Find Them Dead
Chapters (130)
- Cover
- FIND THEM DEAD
- Dedication page
- Maps
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- FOUR MONTHS LATER
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- 77
- 78
- 79
- 80
- 81
- 82
- 83
- 84
- 85
- 86
- 87
- 88
- 89
- 90
- 91
- 92
- 93
- 94
- 95
- 96
- 97
- 98
- 99
- 100
- 101
- 102
- 103
- 104
- 105
- 106
- 107
- 108
- 109
- 110
- 111
- GLOSSARY
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- NOW A MAJOR ITV SERIES
- I FOLLOW YOU
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- DISCOVER THE ROY GRACE BOOKS
- FIND THEM DEAD
- The Detective Superintendent Roy Grace books in order
- Also by Peter James
Cover
FIND THEM DEAD
PETER JAMES
Dedication page
TO JULIAN FRIEDMANN
Maps
1
Monday 26 November
Mickey Starr gazed into the night, feeling restless and apprehensive. And afraid. It wasn’t fear of the darkness but of what lay beyond it.
Going to be fine, he tried to reassure himself. He’d done these Channel crossings before without a hitch, so why should this one be any different?
But it was. No escaping the fact. This was different.
Fear was something that had never troubled him before, but throughout this trip he had been feeling a growing anxiety, and now as the shore grew closer, he was truly frightened. Terrified, if it all went pear-shaped, what would happen to the one person in his life who had ever really meant anything to him and who loved him unconditionally. Whatever bad things he may have done.
Wrapped up against the elements in a heavy coat and a beanie, roll-up smouldering in his cupped hand, the muscular, grizzled, forty-three-year-old stood on the heaving deck of the car ferry, braced against a stanchion to keep his balance.
In prison, some eighteen years back, his cellmate, an Irishman with a wry sense of humour, had given him the nickname Lucky Starr. Mickey should feel lucky, he’d told him, because he had a spare testicle after losing one to cancer in his teens, a spare eye, after a detached retina in one had put an end to his boxing career, and a spare arm for the one he’d subsequently lost in a motorbike accident.
It was 4 a.m. and he was fighting off seasickness. He wasn’t feeling particularly lucky at this moment, out here in the middle of the English Channel, in this storm. He had a bad feeling that maybe he’d used up all his luck. Perhaps he should have found someone else to come with him after his colleague had pulled out at the last minute due to sickness. He always felt less vulnerable and conspicuous when he had a female companion with him. Maybe the Range Rover he was driving was too shouty?
Put it out of your mind, Mickey, get on with the job.
The sea was as dark as extinction. The salty spray stung as he squinted through the bitter wind and driving rain. His confidence in tatters, he was wondering if he was making the most stupid mistake of his life.
Calm down. Pull yourself together. Look confident. Be lucky!
Be lucky, and soon he would be home, back with his younger brother, Stuie, who totally depended on him. Stuie had Down’s Syndrome and Mickey affectionately referred to him as his ‘homie with an extra chromie’. Many years ago, Mickey made a promise to their dying mum that he would always take care of him, and he always had. His ‘differently-abled’ brother had taught Mickey how to see life in other ways, more simply. Better.