Read Online CXVI The Beginning of the End (Book 1): A Gripping Murder Mystery and Suspense Thriller (CXVI BOOK 1) by Angie Smith - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Angie Smith
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followed, none of our neighbours will speak to us because he’s caused
so much trouble around here. He was a nightmare to live with.”
“So why did you stay with him?” Barnes asked,
looking for an answer other than the obvious.
“Why do women suffer domestic violence and stay put?
It’s the same answer. Although this time I was trying to get away from him, but
look what he did,” she lifted up her top and showed the bruising around her
ribs.
Barnes sucked the air in through her teeth and
grimaced. “You could’ve reported him,” she said.
“He told me he’d got friends in high places and that
it wouldn’t do any good. Plus he threatened to have me sectioned if I ever
tried anything like that.”
“It sounds like you were trapped and becoming desperate.”
Barnes said.
“Don’t think for one second that I had anything to
do with this, but when you catch the person who did, say thanks from me.”
“Did the letters CMXVI have any significance to
him?” Woods asked.
“I don’t think so. The numbers 666 definitely did.”
Barnes chewed her lip disguising her amusement.
“Can I ask about John Wright?” Woods said.
“John’s the light at the end of my tunnel. A really
nice guy who treats me like I’m a person and not an object he owns. What a
difference from Paul. You’ll know Paul suspended him when he found out about
us; he was having him sacked. Surely that gives you an idea what kind of a shit
he was. You couldn’t believe a word he said. You know his broken nose and the
scarring on his face? John said he’d told everyone at work he’d been kicked by
a horse; well he wasn’t, I know that for sure. Yet he told me someone he was
trying to arrest did it. I don’t know what the truth was, but I suspect it was
someone he’d upset getting even with him.”
At that moment Barnes’ phone rang. It was McLean.
She listened carefully and then ended the call. “Right, we’re looking for a
tall, fair haired man, sporty build, wearing a green wax jacket, blue and white
checked shirt, green corduroy trousers, walking boots and a tweed cap. Oh and
he has a very posh accent.”
“Well that rules out John Wright,” Woods said.
Thursday 17 th May.
It was earlier than normal when
Woods walked into the Incident Room; Barnes and McLean were already working
away at their desks.
“You look like you didn’t have much sleep last
night,” Barnes said.
“No, I didn’t; that’s why I’m early.”
“Me too, I couldn’t stop thinking about yesterday,
so in the end I thought I’d come in and start trolling through the CCTV footage.
I’ve got Mateland’s shift patterns over the past month, so I’m concentrating on
the times he was travelling to and from work. I’ve created a matrix of vehicles
travelling up to one mile behind him and any vehicle seen outside his work
base.”
“Anything of interest?”
“It’s too early. Have you any idea how many vehicles
are within one mile of you, when you travel thirteen miles along the motorway?”
“Hundreds or is it thousands?”
“It’s hundreds, but then multiply that by twenty
working days and two journeys per day, and you’ll get an idea how complex this
is… thank goodness for Excel spreadsheets.”
“That’s good work, Maria, let me know what you
discover.” He appreciated her commitment and considered it refreshing to have
someone who could work off their own initiative. He turned to McLean. “That old
guy with the dog was observant.”
“Aye, he’s retired ex-military with a fantastic eye
for detail; he was as sharp as a button. Chris Jacobs is going to see him; we
should have a fairly accurate e-fit later this morning.”
“Great.”
“However,” McLean went on, “there’s some bad news. As
you know, the footage from the camera at Junction 39 only covers the southbound
half of the bridge, and on the day our dog walker spoke to the man he was at
the far end, the bit we can’t see, so there’s footage of the
so much trouble around here. He was a nightmare to live with.”
“So why did you stay with him?” Barnes asked,
looking for an answer other than the obvious.
“Why do women suffer domestic violence and stay put?
It’s the same answer. Although this time I was trying to get away from him, but
look what he did,” she lifted up her top and showed the bruising around her
ribs.
Barnes sucked the air in through her teeth and
grimaced. “You could’ve reported him,” she said.
“He told me he’d got friends in high places and that
it wouldn’t do any good. Plus he threatened to have me sectioned if I ever
tried anything like that.”
“It sounds like you were trapped and becoming desperate.”
Barnes said.
“Don’t think for one second that I had anything to
do with this, but when you catch the person who did, say thanks from me.”
“Did the letters CMXVI have any significance to
him?” Woods asked.
“I don’t think so. The numbers 666 definitely did.”
Barnes chewed her lip disguising her amusement.
“Can I ask about John Wright?” Woods said.
“John’s the light at the end of my tunnel. A really
nice guy who treats me like I’m a person and not an object he owns. What a
difference from Paul. You’ll know Paul suspended him when he found out about
us; he was having him sacked. Surely that gives you an idea what kind of a shit
he was. You couldn’t believe a word he said. You know his broken nose and the
scarring on his face? John said he’d told everyone at work he’d been kicked by
a horse; well he wasn’t, I know that for sure. Yet he told me someone he was
trying to arrest did it. I don’t know what the truth was, but I suspect it was
someone he’d upset getting even with him.”
At that moment Barnes’ phone rang. It was McLean.
She listened carefully and then ended the call. “Right, we’re looking for a
tall, fair haired man, sporty build, wearing a green wax jacket, blue and white
checked shirt, green corduroy trousers, walking boots and a tweed cap. Oh and
he has a very posh accent.”
“Well that rules out John Wright,” Woods said.
Thursday 17 th May.
It was earlier than normal when
Woods walked into the Incident Room; Barnes and McLean were already working
away at their desks.
“You look like you didn’t have much sleep last
night,” Barnes said.
“No, I didn’t; that’s why I’m early.”
“Me too, I couldn’t stop thinking about yesterday,
so in the end I thought I’d come in and start trolling through the CCTV footage.
I’ve got Mateland’s shift patterns over the past month, so I’m concentrating on
the times he was travelling to and from work. I’ve created a matrix of vehicles
travelling up to one mile behind him and any vehicle seen outside his work
base.”
“Anything of interest?”
“It’s too early. Have you any idea how many vehicles
are within one mile of you, when you travel thirteen miles along the motorway?”
“Hundreds or is it thousands?”
“It’s hundreds, but then multiply that by twenty
working days and two journeys per day, and you’ll get an idea how complex this
is… thank goodness for Excel spreadsheets.”
“That’s good work, Maria, let me know what you
discover.” He appreciated her commitment and considered it refreshing to have
someone who could work off their own initiative. He turned to McLean. “That old
guy with the dog was observant.”
“Aye, he’s retired ex-military with a fantastic eye
for detail; he was as sharp as a button. Chris Jacobs is going to see him; we
should have a fairly accurate e-fit later this morning.”
“Great.”
“However,” McLean went on, “there’s some bad news. As
you know, the footage from the camera at Junction 39 only covers the southbound
half of the bridge, and on the day our dog walker spoke to the man he was at
the far end, the bit we can’t see, so there’s footage of the
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