Free CHILDHUNT: A Mystery & Suspense Thriller in the Bestselling Diana Rivers Series (The Diana Rivers Mysteries Book 5) by Faith Mortimer

hit her and died in less than a week. Roger was devastated and after a short time mourning, threw himself into his work, body and soul.
    Glancing round his cosy little house, he knew Christine would have been pleased. Sometimes he fancied he felt her presence. It would be something small, like when he heard their favourite piece of classical music or picked up a book and knew she had read it years before, when her head was full of dreams. She would have been proud of him. Proud with how he coped once she had gone and how he conducted his life. He always tried to be upstanding, honest and kind. If only they had shared a few more years together. Roger felt an ache in his throat as he made another hot drink. For some reason he felt depressed and had done so since before setting out on his aborted trek. Perhaps it was hearing Debbie Frost’s children playing in the garden or the thought of a cold winter and the hardship it would cause many people. Whatever it was, he was twitchy and uneasy, as if sensing there was something malignant in the air. It reminded him of when he was working on a particularly nasty case back in chambers. He shivered.
    Maybe he could spend time looking through his old case notes. Adam was due there, and he would no doubt be interested in what he may have discovered. His thoughts wandered as he ruffled through his papers. Would he write a book? Diana was egging him on, saying he had fascinating material to use. It could have been an absorbing experience and taken his mind off his own illness. He had already spent many long days putting together a file of all the data he had gathered over the years. Five cases in particular interested him. Debbie Frost’s—or Yvonne Brookes’—case was one of them. The file was thick and contained newspaper articles, court depositions, photographs and just plain old gossip: whatever he felt was relevant. Old cases, cold cases, had always interested him, and Yvonne’s was no exception.
    A pulse beat in his temple as he skimmed through his neat notes. Yvonne Brookes had been an easy person to accuse. He remembered her as a small, pretty young woman. In fact, at first glance, from her slightness and youthful appearance, she could have been mistaken for a young teenager. She was so quiet during the trial; the judge had to ask her repeatedly to speak up. Her manner hadn’t done her favours, as she was not only quiet and subdued; at times it seemed as if her mind wandered and she was half asleep. Roger recalled that her testimony left him with the impression that she never told the court everything she knew about what happened to her children. He was in two minds about her. The Debbie he ‘knew’ appeared as a loving, caring wife and mother. Yvonne Brookes was a shallow, shadowy figure, who couldn’t keep her mind on what was important.
    Roger picked up a photograph of Yvonne. According to his papers, she was twenty-eight when the murders were committed. He studied her face and hair. She wore it long and curly back then. It was dark brown and hung down below her shoulders. She was dressed in a simple white cotton dress with a large collar. Goodness, she looked no more than a child herself! As he spent some time peering at the grainy photograph, he was positive he was staring at the woman who now called herself Debbie Frost, and he was pleased he had insisted Adam came out to see for himself.
    As a little congratulatory pat on the back, he lit his pipe. It was the one vice he had taken up after Christine passed away. He knew if she were alive, she would have hated it, but somehow he always got the feeling that whenever she was with him in spirit she approved. She wanted him to be happy.
    He turned the pages in his file and time passed. A log shifted in the stove, breaking his concentration. Feeling stiff, he got up, stretched his legs, and gave the wood a poke. Seeing the sparks fly up the chimney made him realise the wind outside had increased in strength. Laying down