Read Online A Place of Execution by Val McDermid - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Val McDermid
Tags: Suspense
Ads: Link
little wider. Her face was a pale smudge against the white gleam of the pillow. She lay on her side, one hand a fist on the pillow beside her. God, she was beautiful. Just watching her sleep was enough to make his flesh stir. He wished he could throw his clothes off and slide in beside her, feeling her warmth the length of his body. But tonight, the memory of Ruth Hawkin’s haunted eyes was more than he could escape. With a soft sigh, he turned away. Half an hour later, he was back in the Methodist Hall, staring at Alison Carter. He’d pinned four of Hawkin’s photographs of her to the notice board. He’d left the other at the police station, asking for it to be copied as a matter of urgency so it could 44 be distributed at the press conference. The night duty inspector seemed uncertain whether it could be done in time. George had left him in no doubt what he expected.
Carefully, he spread out the Ordnance Survey map and tried to study it through the eyes of a person who’d decided to run away. Or a person who’d decided to steal someone else’s life.
Then he walked out of the Methodist Hall and started down the narrow lane towards Scardale on foot. Within yards, the dim yellow light that spilled out of the high windows of the hall was swallowed by the blanketing night. The only glimmers of light came from the stars that broke through the fitful clouds. It took him all his time to avoid tripping over tussocks of grass at the road’s edge.
Gradually, his pupils expanded to their maximum extent, allowing his night vision to steal what images it could from the ghosts and shadows of the landscape. But by the time they resolved themselves into hedges and trees, sheep folds and stiles, the cold had sneaked up on him. Thin-soled town shoes were no match for frosty ground, and not even his cotton-lined leather gloves were proof against the icy flurry that seemed to use the Scardale lane as a wind tunnel. His ears and nose had lost all sensation except pain. A mile down the lane, he gave up. If Alison Carter was abroad in this, she must be hardier than him, he decided. Either that or beyond sensation altogether.
Manchester Evening News, Thursday, 12 th December 1963
Boy camper raises hopes in John hunt
POLICE RACE TO LONELY BEAUTY SPOT
By a Staff Reporter
Police investigating the disappearance of 12-year-old John Kilbride of Ashton-under-Lyne rushed to a lonely beauty spot on the outskirts of the town.
A boy had been seen camping out. Hopes soared when the boy was said to be safe and well. But it turned out to be a false alarm. The boy they found had been reported missing from home and was about the same age as John—but it was 11-year-old David Marshall of Gorse View, Alt Estate, Oldham.
He had been missing for only a few hours. After ‘getting into trouble’ at home, he packed his belongings and a tent—and went to camp out near a farm in Lily Lanes, on the Ashton-Oldham boundary. It was another frustrating incident in the 19-day-old search for John, of Smallshaw Lane, Ashton.
Police said today: ‘We really thought we were on to something. But at least we are glad we were able to return one boy home safe and well.’
David was spotted at his lonely bivouac by a visitor to the farm who informed the police immediately.
‘It shows the public are really cooperating,’ said police.
5
Thursday, 12 th December 1963. 7.30 AM
J anet Carter reminded George of a cat his sister had once had. Her triangular face with its pert nose, wide eyes and tiny rosebud mouth was as closed and watchful as any domesticated predator he’d ever seen. She even had a scatter of tiny pimples at either end of her upper lip, as if someone had tweezed out her whiskers. They faced each other across the table in the low-ceilinged kitchen of her parents’ Scardale cottage. Janet was picking delicately at a piece of buttered toast, small sharp teeth nibbling crescents inwards from each corner. Her eyes were downcast, but every few moments
Carefully, he spread out the Ordnance Survey map and tried to study it through the eyes of a person who’d decided to run away. Or a person who’d decided to steal someone else’s life.
Then he walked out of the Methodist Hall and started down the narrow lane towards Scardale on foot. Within yards, the dim yellow light that spilled out of the high windows of the hall was swallowed by the blanketing night. The only glimmers of light came from the stars that broke through the fitful clouds. It took him all his time to avoid tripping over tussocks of grass at the road’s edge.
Gradually, his pupils expanded to their maximum extent, allowing his night vision to steal what images it could from the ghosts and shadows of the landscape. But by the time they resolved themselves into hedges and trees, sheep folds and stiles, the cold had sneaked up on him. Thin-soled town shoes were no match for frosty ground, and not even his cotton-lined leather gloves were proof against the icy flurry that seemed to use the Scardale lane as a wind tunnel. His ears and nose had lost all sensation except pain. A mile down the lane, he gave up. If Alison Carter was abroad in this, she must be hardier than him, he decided. Either that or beyond sensation altogether.
Manchester Evening News, Thursday, 12 th December 1963
Boy camper raises hopes in John hunt
POLICE RACE TO LONELY BEAUTY SPOT
By a Staff Reporter
Police investigating the disappearance of 12-year-old John Kilbride of Ashton-under-Lyne rushed to a lonely beauty spot on the outskirts of the town.
A boy had been seen camping out. Hopes soared when the boy was said to be safe and well. But it turned out to be a false alarm. The boy they found had been reported missing from home and was about the same age as John—but it was 11-year-old David Marshall of Gorse View, Alt Estate, Oldham.
He had been missing for only a few hours. After ‘getting into trouble’ at home, he packed his belongings and a tent—and went to camp out near a farm in Lily Lanes, on the Ashton-Oldham boundary. It was another frustrating incident in the 19-day-old search for John, of Smallshaw Lane, Ashton.
Police said today: ‘We really thought we were on to something. But at least we are glad we were able to return one boy home safe and well.’
David was spotted at his lonely bivouac by a visitor to the farm who informed the police immediately.
‘It shows the public are really cooperating,’ said police.
5
Thursday, 12 th December 1963. 7.30 AM
J anet Carter reminded George of a cat his sister had once had. Her triangular face with its pert nose, wide eyes and tiny rosebud mouth was as closed and watchful as any domesticated predator he’d ever seen. She even had a scatter of tiny pimples at either end of her upper lip, as if someone had tweezed out her whiskers. They faced each other across the table in the low-ceilinged kitchen of her parents’ Scardale cottage. Janet was picking delicately at a piece of buttered toast, small sharp teeth nibbling crescents inwards from each corner. Her eyes were downcast, but every few moments
Similar Books
