BooksBarbecue
Back The Game
Chapters (68)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. NOW
  4. One
  5. BEFORE
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. NOW
  26. Twenty-One
  27. BEFORE
  28. Twenty-Two
  29. Twenty-Three
  30. Twenty-Four
  31. Twenty-Five
  32. Twenty-Six
  33. Twenty-Seven
  34. Twenty-Eight
  35. Twenty-Nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-One
  38. Thirty-Two
  39. Thirty-three
  40. Thirty-Four
  41. Thirty-Five
  42. Thirty-Six
  43. Thirty-Seven
  44. Thirty-Eight
  45. NOW
  46. Thirty-Nine
  47. BEFORE
  48. Forty
  49. Forty-One
  50. Forty-Two
  51. Forty-three
  52. Forty-Four
  53. Forty-Five
  54. Forty-Six
  55. Forty-Seven
  56. Forty-Eight
  57. Forty-Nine
  58. Fifty
  59. Fifty-One
  60. NOW
  61. Fifty-Two
  62. Fifty-Three
  63. Fifty-Four
  64. Fifty-Five
  65. AFTER
  66. Fifty-Six
  67. Acknowledgements
  68. About the Author

Mark gave the DS a short nod, watching as they scuttled off, wondering how long it would take before they realised the likelihood of them finding anything of any use was zilch. Not without tearing up the carpets and hoping for secret plans. Maybe evidence that Emily had been killed there and then moved twenty minutes down the road. That would be for the CSIs to sort out, of course, but it would be much better if they could find something at least.

He followed DS Cavanagh out of the living room and up the stairs. He glanced in the other two bedrooms before finding what he was looking for in the bathroom.

‘Who still has carpet in their bathrooms these days,’ Mark said to himself, barely audible in the small room. A faded white-coloured bath took up most of the space. There were various bath products perched on a small shelf which ran across the width of the bathtub. A couple of bottles of cheap shampoo and conditioner took up the space at the end. The windowsill held a beaker and a toothbrush holder. Toilet roll sat on top of the cistern, a broken roll holder lying on the floor. He could smell wet, that damp aroma he hated so much.

Above him was what he had been looking for.

A square insert into the ceiling, just low enough for him to reach with his fingertips, if he stood on tiptoes. The attic door was scuffed on one side, a latch which looked rusty on the other. Mark looked around, considered standing on the bathtub and reaching across for entry, but thought better of it.

He left the bathroom, peeking into rooms for something to stand on for easier access, headed downstairs and returned with a chair from the kitchen. He stood on top of it, testing to see if he was going to be tall enough now. Just about. Mark unlatched the hook on the attic door and lifted up the panel. Snapped on a pair of white gloves and retrieved the torch he’d left on the side of the bathroom sink. Stuck it in his trouser pocket, and lifted himself back up onto the chair.

He should have looked for a stepladder.

Mark gripped each side of the opening, lifting himself up with difficulty, his arms barely supporting his weight. It took a few seconds longer than his body wished, before he finally got some upward momentum and was inside the roof space.

He removed the torch from his pocket and switched it on, illuminating the darkness only slightly. Mark waited a few seconds for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dark. He could see outlines of shapes, but the space wasn’t exactly vast. He imagined walking into something and wondered how soon he could get out of there.