Free The Blood Pit by Kate Ellis

knocked on the window and
     his father looked round guiltily, as though he’d been caught committing some crime. But the guilt only lasted a split second.
     A casual smile was swiftly plastered on his face as he raised his hand in greeting.
    ‘Hello, son,’ said Robbie Carstairs as he opened the shop door. ‘Good to see you. Come in, come in.’
    Steve stepped inside, his heart thumping. He didn’t know why he felt nervous. It wasn’t like him at all.
    Robbie nodded towards the young woman. She was around Steve’s own age or maybe a little younger; a natural blonde – or at least
     that’s how it looked – with delicate features and bright blue eyes. Her hair was scraped back into a ponytail, giving her
     a startled look.
    ‘This is Joanne,’ Robbie said, giving the young woman an appreciative glance. ‘She started working for us a couple of weeks
     back, didn’t you, my love? This is my lad, Steve, I was telling you about.’
    Steve smiled at her and she smiled back. ‘Your dad says you’re a policeman.’
    Steve shuffled his feet nervously. There was no way he was going to admit to his suspension in front of a desirable female.
     He had his image to think of and she was good looking – just his type. He straightened his shoulders. ‘That’s right, love.
     I’ve not seen you round Tradmouth before … I would have remembered.’
    She looked him in the eye as though she knew a clumsy chat-up line when she heard it. ‘I only moved down here from Bristol
     a few weeks ago. And I don’t make a habit of getting arrested so you won’t have met me at work.’
    Steve liked her style. And the challenge in her eyes. He glanced at his father who was looking on approvingly. Maybe he hadn’t
     been interested after all. ‘You been to Morbay yet? If you’re not doing anything on Saturday night …’
    Joanne picked up her handbag which was lying on the counter. ‘Okay. You’re on. Give us a ring. Your dad’s got my number.’ She
     turned to Robbie. ‘Got to go. See you tomorrow.’
    As she let herself out of the shop, Steve watched her with approval. Maybe things weren’t all bad.
    After Robbie had checked all was as it should be, he set the burglar alarm and locked up the shop. And as Steve walked with
     his new-found father to the Tradmouth Arms for a swift after-work pint, he decided not to mention the trouble he was in at
     work just yet. Why spoil things?
    Wesley Peterson looked at his watch. Six o’clock.
    The strange letter Neil had received was lying there on his desk beside a pile of witness statements and as he picked it up
     and read it through again, the mention of bleeding reminded him once more of Charles Marrick’s murder. Surely there couldn’t
     be a connection. And yet the remote possibility provided him with an excuse not to dismiss it out of hand. He bagged it up
     to be sent to the lab … just in case.
    Carl Pinney’s knife was also on its way to the lab. It was a long shot but it was stained with something that could be blood
     and Pinney had claimed that he’d found it a short time before his abortive attempt to rob Steve Carstairs. There was a possibility
     that he was telling the truth. Or that he was trying to disclaim ownership for some reason … maybe because he knew exactly
     how the blood had got there. The knife fitted Colin Bowman’s description of the weapon that had killed Charles Marrick, but
     Wesley found it hard to believe that Marrick wouldn’t put up one hell of a fight if the likes of Pinney came at him with a
     knife.
    They were still awaiting the statements from Fabrice Colbert’s staff but the chef had seemed confident that they’d back up
     his story. Wesley had a vague feeling that Colbert, who had a good reason to hate Charles Marrick, and had access to all those
     sharp knives, was hiding something. Butit was only a feeling. A gut instinct. And he’d been in the job long enough to know that you shouldn’t ignore such things.
    Wesley stood up and