Sally Spencer - The Ring of Death
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- Book:The Ring of Death
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- Year:2011
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The second in a new series featuring DCI Monika Paniatowski - Nothing could have prepared DCI Monika Paniatowski for this. Its not that the mans throat has been cut, or that he is naked, that shocks her its the way his corpse has been so carefully posed. Is the killer sending a message? If so, to who? Saddled with a colleague she doesnt trust, and watched by an old enemy, Monika realises that whatever the murderers message is, he will not stop killing until she understands.
Sally Spencer: author's other books
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Recent Titles by Sally Spencer from Severn House
THE BUTCHER BEYOND
DANGEROUS GAMES
THE DARK LADY
THE DEAD HAND OF HISTORY
DEAD ON CUE
DEATH OF AN INNOCENT
A DEATH LEFT HANGING
DEATH WATCH
DYING IN THE DARK
A DYING FALL
THE ENEMY WITHIN
FATAL QUEST
GOLDEN MILE TO MURDER
A LONG TIME DEAD
MURDER AT SWANNS LAKE
THE PARADISE JOB
THE RED HERRING
THE RING OF DEATH
THE SALTON KILLINGS
SINS OF THE FATHERS
STONE KILLER
THE WITCH MAKER
THE RING OF DEATHSally Spencer 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 2010
in Great Britain and in the USA by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of
915 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.
Copyright 2010 by Alan Rustage.
All rights reserved.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
Spencer, Sally.
The Ring of Death.
1. Police England Yorkshire Fiction. 2. Serial murder investigation Fiction. 3. Detective and mystery stories.
I. Title
823.914-dc22
ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-042-5 (ePub)
ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-6868-8 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-218-5 (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.
PROLOGUE
F or most men, suddenly finding themselves in this position would be a terrifying experience, Andy Adair thought.
As their minds slowly came back to life as they began to hazily remember the blow to the back of the head which had robbed them of their consciousness they would already be finding it hard to breathe.
And then as they realized they were tied securely to a chair, and had a hood over their heads theyd crap their pants.
But not him!
He was not that run-of-the-mill kind of man.
He was a hard man.
He didnt focus on the pain from his head-wound, because he had been trained to ignore pain.
He didnt waste his time wondering how hed got into this situation.
None of that mattered.
What was important now was what happened next.
And the simple truth was that in a hard man sort of way he found the whole situation amusing.
The Enemy and he was sure it was a single enemy had put the sack over his head in an attempt to induce what Adairs instructors had called sensory deprivation.
And certainly that would work with some men.
It had worked with the wogs he himself had interrogated in the Middle East, during the Aden crisis, for example.
It had worked with the Catholic scum he had helped break down in the Northern Ireland conflict.
But it was not about to work with him.
And it was from that knowledge of his own sense of control over the situation that the amusement stemmed.
Because, even now, that invisible Enemy was probably studying him for signs of growing fear and was being sadly disappointed.
He could hear the Enemy breathing, short, shallow breaths designed to conceal his presence.
But that wouldnt work, either.
Not with a man whod been trained to listen.
Not with a man whod spent so much time on the other side of the sack.
Slowly and silently, Adair started to count.
One hundred... two hundred... three hundred...
This was another technique hed been taught in the army, and it had two purposes. The first was to enable him to calculate how long he had been held which might come in useful later. The second was keep his mind occupied, so that no unnecessary thoughts came into it.
He had reached six thousand, seven hundred and twenty-six when the Enemy admitting defeat, even if he didnt yet realize it himself finally broke the silence.
Dont you want to know where you are? the man asked.
Bloody amateur! Adair thought, in disgust.
Dont you want to know why youre here? the Enemy continued.
Pathetic! This feller wouldnt have lasted ten minutes in the hands of the Ulster Proddies.
I want some information, the Enemy said.
Is that right? Adair asked.
His captor spoke with a convincing Lancashire accent, he noted, but that proved nothing.
A lot of Irishmen whod spent a few years in the area could put on the local accent when they needed to. And when you were working for the Irish Republican cause when you were the enemy within on the English mainland you did need to put it on, because you knew that sounding like a local was one of the best disguises you could adopt.
I want some information, and youre going to give it to me, the Enemy said.
And now there was a hard edge an almost iron-clad certainty to his voice, which, despite everything, made his captive start to feel perhaps just slightly unnerved.
Ill give you some information, Paddy, Adair said.
He spoke harshly, perhaps to show the Enemy he was not to be intimidated, and perhaps, also, to bolster up his own courage a little.
And that information, he continued, is that when I get out of here, your life wont be worth living.
I want to know exactly what went on at Moors Edge Farm, the Enemy said. And I want the names of the men who organized it.
Wrong question! Adair thought, slightly knocked off balance.
Or, at least, he corrected himself, not one of the questions hed been expecting.
You can get stuffed, the hooded man said.
He concentrated on his breathing, forcing it to be regular and calm, knowing that would help steady his pulse and his heart-beat.
The threats would come soon, he told himself.
I can hurt you, you know. I can hurt you in ways you could never even imagine.
That was what he would have said in this situation. That was what he had said, in situations just like it.
But there were no threats. Instead, all he heard was a match being struck, followed by a roaring sound.
And then he felt the pain in his arm an agonizing pain as the flesh was burnt away.
He screamed, and the immediate pain stopped, though a secondary pain less intense but no less horrendous continued.
In case youre wondering what Im using, its a blow-lamp, the Enemy said casually. Nasty things, blow-lamps. They can burn their way through a solid oak door in less than a minute so just imagine what this one could do to you.
Adair let his head slump to one side, as if hed lost consciousness, though it was a hard act to maintain when all he really wanted to do was scream again.
If youre faking it, youre just wasting your time and mine, he heard the Enemy say. If youre not faking it, Ill just wait until you come round, and then start again. Because I will have the information I require.
Adair could still hear the blow-lamp spitting out its flame in the background. Nothing hed ever been taught nothing hed ever had to endure had prepared him for this.
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