I tried to warn him.’

    The stranger climbed into the taxi, the driver looked nervously at Rupert and then pulled away leaving him to reflect that things didn’t change. People had been threatening his best friend Mitch since they were kids and Rupert was still looking out for him. This latest aggressor didn’t fit the usual mould however. He certainly wasn’t built for fighting and his threats sounded mildly pathetic rather than anything to lose sleep over. Rupert went back inside and tried Mitch’s mobile again. It went unanswered. He didn’t bother to leave a voicemail; he’d left half a dozen already.

    The following morning Rupert woke early. Since Emily’s death he rarely slept for more than a few hours at a time although at least now that sleep wasn’t entirely filled with dreams about her.

    He went downstairs, flicked on the kettle and sniffed. He had been ignoring the smell for some time. Now he decided to move the oven to investigate. It was a range cooker, a large silver unit with six gas burners, two ovens – one fan assisted, one convection – and an electric grill. To date he had never used the convection oven. He heaved out one side at a time by a matter of inches, cursing and swearing and ever mindful of not damaging the gas and electric connections. By the time he’d dragged it far enough from the wall to see behind it he was sweating. He knelt on the wooden worktop next to the cooker, switched on the light in the extractor hood and peered into the gap he’d created.

    There was a surprising amount of debris. Old food, dust, streaks where spills had run down the wall and dried. There was also the source of the smell. A dead mouse. God only knew how it had got in or how it had died but it was rotting and disturbing to look at.

    Unable to reach the mouse with his arm Rupert taped the dustpan to the mop handle and managed to scoop the tiny carcass into the pan and slide it slowly up the kitchen wall. Trying not to look at the contents, he tipped the mouse into a freezer bag, sealed it and dropped it into the bin.

    He shoved the oven back into place and noticed a single strand of long dark hair on the floor which had presumably been under the cooker. Emily’s hair. Rupert picked it up and smiled. It was strange to see, he had given most of her belongings to charity over a year ago. He missed her still, would always love her, but he was no longer sad.

    Task completed Rupert rewarded himself with a cup of tea. He checked his phone and was annoyed, but not surprised, to see there was nothing from Mitch. There was an email from DS Jane Harper though, suggesting they meet to discuss Mitch’s thoughts on a case they had been helping the police with.

    Rupert still sometimes found this to be a strange arrangement. DC Harper, as she was when they first met, was the only person aside from Rupert to believe Mitch had any sort of precognitive ability. When a girl was found murdered in Happy Mount Park it was Harper who had chosen to work with Mitch and, in the end, a number of high profile arrests had been made. Harper was promoted to the rank of Detective Sergeant and she had come to Rupert on a handful of occasions since then, asking if Mitch had seen anything, if he had any insight into particular cases she was working on. It was purely casual, and frowned upon by most of Harper’s colleagues, but they had grown friendly and Rupert enjoyed the excitement of being involved in real police work.

    This latest case didn’t, in Rupert’s view, seem to have much meat to it. A purse had been found on the beach by a couple of kids who had, surprisingly in these modern times, taken it straight home and told their parents. The woman it belonged to, Victoria Garraway, seemed to have disappeared although friends and neighbours weren’t unduly worried as it had only been a few days and it was suspected that she may have gone to visit her husband who worked as a teacher in Switzerland.

    This theory was supported by colleagues at the library where Mrs Garraway worked part time as a library assistant. Apparently she had booked some annual leave so they were not expecting to see her. But, Harper had argued, a woman needs her purse, especially one containing credit cards and a drivers licence. The fact that it had washed up on the beach didn’t make sense. As such, a few days earlier, she had come to speak to Mitch and Rupert about it.

    ‘Morning, it’s Rupert. I got your email.’

    ‘Morning. You free for coffee?’ She sounded bright this morning, as if she was smiling. Harper was small in height, just over five feet tall, but she had a presence, a surety, that could make her an intimidating force and also meant she was often wrongly perceived as being hard and lacking humour. Rupert knew Mitch had a soft spot for her simply because of her razor sharp intellect. Not many people could keep up with Mitch, but Jane Harper seemed able to manage that while catching criminals at the same time. Rupert said he was free and they agreed to meet in half an hour.

    ‘I got you a latte,’ Rupert said in answer to her looking down at the cup when she arrived five minutes after him.

    ‘Perfect. I’ve got about twenty minutes before I have to be somewhere else. Any word from Mitch?’

    Rupert shook his head. ‘Any more news on the missing woman?’

    It was Harper’s turn to shake her head. ‘It’s probably nothing. There’s no suggestion of foul play, she hasn’t been reported missing but…’

    ‘It feels wrong?’

    She nodded and sipped her coffee. ‘Exactly. I don’t know any woman who would be able to cope without her purse for more than a few hours, let alone days. And why not just chuck it in a bin if you want rid of it, less chance of it being found that way.’

    Rupert mused as he drank his tea. ‘Fair point. Has the husband turned up, the teacher?’

    ‘Peter Garraway. We’ve spoken to him on the phone yesterday to fill him in on the state of play. He flew in from Switzerland last night; we’re going to interview him this morning. He’s not a suspect though. We checked with the school where he works and he hasn’t been in this country since Christmas.’

    ‘Doesn’t mean he doesn’t know something.’

    Harper’s expression told Rupert she thought it unlikely. ‘They haven’t got any money worries, house is paid for etc. So aside from his working abroad they’re just a normal married couple. We’re not assuming he’s organised a hit on his wife while he was out of the country.’

    ‘Except she’s disappeared.’

    ‘Yes, except for that. When we spoke to him he seemed quite concerned though, asked if we knew where she was, who she was with. Plus he’s jumped on the first available flight which shows he must care.’ She didn’t sound convinced.

    They were interrupted by Harper’s phone ringing. Rupert browsed the local newspaper while she listened.

    ‘Bollocks,’ Harper said under her breath.

    Rupert looked up. He could tell immediately from the expression on her face that the news was not good.

    She leaned across the table and spoke quietly, conscious of their environment. ‘A body has been found, male.’

    ‘Where?’

    ‘House in town,’ she said, grabbing her bag and standing to leave. ‘Might be worth you coming along.’

    ‘What on earth for?’ Rupert asked, standing anyway as the adrenalin began to flow.

    ‘Because the address is the same as the missing woman.’

    22nd March

    Chapter 2

    Fifteen minutes later Rupert and DS Harper arrived on Westminster Road in Morecambe. Uniformed officers had already set up a cordon and that, in tandem with the police vehicles had attracted attention from residents, who had formed a small crowd.

    Harper spoke to the officer who had responded to the initial call. He was heavily built and towered over the petite detective but there was no mistaking who was in charge.

    ‘Neighbour called 999 to say she’d heard banging and then a crash. She’s over there giving a statement. We’ve already begun a search outside, front and back yards, the alley that runs behind these houses as well as the bins.’

    ‘Inside?’ Harper asked instantly.

    The officer shook his head apologetically. ‘Not yet ma’am. The pathologist told us to wait until she’d finished and she thought you’d want a look first. Sorry.’

    ‘And the body?’

    ‘In the bathroom. I’ll take you up.’

    ‘No need, we’ll find it. You stay out here; I want a log of everyone who has already been in the house and everyone who goes in or out.’

    The officer nodded then flicked his eyes towards Rupert. ‘It’s pretty grim.’

    Harper acknowledged the information and turned to Rupert. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t see this,’ she suggested. ‘Perhaps wait here?’

    ‘It’s fine. Might be helpful if I do have a look; relay the info to Mitch if he ever turns up.’

    They put on white forensic suits before going inside. Harper managed a smile as the burly uniformed officer politely asked Rupert his name for the newly created log. The house was a tall terrace, tastefully decorated and in good condition.

    ‘Nice place this, modern furniture. I was expecting a shit hole given the part of town we’re in,’ Harper observed.

    Rupert nodded his agreement. Westminster Road was in the west end, traditionally a dumping ground for the unemployed and the destitute. ‘A case of having the best house on the worst street.’

    In the bathroom a scene of crime officer was examining the body which was in the bath.  She wore the same white suit as Harper and Rupert, along with gloves, overshoes and had a holdall perched on the toilet. Harper poked her head round the door.

    ‘Morning Sue, uniform said it’s a nasty one.’

    ‘Hiya Jane, this one landed at your feet has it? It is pretty graphic but interesting too, we don’t get many like this round here.’

    Rupert screwed up his face. ‘Smells like burning.’

    ‘It is.’ Harper pushed open the bathroom door and allowed Rupert to see what she was looking at. There was a toaster partially submerged in the dark red water. The naked body of a man was also in the water, his left leg badly broken, the bone visible through the skin. But the sight of the man’s mutilated genitals was so horrific as to render everything else almost insignificant.

    ‘Good God!’ Rupert exclaimed, staring at the body in horror before recoiling into the hall, a hand over his mouth.

    ‘I know, it’s awful. Perhaps you should wait outside, get some air.’

    ‘It’s not that, well it is. But I know this bloke. At least I recognise him.’

    Harper fixed her gaze on Rupert to be certain he wasn’t making an ill judged joke. ‘But when I mentioned the name Peter Garraway in the coffee shop earlier it meant nothing to you. So who is he?’

    ‘I don’t know the name but I threw him out of the jazz café last night. He was looking for Mitch.’

    Harper groaned. ‘And now he’s dead. Are you sure it’s the same man?’

    ‘Of course I’m sure; it was barely twelve hours ago.’

    ‘Christ. That puts you right in the middle of this and I’ve just led you inside. God, what a day. Right, first job, Rupert, get out of my crime scene. And while you’re walking, try and get hold of your elusive mate. We need to know how they knew each other, why the deceased was looking for Mitch and hopefully our gifted consultant can give us some clue as to why Mr Garraway is dead.’

    When Rupert had left the room Harper turned back to the forensic officer. ‘You thinking what I’m thinking?’           

    ‘Sex offender. Someone’s cut his testicles off and had a go at his penis too. It’s crude, savage. The injuries suggest it most probably occurred while the poor sod was still alive. I’ve seen this done in prisons…’

    Harper nodded. ‘Sex offenders, paedophiles. For when other inmates decide a prison sentence isn’t enough.’

    ‘Yep. Looks like someone suspected this chap of something like that. I’d suggest the toaster in the bath was almost overkill. He’d have bled to death from his injuries regardless,’ said the soco from her position on her knees at the side of the bath.

    ‘Early guess?’

    Sue looked up and frowned. ‘I tend to avoid guessing as well you know DS Harper. We’ll check for drugs etc but given the scene death by electrocution is possible. The beating and the cuts are obviously a major factor. Someone really wanted him to suffer before he died.’

    ‘Wouldn’t the toaster have shorted when it hit the water?’

    ‘Yes, that smell will be the blown fuse I expect. He’d have a fair chance of surviving the shock actually, assuming he was in good health and hadn’t been beaten and mutilated first. You’d be surprised how many people are injured each year in bathroom electrocutions. Admittedly most of them are accidental, hairdryers mainly, but you’d have to be pretty unlucky to actually die from something like this. It’s low voltage, brief exposure…’

    ‘And the other injuries?’

    ‘The leg is a severe break, happened before he went in the water; it’s badly swollen, not fatal. Would have been very painful.’

    ‘So he didn’t just decide to top himself, fill the bath and lob in the toaster.’

    ‘What are you thinking?’

    ‘Just ruling things out. He’s injured so not mobile. Did he climb into the bath himself with that leg? Unlikely. So someone put him there. Did they cause the injury? Did they mutilate him? Then there’s the time to fill the bath. This isn’t spur of the moment so whoever did this wasn’t worried about being disturbed. And like you said, they wanted him to suffer.’

    Harper was doubting what her eyes were telling her. She’d felt exactly the same when she’d first experienced Mitch’s gift first hand.  

    ‘I want to talk to the neighbours,’ she said finally and marched downstairs.

    Outside a light drizzle had begun to fall which persuaded a majority of the rubberneckers to return to their homes. Harper asked Rupert to wait in her car while she went to speak to the woman who had made the initial call to the police.

    Harper rang the doorbell and stepped back to look at the condition of the house while watching the windows for movement. Sure enough the net curtain in the bay window was moved slightly to one side for a moment before falling

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