Free Broken Dreams by Nick Quantrill

pepper, it had at least been edible. Actually making something had helped pass twenty minutes and I still had Sarah’s left over lasagne for tomorrow. I switched the stereo on and The Clash leapt out of the speakers. I pressed skip, as they tore into ‘I Fought The Law’; it wasn’t appropriate.
    I thought about the hours spent in the station with Coleman and how I’d let Don down. I’d messed up by going direct to Frank Salford without knowing the full story. It contradicted everything Don had taught me. Not only had I compromised an investigation, I’d paid the physical penalty. I couldn’t prove it was Salford’s men who had attacked me, but I knew it had to be his doing. More than anything, letting Don down hurt more than the beating. When I had been drifting, it was Don who took a chance on me, who saw the potential in me. He’d treated me like a son, picking me up and putting me back together when I was in pieces.
    Our partnership had started about three years ago. Don was a seasoned private investigator with over thirty years police service under his belt.  By contrast, I’m still very much learning the ropes. After spending countless years in dead-end jobs, I’d sort of fallen into the profession. To my surprise, I was good at investigating. Although I could do the work, I had no idea how to run a business. And that was when I was introduced to Don. Don was looking towards retirement and wanted to hand his business on. He needed some fresh blood to help him with the work, and had even started to advertise himself as ‘Ridley and Son’, in an attempt to give the impression the business was more than just one ageing man.  It’s an unusual profession, and one that Sarah hadn’t shown any interest in. With a never ending supply of the desperate, the needy and the downright nasty to deal with, it’s certainly not glamorous. Over the last year or so, she’d relented and started to work part-time for us, initially as administration help. When we had needed female help with a surveillance job, she’d proved herself to be a natural. As I fell asleep on the couch, I knew I owed them everything. I needed to get some answers.

 
CHAPTER SEVEN
     
     
    We’d battled through traffic and made good time for our appointment with Maria Platt. She’d agreed to meet us before she went to the doctors. Her illness meant we couldn’t be choosy when we spoke to her.
    Don had rung me on my mobile as Sarah was driving, to tell me about his drink with Bill, a veteran detective still working the cases, despite being officially retired. Like all forces, Humberside was so short of experienced detectives, it was re-employing retired detectives on short-term contracts. Judging by the leaflet I had been given the previous day, they were desperate. I’d watched the highlights of the police’s press conference on the local news bulletin whilst I ate my breakfast. Jennifer Murdoch was found dead in her bed. She’d put up a fight but to no avail. The detective in charge of the investigation had been interviewed to camera, appealing for anyone who knew anything to come forward. It sounded like Don and Bill had cagily exchanged information last night. Bill told him Murdoch’s killer had seemingly gained access by breaking a window, but there was doubt as to how genuine this appeared to be. I assumed from that they meant they were looking at her husband. There were still no DNA results, but that wasn’t unusual. These things moved slowly, even in urgent situations. Don had told Bill what we knew about Jennifer Murdoch’s life, which admittedly still wasn’t a huge amount. The police hadn’t been aware of Sonia Bray and her link to Murdoch and I felt guilty thinking about the storm I could have brought down on her. She was fragile enough.
    Walking down Hessle Road, I could see the decay of the area.  When Hull had been a thriving port, with plentiful employment, this area was the city’s heartbeat. Now, it was run-down and