Dark Side by Margaret Duffy Read Free Book Online Page A

when we saw him on the village green and were still yards apart, he obviously having had to park somewhere else. The building was packed to the doors, people spilling out into the road and across on to the green. I suddenly remembered that a skittles match against Wellow was scheduled for tonight.
    â€˜No need,’ I hastened to assure him. His face had lack of sleep written all over it.
    â€˜Mow you down with his car, did he?’ Patrick queried.
    I made light of the leer and gesture and then said to James, ‘Patrick’s done far worse things than that to preserve his cover. Is Paul Mallory still living there, then?’
    â€˜If being dead drunk or out of it on drugs for most of the time can be described as living, yes.’
    Both men then eyed the Ring o’ Bells with practical gaze.
    â€˜We’ll never get a pint in a thousand years,’ Carrick lamented.
    Patrick frowned. ‘If we go round the back and ambush someone …’
    They went off, leaving me standing. It was a lovely evening so I found an empty bench a bit farther away and wondered, not for the first time, why Carrick had not told his new DI what he was doing that day. Surely their working relationship hadn’t actually crashed already.
    Not long afterwards, in a staggeringly short space of time in the circumstances, the two came back into view, Patrick carrying what appeared to be a heavy cardboard box that clinked. I had a quick guess from the apparent weight and came up with a bottle of wine, four to six bottles of bitter plus the relevant glasses.
    â€˜A visiting beer from Dartmoor!’ he exclaimed. ‘Jail Ale, no less, and a special offer on a dozen bottles to sons of the soil – some tonight, some tomorrow!’
    â€˜How terribly suitable,’ I commented, my own version of this being most tonight, not much tomorrow. ‘But you aren’t sons of any kind of soil. What about me?’
    They stopped in their tracks, clearly having forgotten all about me.
    â€˜It’s so warm we were thinking of going home and sitting in the garden.’ Patrick then said, adding with the smile of a man under wifely siege, ‘There’s a good bottle of Chablis in the fridge.’
    Just the smallest bit offended, I replied, ‘It’s for an emergency – like unexpected visitors.’
    They looked at one another and Carrick said, ‘I reckon this is an emergency, don’t you?’
    No point in falling out with both of them.
    â€˜I knew you’d want to ask me about it but it’s not official – yet,’ Carrick said. ‘This is just me doing a little homework on a couple of local ex-cons.’ As he spoke his voice had thickened with anger.
    â€˜Far be it for me to advise moderation,’ Patrick said softly.
    James gave him a straight look. ‘No.’
    â€˜Or urge you to consider that getting emotionally involved can affect judgement.’
    â€˜No – again, I reckon you’d think it none of your business,’ the Scot said, taking a fierce swig of his beer.
    â€˜It’s not.’
    There was a little silence.
    â€˜But?’ Carrick snapped.
    â€˜I suggest that your judgement has been affected insofar as it obviously hasn’t occurred to you that it might be, taking into consideration his previous behaviour, exactly what Cooper wants.’
    â€˜
Wants?
’ This incredulously.
    â€˜The DCI, still raging over the attack on his one-time girlfriend, now his wife, has admitted under questioning that he targeted those responsible in a private vendetta. One of them, Paul Mallory, now an alcoholic, has recently been found with severe injuries having been savagely beaten.’ Patrick looked at James pointedly.
    â€˜Bloody hell! You don’t imagine I’d—’
    Patrick smoothly interrupted with, ‘That’s the beginning of an article in a gutter national newspaper under the headline “cop gets revenge on yob who