Back again after a very busy time. Uncompromising, gritty, thrilling, and not for the faint hearted! British detectives suspect a serial killer is on the loose. With the support of American profiler Dr Tessa Davies, they soon realize that this could be the work of a druidic sect.
Please enjoy another chapter of my dark crime novel, Death Marks . For now, I will post a chapter every Monday and Thursday.
Other Chapters
Don’t worry if you miss any chapters, since you will find links to other posted chapters here:
Death Marks
Chapter 9
Under any other circumstances, Redd would have enjoyed the journey. Within minutes of leaving Brighton, he drove through the Downs’ verdant countryside, the fields rising up to forested peaks of hills. The Weald had a bloody history, the land of the Celts invaded by Romans. In the fourth century, after the decline of the Roman Empire, England’s shores became vulnerable to hordes of vicious Picts, followed by the Scots. Only the tyrannical Vortigern, leader of the Anglo Saxons, stood between freedom and annihilation. It was a dark period of history, where King Arthur’s name floated through the jetsam of blood and bone.
The cool tones from the GPS instructed him to turn into Meads Way. Many townies would give their eyeteeth for such a setting. He pulled up outside a thatched cottage that slumbered into the earth. Cows from the field opposite trotted up to the fence, their calm brown eyes inquisitive, tails twitching away flies. Scents of lavender wafted towards him as he opened a decrepit gate. Tufts of grass and buttercups sprouting up through edges of the flagstones.
The front door charmed him; the blackened old oak held a stained-glass window depicting a biblical theme, Adam and Noah clad in white, blue, and brown robes looking contemplatively towards green hills. The whole scene instilled a sense of peace, serenity even, contrasting with the profiler’s gruesome occupation.
The door opened before he could pull the wrought-iron pulley. Redd looked down into their eyes the colour of dark chocolate, pale skin with the slightest hint of peach in her cheeks, contrasted with her ebony hair waving over her shoulders.
Grinning, she said, ‘You found us, come in.’
As he went to step forward, he heard a deep bark coming from the side of the cottage. Turning, he saw a blur of black and white, as a massive dog bolted towards him, grinding to a halt, just a foot away as she called out, ‘Sweetpea, stop it now.’
‘Sweetpea? The dog was a monster. Trying to look unconcerned, he silently followed her into a tiny flagstone porch, barely three feet by three feet. Leading him through the red quarry-tiled passageway, the lime and wattle walls looked fresh with white plaster. As she showed him into a large lounge, his gaze went to the inglenook fireplace, the lintel being one huge oak beam sagging to one side. The air was lightly scented with bunches of dried lavender and sweet-smelling herbs hanging in bunches from overhead beams. She waved to one of the overfilled chintz chairs and a small settee. Brightly coloured rag rugs lay strewn across the quarry stone tiles. ‘Do sit down, anywhere you like. Won’t be a sec.’
As she left the room, he looked at Sweetpea, who gazed back, panting. Shaking his huge head, he stooped and began licking the carpet. Frowning, Redd watched; why was he doing that? Maybe, there was some old food there or something. Hearing her re-enter, he tried to give some kind of smile that he was sure looked twisted.
Looking at the dog, she said, ‘Sweetpea, stop it.’ The dog took no notice and began licking furiously nearer to Redd’s feet. ‘I said, stop it. Do you want to be put out?’
Redd wished the dog could speak that he would say yes.
Crossing her arms, she went up to the dog and, without speaking, stood down looking at him; Sweetpea looked up and stopped immediately. They seemed to have some kind of telepathic rapport. After a few seconds of eyeballing, Sweetpea loped over to the couch and bounded up in one movement, groaning as he settled his head on his paws.
Seeing the question in Redd’s eyes, she said, ‘He shares everything. He’s a Greater Swiss Mountain Dog, nearly two years old now. They have to be one of the family, almost in constant physical touch.’ Standing opposite him, she looked down at her top, the pale pink cotton jersey smudged with dirt and grass stains. ‘I’d better go and change. Can I get you a cup of coffee – tea?’
He wished he could go with her, help her change her top. Instead, he said, ‘Coffee would be great, thank you.’
‘It’s instant – Gold Blend.’
‘That’ll do fine.’
‘Sugar? Milk or cream?
‘I’ll have milk, and sugar please.’
‘Won’t be a sec.’
Leaving the room again, she left the door ajar. He took a wary glance at Sweetpea, who lay watching him, his brown eyes gentle. The dog became aware that Redd was looking at him, his tail thumped, as he got down from the couch. Redd knew that sometimes dogs wagged their tails in anger.
Copyright.
No part of this book may be stored, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the express permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © Katy Walters
All rights reserved
Other Chapters
Don’t worry if you miss any chapters, since you will find links to other posted chapters here:
