A Killing Resurrected

Table of Contents

Also by Frank Smith

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

The Chief Inspector Paget Mysteries

ACTS OF VENGEANCE

THREAD OF EVIDENCE

CANDLES FOR THE DEAD

STONE DEAD

FATAL FLAW

BREAKING POINT

THE COLD HAND OF MALICE

A KILLING RESURRECTED

Other Novels

DRAGON'S BREATH

THE TRAITOR MASK

DEFECTORS ARE DEAD MEN

CORPSE IN HANDCUFFS

SOUND THE SILENT TRUMPETS

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

First published in Great Britain and the USA 2010 by

SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

9-15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.

eBook edition first published in 2013 by Severn House Digital

an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

Copyright © 2010 by Frank Smith.

The right of Frank Smith to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

Smith, Frank, 1927–

A Killing Resurrected. – (A DCI Neil Paget mystery)

1. Paget, Neil (Fictitious character) – Fiction.

2. Police – Great Britain – Fiction. 3. Detective and

mystery stories.

I. Title II Series

823.9'14-dc22

ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-379-2 (epub)

ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-6878-7 (cased)

Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

This eBook produced by

Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.

D
etective Superintendent Thomas Alcott ran a finger around the inside of his collar, but it stuck back to his skin the moment he released it. It had been four days since the stifling heat had settled into the valley, and there was no sign of it shifting. Barely ten o'clock in the morning, but it felt more like high noon in Saudi Arabia. He eyed the open file on his desk with distaste, then pushed it away and sat back in his chair as if trying to distance himself from it.

He should never have agreed to meet with the Hammond woman, he thought irritably. The last thing he needed was some old woman rattling on about a thirteen-year-old case when they could barely keep up with the current ones. He glanced at the time. He'd give her a few minutes, then find an excuse to leave the room and let Paget take over. He was toying with the idea of having Fiona ring him with an urgent message, when Paget appeared in the doorway.

‘Morning, Paget,' he said tersely. ‘I hope this woman isn't going to be late. God knows we have enough on our plate without digging up old cases. You've read the file, I take it?'

‘Enough to get the general picture,' Paget told him. ‘But I would like to . . .'

He stopped as Fiona popped her head around the door to say, ‘Miss Hammond is here, sir. Shall I show her in?'

Alcott gave a grudging nod and rose to his feet as Fiona opened the door wider and ushered the visitor into the office.

Claire Hammond was younger than Alcott had pictured her when they'd spoken on the phone. Much younger. Thirtyish or thereabouts, he guessed, and
very
attractive. Tall, slim, dark shoulder-length hair, luminous eyes, generous mouth. Smartly dressed and looking remarkably cool, considering they were in the middle of a heat wave. Plain white blouse beneath a pale-blue linen jacket that followed the curve of the waistline; a flowing A-line calf-length skirt in a summery print, and white ankle-strap sandals. Ankle-strap wedges, if he was not mistaken. The Superintendent was by no means an expert when it came to women's clothes, but he had two daughters who were, so, like it or not, he was kept abreast of what was ‘in' and what was not, and Claire Hammond was definitely ‘in'.

His hand went to his tie to straighten it, and suddenly felt as if he were only half dressed, with his jacket off and his sleeves rolled halfway up his arms.

‘I asked Detective Chief Inspector Paget to join us,' he explained as introductions were made and he guided Miss Hammond to a seat, ‘because if there is to be any follow-up on what you have to tell us, it will be his responsibility.' He moved back around his desk and sat down. ‘Now, you say you have information that appears to connect the suicide of a young man by the name of Barry Grant with the death of two people who were killed during the course of a robbery thirteen years ago. Is that right, Miss Hammond?'

‘That's right, Superintendent.'

‘And how, exactly, did this information come into your possession?'

Claire opened her handbag and drew out a folded brown envelope, but it remained in her hand while she asked a question of her own. ‘Do you remember Jane Grant, Superintendent?'

‘The boy's grandmother? Yes, I do. As a matter of fact, I was thinking about her after I spoke to you on the phone. Poor woman. She took her grandson's death very hard, as I recall.'

‘Yes, she did,' Claire agreed, ‘and she remembered you from that time, which is why I asked for you when I rang the other day. But she wasn't his grandmother; she was his great aunt. Barry was her sister's grandson. The Grant's adopted him when his mother died in rather tragic circumstances when he was six years old. But the reason I asked was because Jane Grant died last week, and it is because of her that I am here, and if you'll bear with me for a moment, I'll try to make my own position clear.

‘You see, we moved into the house next door to the Grants when I was about five years old, and Barry and I more or less grew up together. As you will remember, the Grants had an orchard at the back of their house, and Barry and I used to play there. I became very fond of Aunt Jane – we're not related, but I've always called her that because that was what Barry called her – and despite the difference in our ages, Aunt Jane and I became very close friends over the years. In fact, she treated me more like a daughter than a friend. Even so, I was stunned when I learned last week that she had left everything to me: the house, the orchard, everything, including a letter to me, and these, the letters Barry tried to write before he died.' Claire slid the envelope across the desk towards Alcott.

The Superintendent opened a drawer, took out a pair of latex gloves and pulled them on before touching the envelope. ‘You've read the letters, I take it?' he said as he picked up the envelope.

‘Of course.'

Alcott nodded absently. There was nothing remarkable about it: plain, brown and unmarked except for the handwritten inscription that simply said:
Claire Hammond
,
and creases where it had been folded twice. Inside was a single sheet of A4 paper that smelt faintly of lavender, and a smaller envelope containing several sheets of paper torn from a notebook. Originally crumpled, they had been smoothed out and folded carefully. Alcott held the scented page by the corners, and began to read.

My Dear Claire,

I know it was wrong of me not to tell the police about the letters Barry tried to write to me, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it at the time. I found them all screwed up in the corner beside his bed when I went in to make it that morning, and found it hadn't been slept in. If only he'd talked to me instead of trying to write it down, he might still be with us. I knew something was wrong, but I thought he'd come round in his own good time, so I let him be, but he never did. Just went inside himself the way he used to do when he was little. Barry wasn't a bad boy, not really, you must know that, Claire. He just wanted everyone to like him, but he fell in with the wrong crowd and they took advantage. It wasn't all his fault, so I couldn't bear the thought of having people thinking the worst of him after he died. I believe him when he says he didn't know what was happening inside that shop. Oh, Claire, I'm sorry to burden you with this, but keeping these letters secret has been on my conscience these past few years, so I want you to take them to Superintendent Alcott. He was an inspector when he came to see me when Barry died, and he was very nice. I don't think he remembered me, but I knew him when he was just a small boy. His mother and I sang in the same choir for a number of years, and we were good friends until they moved away and we lost touch. Please tell him I'm sorry for what I did, and I hope it's not too late to find the people who committed that terrible crime and drove Barry to take his own life.

All my love, and God bless you, Claire,

It was signed,
Aunt Jane.

Alcott passed a pair of gloves to Paget along with the letter before turning to the pages in the smaller envelope. They were undated and unsigned, but as he scanned through them, he was left with the impression that an attempt had been made to put them in some sort of order. He returned to what appeared to be the first one and began to read.

The next few words had been scratched out, but Alcott felt confident that Forensic would be able to bring them up.

More words were crossed out.