The Crying Cave Killings

Wes Markin

Description

Are you missing Happy Valley? Don't miss the next gripping instalment in the Yorkshire Murder Series by bestselling British crime author Wes Markin!

A murdered child. A case from the past. A detective inspector with nothing to lose…

DI Paul Riddick is a man tormented by his own actions and determined to right the wrongs of his past any way he can. But when his instincts lead him to follow a child he believes to be in danger, Riddick gets in deeper than he ever imagined…especially when the child is found dead.

DCI Emma Gardner doesn’t believe Riddick has blood on his hands, but he’s off the case until she can clear his name. If she can clear his name. Because Riddick seems determined to chase ghosts that only get him into more trouble.

Riddick's certain he didn’t kill the kid in the cave. But he also remembers another case, twenty years ago, with shocking similarities…which means someone is trying to trap Riddick.

Can Riddick uncover the truth, or will this be the case that finally destroys him once and for all?

Don’t miss the brand-new gripping crime series by bestselling British crime author Wes Markin!

What people are saying about Wes Markin...

'Cracking start to an exciting new series. Twist and turns, thrills and kills. I loved it.' Bestselling author Ross Greenwood

'Markin stuns with his latest offering... Mind-bendingly dark and deep, you know it's not for the faint hearted from page one. Intricate plotting, devious twists and excellent characterisation take this tale to a whole new level. Any serious crime fan will love it!' Bestselling author Owen Mullen

'A nerve-jangling, heart thumping belter of a crime series.' Bestselling author TG Reid

Sujets

• Policier & Thriller
• Policier
• Thriller
• Mashups
• Psychological
• Women Sleuths
• Hard-Boiled
• Thrillers
• Condado de Yorkshire (Reino Unido)
• Inglaterra
• 21st century
• Happy Valley
• Psychology
• Happy Valley (homonymie)
• Crime
• England
• Yorkshire
• Noir
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Boldwood Books
• Date de parution: 23 juillet 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781804837665
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE CRYING CAVE KILLINGS


WES MARKIN
To Peter and Janet
CONTENTS



Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Epilogue


More from Wes Markin

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Wes Markin

The Murder List

About Boldwood Books
PROLOGUE
2003

PC Paul Riddick stared at Knaresborough over the River Nidd, wondering what loss on an unspeakable scale felt like. From behind him came the incessant buzzing of colleagues searching out the truth.
Truth!
A mere consolation prize to those over the river about to experience the unspeakable.
Riddick burned his nostrils with a deep winter’s breath and, with his back still to the Petrifying Well at Mother Shipton’s Cave, he closed his eyes, exhaling as he revisited his memories.
Eight years old and on his first visit to Mother Shipton’s with his father. He’d been wowed by the Petrifying Well. In profile, it looked like a giant’s skull and Riddick’s eyes had been wide and innocent. There’d also been another boy beside him, a little older maybe, but equally fascinated.
Riddick remembered some of the boy’s words as he pointed at the stone objects hanging from the lip of the well.
‘Everything is frozen solid. Fixed. Still. Why call it the Petrifying Well when everything looks so peaceful?’
After that day, eight-year-old Paul Riddick had asked to come again.
Begged, in fact.
But his old man didn’t possess those same wide, innocent eyes. ‘It’s not worth the money, son.’
At fourteen, Riddick had been given another chance. A school geography trip with Mr Thomas. Little had changed in the Petrifying Well. Hanging from the lip of the cave, bathing in the mineral-rich dripping water, remained the same array of ‘petrified’ items: the road bike, the bowler hat, the china teapot and the cricket bat. Frozen solid. Peaceful.
Mr Thomas’ voice, laced with excitement, had broken his reverie. ‘It doesn’t take long for the sulphate and carbonate in the water to give these objects their stone-like appearance.’
Riddick opened his eyes to the present and took another deep burning breath. He was grateful to have memories because he wouldn’t be able to come to this wondrous place again. How could he ever unsee what was behind him?
Again, he closed his eyes, and returned to that school trip. To the moment he’d bought the small carbon-encrusted bear from the shop. A bear that had first become lost in his mother’s belongings in the loft, and then, following her passing, lost completely.
‘Three months, Paul!’ enthusiastic Mr Thomas had said on seeing his student’s chosen souvenir. ‘It took only three months to petrify that bear!’
Riddick had smiled at his teacher. ‘He doesn’t look petrified, sir. He looks… I don’t know… peaceful?’
Opening his eyes, Riddick realised that he’d been distracted for too long. He’d a job to do. He looked at the logbook. Recording the visitors who came and left the crime scene wasn’t the most glamorous of jobs, but it was a start. The first step on the path to the truth.
He turned from the River Nidd.
Graham Lock, fifteen years old, sat on the ground beneath the Petrifying Well, dead centre, legs crossed. Head hanging forward as the drips fell. Wet hair and clothes plastered to him.
Three months, Paul! Only three months to petrify that bear!
Riddick sighed and wondered, with no small amount of shame, how long it would take to petrify a dead boy.
He watched the forensic team chew through the scene. He tried to capture insightful words that floated over on the light breeze but caught only groans. Beside the dead boy, mineral-rich water pattered against the white suit of the pathologist.
It seemed busier than Riddick had expected. Almost chaotic. He’d expected it to be more controlled.
There was a cough beside him.
He turned to see DCI Derek Rice and DI Anders Smith.
Riddick had never spoken to these senior officers before but had seen them about. DCI Derek Rice was a squat hothead, who liked to shout a lot. DI Anders Smith was a tall athletic man, who often had people laughing in his company.
Derek growled as he logged himself in with Riddick, who hoped he wasn’t the cause of the DCI’s discontent. ‘I’m the SIO, and DI Anders Smith here, is my deputy.’
‘All right, son?’ Anders said.
Riddick nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
Anders raised an eyebrow. A ghost of a smile. ‘Your first?’
Riddick nodded again. ‘Sir.’
‘Not pretty, eh? I remember standing where you were, and I can tell you’ve got this in hand.’ Anders offered him a wink. ‘Keep at it while we sort this chuffin’ rabble out, PC Riddick.’
Riddick smiled. He felt a warmth rushing through him. He felt as if he’d been communicated with properly for the first time since he’d got this gig.
Riddick watched Anders and Derek slip on white over-suits and his eyes weren’t the only ones fixed firmly on the two leads. The sudden quiet that descended over the crime scene suggested that the leaders had been noticed by their colleagues, too.
After suiting up, Derek made a point of surveying the scene with his face screwed up. He wasn’t happy about something. Maybe, like Riddick, he considered it too crowded?
Riddick had heard that Derek had a tendency to lose it with his colleagues, and he wondered if he was about to witness it first-hand.
Anders placed his hand on Derek’s arm and the two men exchanged a glance. The SIO gave a swift nod to his deputy, then quickly, efficiently and politely, Anders reduced the number of SOCOs and officers, while leaving the pathologist to examine the body.
After logging out those asked to take a backstep for the time being, Riddick noticed how organised and controlled the place now looked.
Anders then knelt in front of the sitting boy identified as Graham Lock, shaking his head and staring. Eventually, he said, ‘Poor lad.’ He turned and looked behind him at some of the officers. ‘Graham was a good lad, eh? Good little footballer. Is Cassandra here?’
‘She left just after she saw the boy,’ an older officer replied.
‘Chuffin’ hell,’ Anders said.
‘Chuffin’ hell indeed!’ Derek mimicked. ‘Why? Does she not realise what we’re dealing with here?’
Anders stared at Derek for a moment. He looked unruffled, but the length of his stare spoke volumes. ‘Sir. Cassandra’s kid is Graham’s best friend. They played on the local football team together.’
Derek looked away, shaking his head.
‘Cassandra will have been shocked and upset, understandably so. I doubt very much she’ll have approached the father; however, let’s be prepared for any eventuality.’ He pointed to an officer. ‘DS Sykes, can you see if we have eyes on Graham’s father, yet? If not, can you get over there yourself? We don’t want him driving here.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘And on your way out, Detective Sergeant, check we have a strong presence at the cave entrance.’
‘Will do, sir.’
‘Unbelievable,’ Derek said, looking at Anders.
Anders gave him a brief shake of his head and Derek looked away again. ‘We have a volatile, trying situation here, for many. Let’s all keep that in mind.’
When it came to the emotional fallout, Anders had his finger on the pulse, and Rice clearly relied on that. As a result, you’d be forgiven for thinking Anders was the SIO here. That warm feeling from before swelled in Riddick. Here was a man to watch… a man to emulate…
As the team worked the crime scene, Riddick, who was already suited, edged as close as he could without being too obvious. He eventually ended up with a reasonably good view of the body, which both excited and repulsed him in equal measure.
The pathologist put one hand to Graham’s chin, and the other on the back of his head, so he could tilt and reveal the face. One evening was not enough to encrust the boy’s skin with carbonate. Riddick saw only young flesh, wet and grey. Sad and lifeless.
‘Fifteen years old,’ Anders said, hovering above the pathologist, shaking his head. ‘How?’
‘Nothing obvious, I’m afraid.’
‘Well, he didn’t come here alone in the middle of the night,’ Derek said. ‘Someone killed this boy. Why the hell choose here?’
The pathologist looked up at the mineral water raining down. ‘Locals used to drink and shower here,’ the pathologist said. ‘They believed it had healing powers.’
Derek grunted. ‘What’re you getting at exactly?’
The pathologist shook his head. ‘Nothing. I’m just telling you what I know. Maybe someone thought they could heal him?’
‘Well, it didn’t bloody work. Listen, it’s a bit early to be sieving through local folktale and other horse shit,’ Derek said, turning to walk away. ‘Get me a cause of death and a time, please – let’s start in reality.’
Anders followed him. Derek stopped and turned. ‘Don’t start, Anders, for crying out loud! Let’s just establish facts first.’
‘I agree,’ Anders said, keeping his voice low. ‘But just go easy. Everyone is going to be wound up by this one, not just us. Let them speak, or they may just end up clamming up. Welcome anything, sir.’
‘Whatever you say,’ Derek said, sardonically. ‘I can’t wait to hear that Mother Shipton used to predict the future, and we should really consider trawling through her prophecies.’
He turned and continued walking away.