Free Gregory's Game by Jane A. Adams

happy, and Ian was left to his thoughts.
    He’d done everything he could to find out what had happened to his tenant. Why would someone murder the man? And why in Ian’s old house? The fear that this was not coincidence dragged at him, distracted him. He had left that life behind, broken contact with everyone. Everyone except Nathan, and Ian admitted to himself that his reasons for maintaining that friendship was very selfish. He knew that he’d been a big influence on the younger man, had taken Nathan under his wing when he’d been just a diffident, awkward boy. But what if … what if … what if that contact had brought vengeance down upon him?
    Ian Marsh wanted there to be evidence that the man living in his cottage at Church Lane had done something that had led to his death. He wanted public proof, irrefutable and comprehensible, that he had been guilty of some crime, had brought this down upon himself. But so far nothing was forthcoming. The police seemed to know little and were saying even less.
    Ian chewed upon his guilt, masticated it, swallowed it down and it lay in the pit of his belly, leaden and rotten.

TWELVE
    S ome twenty miles away from Ian, Nathan heard his computer chime, telling him that an email had just been received. One he hoped he had been waiting for. Nathan had many contacts; some didn’t know that he was the one they were dealing with, but they kept him informed anyway. A little extra cash was still a fine lubricant. He had put out a request on the Sunday for anything on the Church Lane murder, preferably information on how the man had died and if there were any motives or leads the police were not releasing. He knew from experience that crime-scene photos were not that hard to come by. The rest, well, that was harder; it was as though such speculation crossed an invisible line. Usually, by this informant at least, such questions were ignored.
    Nathan opened the file, noted that there were several images attached. He checked his security, ran additional virus protection and finally opened the files. He kept this computer purely for such contacts. Nothing that came in via this link ever touched his other systems. Anything that might need to be transferred was sandboxed first and examined scrupulously. Nathan believed you could never have too much security or be too cautious.
    He opened the folder and glanced at the thumbnails within. So, crime-scene pics then. Well that would do for starters. He opened the first and scrutinized the scene properly before authorizing payment. Nathan was scrupulous about that too; always pay the messenger and never keep him waiting. Keep the hinges oiled, for you never knew when you might need to open a particular door.
    What he saw on the photographs chilled even him, someone hardened to violence. This was nasty, vicious, designed to cause the maximum pain. He zoomed in to examine the way the monofilament had bitten into the muscle of the upper arms. As the man’s weight had sagged against it, the line had cut its way through. In some places, Nathan could see it had stopped only at the bone and he guessed even that would have been marked. He had known of an assassin whose favourite method of dispatch was the garrotte. His material of choice had been this kind of monofilament.
    Nathan sat back in his chair and thought about it. He was reminded of something, a rumour, perhaps, some snatch of gossip, but something like this happening before – anyway, he told himself, it stood to reason that whoever had killed this man would have practised their methods.
    Gregory might know, Nathan thought. No, most likely Gregory would know. It was the sort of information the man collected. Minutes later, he had set up a meeting.
    â€˜Is it urgent?’ Gregory had asked.
    â€˜Why? Do you have a date?’
    â€˜I might have.’
    Nathan laughed softly. ‘I think it’s unlikely. Tomorrow will do, but I need your input on something I have