Dead Pretty: The 5th DS McAvoy Novel (DS Aector McAvoy) by David Mark Read Free Book Online Page A

caused a haemorrhage that put him in a coma and eventually claimed his life. One way of looking at it was that Reuben Hollow had killed him. Pharaoh considered the evidence far too thin for a realistic chance of a murder conviction. Even Shaz Archer thought the best they could get was manslaughter. Then good old Alan Cotteril came forward with a statement. Reuben Hollow had admitted to him en route to the station for interview that he had given Mathers Senior a good hiding. Had smashed his head off the wheel arch of the caravan and didn’t stop until he got an apology. The statement was enough to show intent to kill and the case went forward to the CPS. Hollow was charged with murder. Pharaoh can still remember the look in his eyes. It was hurt and bewilderment and absolute stone-cold despair.
    My daughter , he’d said, over and over, as she read the charge. Who will look after my daughter?
    Despite Cotteril’s statement, not all the jury could be convinced that Hollow was guilty. The judge eventually accepted a majority verdict and Hollow was sent down for life. Then the press started to kick up a fuss. Could a man not defend himself in his own home? Could he not stick a punch on the arseholes who had assaulted his daughter? They painted a picture of a humble, handsome man, fighting for the old ways. He was a sculptor. Lived in a cabin in the woods with his prodigiously clever daughter. He was a looker with the eyes of a poet: gold dust for the tabloids. And when Sergeant Alan Cotteril was found dead in his living room having overdosed on whisky and prescription painkillers, Pharaoh’s life got worse. Next to his body was an open laptop screen. On it, he had written his deathbed confession. Hollow’s confession was pure fiction. Cotteril had made the whole thing up and he knew the truth was all going to come out. Hollow’s case was fast-tracked to the Court of Appeal. Then the Sunday Mirror splashed with a story it had been working on for weeks. Sergeant Alan Cotteril was Wayne Mathers’ cousin through marriage. The link was the worst-kept secret in Skirlaugh and yet nobody had picked up on it. Least of all Trish. The vultures started to circle and their wings blew up a hurricane of shit, all of it heading for her. How had she missed the link? That was what they all wanted to know. Even McAvoy had allowed one disloyal eyebrow to slide towards the ceiling when the revelations surfaced.
    Pharaoh growls at herself as she realises she has allowed her thoughts to turn towards her sergeant. For a while she thought about setting up a money box on the mantelpiece to put a pound into every time she allowed the image of his big stupid freckled face to swim into her mind. Then she realised it would cost her too much. If he’d been on the investigation there was no way the link between Cotteril and Mathers would have gone undiscovered. But he’d been on his bloody holidays, smooching and simpering with that pretty little cow of a wife. Pharaoh chides herself again. Be nice . She has nothing against Roisin. Just wishes the bitch was still in protective custody and not around to show up all Pharaoh’s faults. Perfect tits, perfect arse, perfect little wife. If she wasn’t hard as coffin nails and as fiercely protective of Aector as Pharaoh herself, Trish would probably have nutted her by now.
    She drains her red wine and wonders if she should take a shower. Wonders if there are any Easter eggs left in the cupboard. Wonders what she would do if Aector turned up and saw her wearing the shirt that he left here last time he and the family came to stay.
    Wonders, for the thousandth time, if she should just tell Aector the truth about the whole damn business. Whether he would understand.
    Her mobile phone makes the decision for her.
    It’s DC Ben Neilsen, calling from Hull’s Old Town.
    They’ve got a body, Guv.
    Been trying to ring you for ages.
    McAvoy said to call you immediately . . .
    And this one is really fucking