Blood on the Rocks Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  A Selection of Recent Titles from Priscilla Masters

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  A Selection of Recent Titles from Priscilla Masters

  The Martha Gunn Mystery Series

  RIVER DEEP

  SLIP KNOT

  FROZEN CHARLOTTE *

  SMOKE ALARM *

  THE DEVIL’S CHAIR *

  RECALLED TO DEATH *

  BRIDGE OF SIGHS *

  The Joanna Piercy Mysteries

  WINDING UP THE SERPENT

  CATCH THE FALLEN SPARROW

  A WREATH FOR MY SISTER

  AND NONE SHALL SLEEP

  SCARING CROWS

  EMBROIDERING SHROUDS

  ENDANGERING INNOCENTS

  WINGS OVER THE WATCHER

  GRAVE STONES

  A VELVET SCREAM *

  THE FINAL CURTAIN *

  GUILTY WATERS *

  CROOKED STREET *

  BLOOD ON THE ROCKS *

  The Claire Roget Mystery Series

  DANGEROUS MINDS *

  THE DECEIVER *

  * available from Severn House

  BLOOD ON THE ROCKS

  Priscilla Masters

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  First published in Great Britain and the USA 2019 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  Eardley House, 4 Uxbridge Street, London W8 7SY.

  This eBook edition first published in 2019 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Trade paperback edition first published

  in Great Britain and the USA 2019 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.

  Copyright © 2019 by Priscilla Masters.

  The right of Priscilla Masters to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8940-9 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78029-605-0 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0222-2 (e-book)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland

  ONE

  Monday 22 October, 8.20 a.m.

  ‘Still get in through the door, can you?’

  Joanna shot him a baleful glare. ‘Bugger off, Korpanski.’

  He simply grinned, knowing he had another jibe up his sleeve. Joanna dropped into her chair and Korpanski took in her outfit with some surprise. ‘You still cycling in, Jo?’

  ‘It’s the only thing that still makes me feel half human and less a dumper truck.’

  He looked dubious. ‘I don’t think I’d have been very keen on Fran cycling through a pregnancy.’

  ‘I’m not Fran, am I?’

  Korpanski opened his mouth to respond but quickly shut it again without asking what Matthew thought about her cycling at this time.

  She’d picked up on something. ‘You got something up your sleeve, Korpanski?’

  ‘Yeah, I have.’

  ‘Well, spit it out.’

  But DS Mike Korpanski was taking his time. He was going to get maximum satisfaction out of this one. ‘Something right in your line.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Old man gone AWOL from a residential home.’

  Her head whipped round. ‘And you think I should be investigating this, do you?’

  He’d picked up on her dangerous tone all right but DS Korpanski enjoyed sailing close to the wind. He nodded, not even trying to suppress a smile.

  Detective Inspector Joanna Piercy glared at her detective sergeant. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’

  Korpanski didn’t respond to the furious demand as she continued her rant. ‘You really want me to investigate an old man who’s wandered away from a residential home? Mike,’ she appealed, ‘I know I’m pregnant and have the belly of a blue whale and the brain of a flea but, bloody hell, I haven’t sunk that low. Haven’t you got uniforms looking out for him? He can’t have gone far.’

  ‘The uniforms haven’t come up with anything, Jo.’

  ‘Well, get them to look harder then. It’s hardly something for us.’

  He was grinning at her as he leaned back in his seat, tempted to spin it around, peer into his computer screen and avoid seeing the fire that was burning in her eyes. ‘As he hasn’t turned up so far, Chief Superintendent Gabriel Rush, your favourite CS ever, says we should be asking questions and getting involved.’

  ‘And you think it’s one for me.’

  ‘The sooner he’s found, Jo, the sooner we can all get on with some real work.’

  He followed that up with, ‘Besides, a nice easy task like this. I thought it’d be right up your street.’

  She almost ground her teeth before realizing that was exactly the response he’d been counting on, so modified it to, ‘You,’ she said, finger pointing, ‘are trying your bloody luck, Mike. I don’t even give birth for a couple of months. I can’t do crap like this until then. I’m an inspector, for goodness’ sake. Matthew already wants to wrap me up in cotton wool, ban me from riding my bike. He wants us to spend our time off together looking at prams and cribs and …’ And then it was all too much for her and she dropped her face into her hands, almost sinking her head on to the desk. ‘Mike,’ she appealed again, ‘how on earth am I going to cope with all that? Matthew’s parents simply can’t wait to become acting grandparents though …’ Mercurial as ever,
she smothered a grin herself now. ‘I can’t say my mum is quite so keen. In fact, she’s keeping her distance, as is my sister and her pair of brats.’

  Korpanski bit back the retort, don’t blame them, contenting himself with a long sigh which could have meant anything and smirked into his computer screen as she continued with her rant.

  ‘This whole role – it’s not me. I’m not some earth mother.’

  He turned around then, studied her face and read only apprehension. And he felt an unexpected wash of sympathy for her misgivings, realizing they were all centred on her doubts about the approaching ‘happy event’. ‘Jo,’ he said, wanting to reassure her, ‘you’ll love it. Take to it like a duck to water. It’s a piece of cake. Nothing to it being a mum. It’ll all come naturally, I promise you.’

  She was unconvinced, her doubt failing to melt away but staying, a block of ice inside her heart. ‘I’m not so sure,’ she confessed. ‘Unlike Matthew who just can’t wait to cuddle it. He’s so convinced it’s a boy, Mike, he’s even chosen a name.’

  Korpanski chuckled. ‘So what is it?’

  Shoulders up in exasperation. ‘He won’t tell me.’

  Korpanski smiled. He and his wife had had a pact. He could choose his daughter’s name, Jocelyn, while his wife had chosen their son’s: Richard, who was never ever called anything but Ricky.

  ‘And just think of his disappointment if it’s another girl.’ She gulped. ‘Another Eloise.’

  ‘He’ll get used to it.’ And as she still looked unconvinced he added, ‘Well, at least he’s not Henry VIII and won’t be chopping your head off for a child of the wrong sex.’

  They both laughed at this and the atmosphere melted while the surrounding officers looked up from their desks and thanked their lucky stars for the way DS Korpanski could deflect their inspector’s growing irritability which was only matched by her increasing girth.

  When they’d stopped laughing Mike couldn’t resist tacking on, ‘You can find out the sex of the child before it’s born, you know. You don’t have to wait, Jo. Maybe it’ll take some of the stress out of it?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ She held up her hand. ‘Heaven forbid. I wouldn’t exactly be enamoured at the thought of another Eloise growing like a tumour inside me.’

  Korpanski looked over, dark eyes concerned. ‘I’d keep that particular thought to yourself.’

  And even she realized she’d crossed a line. ‘Yeah. You’re right. I guess so. I’ll cross that bridge when I meet it.’

  Korpanski rested his large, meaty paw on her shoulder. ‘It’ll all be worth it, Jo, I promise.’

  And she nodded, thinking, maybe, maybe not. Too late now.

  If Matthew had the son he so fiercely desired, it would be worth it all – the sickness, the nausea, the tiredness, the huge waistline, the horrible clothes and big knickers. It would all be worth it just to see that wondrous look on his face again – the very same look that had lit his face when she had first told him she was pregnant. A look she hadn’t seen since they’d first become lovers – a sort of amazed disbelief at his good fortune. The realization of a dream which was coming true, the fulfilment of his ambition.

  Mike brought her back to the present. ‘I tell you, Jo. When you have your baby, be it son or daughter, you will love it more than life itself. They become everything to you. More important than career or ambition or anything else. They become your life. Your future.’

  She looked at her sergeant, at his dark eyes and tall, burly form and felt a wave of affection matched only by her interest in these foreign emotions he was describing. ‘You really feel that strongly about Ricky and Jossie?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I do. I’d give my life for them, Jo.’ But even as he spoke the words he sensed the vulnerability this confession exposed, which for a moment knocked him silent and made him thoughtful, dark eyes clouded even at the thought.

  ‘And you really think I’ll feel like that …’ she rested her hands on her bump, ‘when this child is born?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Matthew already does.’

  Korpanski simply nodded again and she held out her hand for the notes she’d spied on his desk. ‘OK, then,’ she said. ‘I give in. Tell me about the case?’

  Sensing the storm was now abating, Korpanski tossed the few papers across the desk. ‘Here it is, Inspector Piercy,’ he said, smothering his grin. ‘Old guy with dementia missing from a residential home. We’ve already alerted the local lads but he hasn’t turned up so far. And that’s about it.’

  She took the notes from him. Read the top line.

  Zachary Foster, age ninety-six, missing some time during the night from Ryland’s Residential Home. Absence noted seven a.m. Suffers from dementia. Stroke two years ago. Speech impaired. She looked up.

  ‘Hardly a major case,’ she said wryly. ‘How are the mighty fallen.’

  And to that even Korpanski couldn’t produce an answer.

  TWO

  Monday 22 October, 9.30 a.m.

  They wouldn’t exactly be using the blue light to drive to Ryland’s. There was no hurry. The longer they left it, the likelier it was that the old boy would turn up of his own accord. Joanna had googled the home and read only glowing reviews.

  ‘Cared for my dad like one of their own.’

  ‘A pleasant, welcoming atmosphere.’

  ‘Wonderful, kind staff.’

  ‘They even made Mum a birthday cake.’

  And so on. By the time they got there, she guessed, the old guy would have wandered back. They’d be met at the door by an apologetic matron and sent on their way, back to the station and Korpanski’s jibes.

  She’d elected to bring PC Bridget Anderton with her. Besides the fact that she would do well interviewing confused elderly people, Joanna had an ulterior motive.

  Bridget had three children. That meant three pregnancies and, presumably, three labours. If anyone knew about childbirth it was Bridget Anderton. As the time approached, Joanna was becoming increasingly anxious about this inevitability. Considering her husband had done three months’ obstetrics in his medical student days, Matthew had not been very helpful on this subject. He’d ummed and aahed and said, ‘They just get on with it.’ She’d wanted more details. A personal view from someone who had actually experienced labour and giving birth. At the back of her mind she was curious and increasingly concerned. The baby was growing and somehow, in the not too distant future, it was going to have to make an appearance, which meant being pushed out of her nether regions by her – unless, of course, she opted for or needed a caesarean section. She wanted Bridget’s story straight from the horse’s … she smirked. Not exactly the mouth.

  She glanced at her watch. It was now ten a.m. Mr Zachary Foster had been missing for anything up to eight hours. Even so the chances were that he was still not too far away, probably cowering in a shop doorway or trying to buy a coffee in the Red Cross charity shop on the Butter Market. But no one had rung in so far.

  She and Bridget made their way to the car, walking through chilly sunshine, anticipating the simple case ahead.

  When, later on, she returned to that moment, she found herself again in that comfortable place where this disappearance was nothing more than a confused old man who had wandered out of a residential home which probably had next-to-no security measures. Later on she might wish herself back there.

  Somehow Bridget, with her sensitive and intuitive nature, had already sussed out the reason for her being chosen to accompany her and was doing her best to respond to the DI’s questions. ‘It’s not that bad, Jo.’

  Joanna kept her eyes on the road. What did that mean: It’s not that bad?

  PC Bridget Anderton tried again. ‘It’s like period pains.’

  ‘Ugh.’

  Bridget tried again, a bit harder. ‘Just a bit more fierce.’

  ‘And what about …?’

  ‘When you push – oh my goodness. That’s an urge like you’ve never felt before. It is all consuming.’
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  Joanna frowned. ‘Not sure I like the sound of that.’

  Bridget sat back in her seat, a smile lighting her plain face. ‘You haven’t got much choice, Joanna.’

  That drew a scowl.

  Bridget tried for a third time. ‘But then they put the baby in your arms and, oh, Jo,’ she turned to look at her inspector. ‘It’s heaven. You feel this warm glaze of honey all over you. It’s magic and you feel powerful.’ She echoed Korpanski’s words. ‘You feel you would die for this tiny, vulnerable being that you’ve just produced.’

  Joanna wrinkled up her nose and turned to look at the PC. ‘I’m really not sure about this.’

  At which point Bridget burst out laughing. ‘That baby’s got to come out and that’s the way it’ll be. Head first – usually.’

  ‘Was Steve there with you?’

  ‘For Katie and Sollie but not for Troy. He came too quick.’ She turned to look at her. ‘But Matthew’s a doctor, Joanna. He’ll want to be there to see his child’s birth and make certain everything’s done right.’

  ‘Oh, he’ll want to be there all right. Make sure everything’s done properly.’ Was it a consolation that he would be there, witnessing the moment she gave birth to his son – or daughter – or would it inhibit her? Was being together at such a personal moment a good or a bad thing? She didn’t know … yet. Something else she would learn.

  A sign, black with gold lettering, swinging in a light breeze, told them they were there and put paid to their conversation. Joanna turned the car into the drive.

  Ryland’s was one of the last houses before the town gave way to empty moorland. It was a large Victorian house, set back from the A53, a road that climbed and climbed up to Ramshaw Rocks and the Winking Man, crossing miles of bleak moorland, empty apart from scattered smallholdings, finally dropping into the spa town of Buxton. Before they petered out, giving way to the deserted moors, the houses along this road were huge. Plenty big enough for a good-sized residential home. The sign moving in a cool autumn breeze read: Ryland’s Residential Home for elderly folk.

  It sounded friendly. Safe. Reassuring. Inviting. As they travelled up the drive, Joanna’s thoughts were that this was the civilized way to care for the frail, the vulnerable, the elderly. Already she was piecing together a narrative. The guy had wandered out, too confused to find his way back. He would soon be found. The fact that he hadn’t yet been spotted could be an indication that he was somewhere near, perhaps paranoiac, hiding from what he would perceive as a hostile, alien environment and people who might harm him.