Free DARK HOUSES a gripping detective thriller full of suspense by Helen H. Durrant Page A

Speedy. He’s not all ‘intense detective,’ you know. You should try and see what is beneath the surface. Part of it’s his uneasiness with people.” She paused. “C’mon, Speedy, you know what he’s like. He doesn’t do emotions very well. But under all that stiff upper lip stuff is a compassionate family man. I know he will understand.”
    “I reckon you’re talking about a different bloke.”
    “At least think about it. What harm can it do? Right now you’re down and not thinking straight. You’ve got to speak to someone. Your job’s important. There’s nothing else for you out there.”
    “Don’t you think I haven’t realised that? It scares the hell out of me.”
    “Come on, I’ll help you do this street. It won’t take long with the both of us.”
    “Thanks, Grace. But talk to Greco? I don’t fancy that.”
    “You’re the police.” A middle-aged man greeted them at the next door. He was drying his thinning hair with a towel. “Disturbed my beauty sleep the other night you lot did. So what d’you want now?”
    “There’s been a murder in one of these houses,” Speedy said, showing his badge. “Did you see or hear anything out of the ordinary?”
    The man sighed. “This is a quiet street as a rule, but there’s been a lot of coming and going lately. Down there at number eight, that’s where you mean, isn’t it? The bloke next door told me the news earlier this morning.”
    Speedy nodded.
    “A man in a dark car was there over the weekend. He had ladders and wore dark overalls. I presumed he was giving the place a coat of paint.”
    “Can you describe him?”
    “No more than forty, tall and he wore a hat, a woollen thing that covered his hair. Darkish glasses.”
    “Did he stay long?”
    “At least an afternoon. Sunday, I think it was. He was a noisy bugger, I know that. He had his radio on dead loud the whole time.”
    “He had a key?”
    “He must have done. The thing is, I saw the car again last night. It was turning out of the street and making for the town centre. I work odd hours and he passed me as I was coming home. I remember because he knocked my wing mirror and didn’t stop.”
    “What sort of car was it?”
    “A Ford Focus, an older one, dark blue. I know the colour because it left paint scrapings on my car.”
    “You’ll need to give a statement, and our forensic people will take a look at your car. Is that okay?”
    The man nodded. One of the uniformed officers followed him into the house.
    “That was good information. Now we should speak to the woman witness, the neighbour on Archibald Street,” said Grace.
    “What are you hoping for?”
    “She may be able to confirm what he’s just told us.”
    “I tried earlier but got no reply,” said Speedy.
    “We’ll try again and if we still get nowhere, then we’ll come back.”
    “Everything’s dead easy for you, isn’t it?”
    “No, Speedy, it’s not. This job is all about persistence and bloody hard work.”
    He had no answer to this. “Okay, we’ll go back and join Craig. We’ve covered this street now, anyway,” he said.
    When they returned, Craig Merrick had managed to raise the woman’s husband.
    “We’ve been expecting you,” he said. “Neither me nor the wife has gone to work today. No way could I go. I’m still shaking, and I heard there was another one the day before.”
    “You told an officer that your wife saw someone leave out the back way,” said Speedy.
    “Yes. I did.” A woman appeared in the hallway. “Creeping about, he was. He had on dark clothing and a woollen hat. I didn’t see his face, it was too dark.”
    “Was he tall, short, overweight?” Speedy asked.
    “Tallish, although not as tall as Bert here,” she said.
    “How long has the house been empty?” Grace asked.
    “About two months. When the dementia got worse, old Mrs Johnson couldn’t cope anymore. She never had kids so she went into the care home.”
    “The one by the park?”
    “Yes, that’s the