Behind Dead Eyes (DC Ian Bradshaw #2) - Howard Linskey Page 0,8

across the street without glancing back then rounded a corner before losing herself amongst a crowd of shoppers on the high street.

LETTER NUMBER TWO

* * *

Were you alarmed by my correspondence, Tom? Was that it? There was a time when I might have been upset to receive a letter from a convicted murderer – and a famous one at that. I should probably have explained how I found you. It wasn’t difficult. People are easy enough to track down. You might want to be more careful in your line of work.

I don’t normally trust journalists but I think that you are different. I like your work. I believe you managed to crawl your way out of the gutter and I respect that. Are you ‘the repentant sinner’ the prison chaplain keeps telling us about, Tom? You might just be.

My appeal against conviction has been refused because there is no fresh evidence to overturn the guilty verdict and they won’t allow me to appeal against the length of my sentence. My solicitor keeps reminding me that murder is murder and the sentence is always life, so I am forced to face facts. I’m going to be in here for a very long time unless someone can vindicate me, and the police have no interest in doing that. They probably truly believe they have their man. They don’t. He’s still out there somewhere, just waiting to do it again – and if that isn’t a thought that keeps you awake at night, Tom, then it should.

Yours

Richard Bell

Chapter Five

‘What the bloody hell happened here?’ demanded Tom.

‘New owners,’ the barman said by way of explanation. Tom took in the sight of his favourite pub, which had just emerged from a two-week shutdown for ‘renovation’. Its walls were now painted bright orange and covered with framed pictures of Cadillacs and Chevys from the sixties that were completely out of place in a Durham city boozer. The long-serving barman was wearing a sombrero, which seemed to move independently of him while he poured drinks or dispensed plates of bar food.

Tom shook his head. ‘When I was last in here it looked like a pub. Not a brothel at the Alamo.’

‘It’s a new Mexican theme to go with the menu. They’ve got some huge models on order to keep the kids happy outside. A tyrannosaurus and a stegosaurus.’ The barman’s face told Tom he shared the younger man’s distaste. ‘But what can you do?’

Tom, who had made it one of his life’s rules never to drink in a pub with a plastic dinosaur in its garden, was about to say, you can go somewhere else but the barman had already poured a pint of his usual bitter and placed it on the bar in front on him. ‘Better enjoy that while you can,’ he explained, ‘they’re ripping out the pumps next week and replacing them with cervezas.’

‘Replacing them with what?’

‘Cervezas, I think it’s Spanish for beer. We are getting three of them in here on draught. Owners told me that’s what the punters want these days.’

‘That and plastic dinosaurs?’ said Tom doubtfully. ‘Are they Mexican dinosaurs?’

‘Don’t know.’ The barman thought it was a serious question.

Since when did drinkers become punters? thought Tom. ‘They’ll go bust in a year.’ He noticed a small machine on the bar which dispensed jelly beans, as if they were a sensible accompaniment to a pint of beer. But this wasn’t the final straw for Tom. The final straw was the repainted toilet doors that said ‘Senoritas’ and ‘Hombres’ instead of ‘Ladies’ and ‘Gents’.

‘Make that three months,’ he said sourly as he looked at the new bar food menu, which featured chilli dogs and refried beans, along with tacos and empanadas. ‘Is there a remote chance of getting a burger in here that isn’t smothered with salsa or guacamole?’

‘I’ll check with the kitchen.’ And he left Tom mourning the loss of his favourite Durham city watering hole. The barman returned and said, ‘That’s fine, the chef says you can have a burger-with-nowt.’

‘A burger-with-nowt it is then.’ Tom handed over his money.

While he waited for his burger-with-nowt, he sat in the corner trying to ignore the restlessness that was almost always in him these days. What the hell had he been thinking when he bought that house? It was supposed to be an investment and he was meant to be spending the afternoon searching for ‘home improvement solutions’, but he had no interest in that any more. Instead his thoughts turned back to Richard