Kate Ellis - Kissing the Demons

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The Joe Plantagenet Mysteries from Kate Ellis

SEEKING THE DEAD

PLAYING WITH BONES

KISSING THE DEMONS *

* available from Severn House

KISSING THE DEMONS

A Joe Plantagenet Mystery

Kate Ellis

This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the authors and publishers rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

This first world edition published 2011

in Great Britain and the USA by

Crme de la Crime, an imprint of

SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

915 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.

Copyright 2011 by Kate Ellis.

All rights reserved.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

Ellis, Kate, 1953-

Kissing the demons.

1. Plantagenet, Joe (Fictitious character)Fiction.

2. PoliceEnglandNorth YorkshireFiction. 3. Serial murder investigationFiction. 4. Detective and mystery stories.

I. Title

823.92-dc22

ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-063-0 (ePub)

ISBN-13: 978-1-78029-001-0 (cased)

ISBN-13: 978-1-78029-501-5 (trade paper)

Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

This ebook produced by

Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.

ONE

D eath arrived at the party dressed in the traditional way. Long black robe; monkish cowl pulled forward to half-conceal a skull face with cavernous eye sockets and grinning yellow teeth.

Death was tall, as one would expect, and in his bony right hand he carried a long plastic scythe the real thing would have been hard to get hold of and much too conspicuous. And Death didnt want to face any awkward questions.

Nobody took much notice as he stalked up the wide stairs, almost tripping up on the threadbare carpet. When he reached the landing he stood for a few moments, leaning on the banisters to survey the mortals below.

The ground floor of thirteen Torland Place was packed and all the time costumed newcomers were arriving in the hall carrying glasses and bottles. Some stopped to talk with animated gestures; some had the far away look of beer-goggled youth; and others were making their way to the living room where, through the open door, partygoers were attempting to dance with varying degrees of success.

Then Death spotted his target a girl in flimsy white with sequinned fairy wings. He watched as she wove her way through the crowd, slightly aloof, like a being from another world. She had pale hair and large green eyes and she possessed a virginal quality that seemed out of place in that alcohol-fuelled atmosphere. She stopped by a doorway and stood alone, oblivious to the raucous laughter and loud music around her. Separated from the rest of humanity.

Death studied her. The Maiden, he thought. Death and the Maiden. But he knew her real name. It was Petulia. He mouthed the word. Petulia.

He saw her take a step towards a young man with dark curls and a face straight out of a Renaissance painting who was dressed in a white coat with a stethoscope slung around his neck. Death appreciated his beauty which would fade as all beauty fades with time and watched as he raised a can of lager to his lips, looking as though hed prefer to be elsewhere; as though he found the squalid rented house with its smell of sweat and stale beer beneath him. The Maidens steps faltered, as though shed suddenly sensed the protective force field of sophisticated boredom that surrounded her quarry.

Then she turned away, her eyes searching the hallway for somebody anybody who might be a sympathetic companion. Death knew how she felt. He had experienced the loneliness of crowds so many times. It was hell on earth.

He looked at his watch. It was two in the morning and people were beginning to drift away from the party, still clutching beer bottles and half-full wine glasses. Death too had had his fill of the too-loud conversation, the couples copulating on cheap duvets in the shabby bedrooms and the preening mortals dancing clumsily on beer-sticky floors. But he hadnt had his fill of the house. He could never tire of it because he felt at home there. As if the very walls knew him and welcomed him in.

It was almost time to go. Death watched as the Maiden disappeared into the kitchen. She looked tired but she was still awake and sober enough to dodge away from a large boy in rugby kit whose exploratory arm had started to snake around her slim waist.

If Death had been made otherwise, he would have harboured fantasies about claiming her soft pale body for himself. But life and love were none of his concern.

The Maiden was the one. And one day very soon Death would claim her.

When DCI Emily Thwaite set out that Saturday morning the Yorkshire weather couldnt make up its mind what to do. It had promised sunshine first thing. Then the clouds had gathered in the sky like youths on a street corner, threatening showers and possibly worse.

She reached her office on the first floor of the modern police headquarters at the back of the railway station, took off her thin raincoat and hung it on the stand. She had drunk far too much the night before and she still had a nagging headache. But if your new neighbours offer you their hospitality and constantly top up your wine glass, it would be churlish and mealy mouthed to refuse or so shed reasoned at the time.

She walked over to the small mirror that hung on the wall and looked at herself, noting the dark rings beneath her eyes and the fine red tracery marring the white surrounding her pupils. The wages of sin or at least the wages of a good night on the Cabernet Sauvignon. She delved into the depths of the roomy bag which hung from her shoulder, pulled out her hairbrush, dragged it through her thick blonde curls and wiped a microscopic smudge of dirt from her nose. Shed do, she thought, running a finger round the ever-tightening waistband of her trousers. Shed signed up to the gym in the new year but the burdens of work and family meant that she hadnt had time to go. One day, perhaps. One day.

Saturday morning wasnt the best time to be summoned into work, what with the children to be ferried to ballet and swimming. But the Superintendent had called her at home first thing, saying that he wanted to speak to her urgently on a delicate matter so shed had to delegate those precious, looked forward to tasks to her husband, Jeff. Sometimes she feared that she was a lousy mother. But with a job like hers, the occasional bout of benign neglect was unavoidable.

Suddenly she saw a shadow out of the corner of her eye, partially blocking out the daylight that filtered in from the outer office. She tipped the hairbrush back into her bag and fixed a professional expression to her face but when she looked round she was relieved to see Joe Plantagenet leaning on the door frame. His thick black hair looked tousled, as if hed just got out of bed after a restless night. Perhaps he had, Emily thought. It was a long time since he had spoken to her about his private life and, although she was a naturally curious soul, she didnt like to ask, even though there were times when she was desperate to know. There were so many questions shed have liked to put to Joe if only she had the courage... or the blatant cheek. Shed always been known for her direct approach when shed been in Leeds CID. Maybe working in Eborby was making her soft.

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