Secret of the Dead by Michael Fowler Read Free Book Online Page B

him answers.
    What she had told him had rocked his world to the core.
    The last time he had seen her had been on the 26 th September and he had prayed it was for the last time. Yet here she was again and in his face.
    He reluctantly reached out and took hold of her soft, slender hand, but part of him was telling him that this wasn’t happening.
    “Hello Hunter, nice to meet you again. How are you?”
    That soft Scottish voice broke Hunter out of his reverie. “I’m fine thanks.” He couldn’t think of anything more meaningful to say.
    She held his hand for a few seconds. “Good. No hard feelings then?” It was a rhetorical question. She slipped her hand away and turned back to her escort. “I’d love a glass of red wine, thanks.”
    The Detective Superintendent ordered drinks for everyone, then one of the Indian waiters showed them to their table. They had all pre-ordered their meals during drinks and as they selected their places at the long table the first course of mixed pickle and chutney with popadoms was already waiting.
    Fighting spoon against spoon with Barry Newstead, seated opposite, to scoop out the lime chillies from the small metal dish they were sharing, helped Hunter to relax slightly, though he couldn’t help glancing towards the end of the table where Dawn Leggate was next to his boss.
    It had crossed Hunter’s mind, as he guessed it had crossed many others around the table, that Michael Robshaw and the Scottish DCI were now an item. There had been office gossip and several sightings of the pair at a local restaurant over the past few months.
    It couldn’t be easy carrying on a relationship with six hours’ driving time between them, Hunter thought as he watched the pair chatting with DI Gerald Scaife and his wife. He just hoped it wouldn’t be permanent. He felt uncomfortable in her presence; she knew too much about him and his family.
    As they all finished the first course, two waiters glided in and cleared away the crockery. The table was ready for the next course; he had ordered Chicken Chat.
    A sudden repetitive tinkling of metal against glass grabbed the table’s attention. Michael Robshaw was tapping the side of his beer glass with his fork.
    It brought the team to order.
    “I just want to say a few words.” He set down his fork but still held his pint glass. “This is not a night for speeches, but there are three celebrations tonight.”
    Hunter began searching faces around the table, but was met with a series of raised eyebrows and shrugs,
    “First and foremost, to the team for another successful outcome. Your hard work during the past eight weeks has paid off. We got a good result last week, the guilty verdicts with a twenty-five year minimum life sentence was a good judgement. It was well deserved after all the hard work you all put in and I’d like you to raise your glasses”
    There was a resounding response around the table. “To us!”
    “And now secondly. This has not been an easy decision. I have thoroughly enjoyed my time with you lot. This is probably the best team I have ever worked with in my career, but I have decided that with three years to go before I can officially retire I’m going to take a back seat. Though you all know I dislike the politics of the job, sometimes in your career you have to run with the devil. What I want to say in a nutshell is that next month I am moving on to headquarters. I am being promoted to Detective Chief Super.”
    “And not a moment too soon,” Barry Newstead shouted from his seat. “Well done. Congratulations.” He raised his glass and drank.
    The squad followed suit.
    Barry kept his empty glass held up. “We’d thought we’d never get rid of you gaffer,” he added with a mocking grin.
    There was a ripple of laughter around the table.
    “Thank you Barry, I’ll take that as a compliment. From you those are heartfelt words. And do you know something deep down I’ll even miss you! By the way your P45’s in the