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

On the fifth time – the final time – she felt as if she could feel the air around her change. Her heart began to beat quicker, as fear built within her. She wasn’t sure what was happening, but there was a definite shift in the atmosphere.

She could hear sounds around her, but they were lost in her repetitive words. She didn’t want to look up, staring at her feet and chanting the words she hoped would be enough to not be exposed.

Inside, she screamed at herself for being so stupid.

The world became bright suddenly, her face illuminated in light. She screwed her eyes shut, but didn’t stop chanting numbers that meant nothing to her. Moving in small steps, side to side.

Until the young man stepped out of the shadows and came to meet her, his body shaking with fear, tears cascading down his screwed-up face.

Until the sound stopped and the world turned black.

Forty-One

Mark and DS Cavanagh were sitting across the table from Rich Burns, the small space seemingly doubling the size of the man. His arms were bulging against his chest as he folded them and leaned back in the chair. There was a calmness to him that spoke of being in the same room, the same scenario, countless times.

He was used to this.

His eyes betrayed him, though. The hurt etched into them. The redness underneath, a sign he had been crying recently.

Away from this place, the grief had grabbed hold of the man. Now, he was only going to show the detectives what he wanted to show them. And it wasn’t going to be nice.

No solicitor, which Mark guessed wasn’t usual for him. He’d done enough interviews in the past to know the type of career criminal Rich was and their usual modus operandi. An endless stream of ‘no comments’ until the interviewer became tired.

This was different and Mark knew why. Rich wanted to talk and knew nothing he could say would mean he was guilty. Because he wasn’t.

Mark made himself useful setting up the recording machine, as Cavanagh reeled off the usual talk about his rights and options. Rich once more confirmed he was happy to continue without representation and then leaned forward to take a sip of the coffee he’d asked for before they’d entered.

He was like a coiled spring, which set Mark on edge. Rich wanted to be out of there, looking for whoever had killed his niece. That much was obvious just from looking at him. He expected that Cavanagh had made the same observation. His head was more red than usual, the bulging neck muscles and veins popping to attention. The hands curling in and out of fists.

They would have to tread carefully. Although Mark expected Cavanagh could give the big man a run for his money in a straight fight.