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Back Graveyard to Hell Save as PDF
Chapters (69)
  1. Cover
  2. Epigraph
  3. INTRODUCTION
  4. BOOK ONE
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. BOOK TWO
  30. 1
  31. 2
  32. 3
  33. 4
  34. 5
  35. 6
  36. 7
  37. 8
  38. 9
  39. 10
  40. 11
  41. 12
  42. 13
  43. 14
  44. BOOK THREE
  45. PROLOGUE
  46. 1
  47. 2
  48. 3
  49. 4
  50. 5
  51. 6
  52. 7
  53. 8
  54. 9
  55. 10
  56. 11
  57. 12
  58. 13
  59. 14
  60. 15
  61. 16
  62. 17
  63. 18
  64. 19
  65. 20
  66. 21
  67. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  68. Also by Jack Higgins
  69. About the Publisher

‘All part of the service,’ Miller said.

Craig turned with a wry grin. ‘It’s been fun, hasn’t it? We must do it again sometime.’

As they started to laugh, a police whistle sounded somewhere in the distance and scores of brent geese rose in a protesting cloud and flew out to sea.

BOOK THREE

HELL IS ALWAYS TODAY

PROLOGUE

The police car turned the end of the street and pulled into the kerb beside the lamp. The driver kept the motor running, and grinned at his passenger.

‘Rather you than me on a night like this, but I was forgetting. You love your work, don’t you?’

Police Constable Henry Joseph Dwyer’s reply was unprintable and he stood at the edge of the pavement, a strangely melancholy figure in the helmet and cape, listening to the sound of the car fade into the night. Rain fell steadily, drifting down through the yellow glow of the street lamp in a silver spray and he turned morosely and walked towards the end of the street. It was just after ten and the night stretched before him, cold and damp. The city was lonely and for special reasons at that time, rather frightening even for an old hand like Joe Dwyer. Still, no point in worrying about that. Another ten months and he’d be out of it, but his hand still moved inside his cape to touch the small two-way radio in his breast pocket, the lifeline that could bring help when needed within a matter of minutes.

He paused on the corner and looked across the square towards the oasis of light that was the coffee stall on the other side. No harm in starting off with something warm inside him and he needed some cigarettes.

There was only one customer, a large, heavily built man in an old trenchcoat and rain hat who was talking to Sam Harkness, the owner.

As Dwyer approached, the man turned, calling goodnight over his shoulder and plunged into the rain head down so that he and the policeman collided.

‘Steady on there,’ Dwyer began and then recognized him.

‘Oh, it’s you, Mr Faulkner. Nasty night, sir.’

Faulkner grinned. ‘You can say that again. I only came out for some cigarettes. Hope they’re paying you double time tonight.’

‘That’ll be the day, sir.’

Faulkner walked away and Dwyer approached the stall, ‘He’s in a hurry, isn’t he?’

Harkness filled a mug with tea from the urn, spooned sugar into it and pushed it across. ‘Wouldn’t you be if you was on your way home to a warm bed on a night like this? Probably got some young bird lying there in her underwear waiting for him. They’re all the same these artists.’

Dwyer grinned. ‘You’re only jealous. Let’s have twenty of the usual. Must have something to get me through the night. How’s business?’