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Back Scared to Live Save as PDF
Chapters (44)
  1. Dedication
  2. Chapter One
  3. Chapter Two
  4. Chapter Three
  5. Chapter Four
  6. Chapter Five
  7. Chapter Six
  8. Chapter Seven
  9. Chapter Eight
  10. Chapter Nine
  11. Chapter Ten
  12. Chapter Eleven
  13. Chapter Twelve
  14. Chapter Thirteen
  15. Chapter Fourteen
  16. Chapter Fifteen
  17. Chapter Sixteen
  18. Chapter Seventeen
  19. Chapter Eighteen
  20. Chapter Nineteen
  21. Chapter Twenty
  22. Chapter Twenty-One
  23. Chapter Twenty-Two
  24. Chapter Twenty-Three
  25. Chapter Twenty-Four
  26. Chapter Twenty-Five
  27. Chapter Twenty-Six
  28. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  29. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  30. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  31. Chapter Thirty
  32. Chapter Thirty-One
  33. Chapter Thirty-Two
  34. Chapter Thirty-Three
  35. Chapter Thirty-Four
  36. Chapter Thirty-Five
  37. Chapter Thirty-Six
  38. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  39. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  40. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  41. Chapter Forty
  42. About the Author
  43. Also by Stephen Booth
  44. About the Publisher

She walked out of the ward and past the nurses’ station, trying to make sense of Brian Mullen. At times, the emotions underlying his responses had been too complicated to pin down. But one thing she was sure of. Despite what Mr Mullen had pretended, the idea that the fire might have been set deliberately had come as no surprise to him at all.

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Upriver from Matlock Bath, the town of Matlock was going through another of its transformations. In the eighteenth century it had been John Smedley’s ‘mild water cure’ that had changed the place for ever. Nearly thirty hydros had opened to exploit the thermal springs, with vast numbers of infirm visitors pouring in to immerse themselves in warm baths and try out the treatments on offer. On the hillside, Cooper could still see Smedley’s Hydro, the biggest of them all. The vast building was now full of local government workers, soaking the public on behalf of Derbyshire County Council.

‘It’s right at the roundabout and over the bridge,’ said Murfin.

‘I know the way, Gavin.’

‘And watch out for pedestrians on the bridge. Some of them are suicidal.’

‘Gavin, I’m not your wife. I don’t need you to tell me how to drive.’

He followed the A6 out of the town towards Matlock Bath, and drove into the gorge where the River Derwent snaked beneath the face of High Tor. He slowed briefly at the point where the ‘box brownie’ sign came into view, warning of speed cameras ahead. The roundel gave the speed limit as fifty miles an hour. Despite the sign, there were no permanent cameras installed here. The safety team’s van might be parked by the side of the road occasionally, that was all. And the van hadn’t been in this area on Saturday. He’d already checked.

Although it seemed to form one continuous promenade along the west bank of the river, Matlock Bath’s main street was split into two halves: North Parade and South Parade. In the middle were a couple of three-storey stone villas that had somehow escaped being converted into amusement arcades or fish restaurants.

Like so many resorts, this place was biker heaven. Even today, motorbikes were parked against the kerb on South Parade. Kawasakis, Suzukis and Ducatis, all polished and gleaming. Most of the bikers on the pavement seemed to be well past their youth, though. Their leathers bulged in the wrong places, and when they took off their helmets, their hair was grey and straggly, or missing altogether. There didn’t seem to be one aged under fifty.

‘Hell’s Granddads,’ said Murfin. ‘They don’t bother doing the ton any more, they just park up for a cup of tea and a fairy cake.’

‘And to show off their bikes to each other, by the looks of it.’

‘That’s it, Ben. Nothing too strenuous at their age.’