BLOOD SECRETS a gripping crime thriller full of suspense by Gretta Mulrooney
Book: BLOOD SECRETS a gripping crime thriller full of suspense by Gretta Mulrooney
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Authors: Gretta Mulrooney
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regarding information about a new case and asked if she could look up the old records for Teddy Bartlett.
‘Okay, Ty. Email me the details and I’ll see what there is. Been out on the river today?’
‘This morning. How about you?’
‘Not since we went out that time, months back. Work getting in the way, as usual.’
‘Can I buy you a drink as thanks for the favour?’
There was a slight hesitation, then she said sure, that would be great. He took a deep breath after the call. That was the first time in years he had been able to ask a woman out with a clear and easy conscience.
* * *
Swift opened his front door just after six o’clock and was assaulted by a nauseating smell. Lying on the doormat and the surrounding tiles was a large pile of bloody offal. He almost stepped in it but managed to jump as his foot lifted. He looked down at the glistening, twisted shapes of livers, hearts, kidneys and what he thought was tripe. Blood had spattered up the walls and dripped onto the skirting board. He gagged and turned away to the doorway to breathe, bending and holding his jacket collar across his face. He looked up and down the street, in case the perpetrator was waiting to see his response. It was quiet, just a woman walking with two children and a suited man with a briefcase entering his house a couple of doors away. He could hear the sound of jazz from Cedric’s flat and moved quickly to clear the stinking pile away before his tenant knew about it.
He left the front door open and took several photos of the entrails. Then he donned rubber gloves and found large bin bags, bleach, a scrubbing brush left by his aunt and a pack of cleaning cloths. It took him a good half hour to clear the mess. He put the door mat in a separate bag. Luckily it was bin collection the following day and the weather was cool. He scrubbed the tiles and washed down the skirting board, the paintwork and the back of the door. Even after he had rinsed the floor three times with hot water and bleach, he was convinced he could smell the feral, cloying aroma of the organs. He found some Jo Malone men’s cologne his stepmother had bought him a couple of Christmases ago. He disliked most aftershaves and had never worn it. He sprayed the hallway liberally, glad that he had finally found a use for it. It certainly helped obliterate any lingering traces. He emailed PC Simons, attaching the photos he had taken, then put his clothes in the washing machine and took a long, scalding shower. He used handfuls of shower gel, washing his hair twice.
Whoever was doing this was becoming bolder, acting in daylight, escalating the threat.
Chapter 4
Swift had risen early and spent a couple of hours on the river. The water was murky and smelled of the season, with a hint of decay. There was a scent of smoke on the air and the trees along the river bank were turning shades of tawny yellow and orange. The horizon was misty and the still air soft and hushed. Contentment skirted his busy thoughts as he grasped the oars but edged away again as he remembered Mary and the conversation they needed to have.
He headed for home, needing hot food. He microwaved some of a risotto Cedric had given him the day before, his mouth watering as garlic and parmesan scented the kitchen. When he had eaten he brewed a strong coffee and phoned Teddy’s Aunty Barbara in Dorchester.
‘Hello, is that Barbara Stead?’
‘Yes, unknown number. I’m not interested in changing my energy supplier or any other such rubbish so bugger off . . .’
‘Hold on, hold on! This isn’t a cold call. My name is Tyrone Swift. I’m a private investigator, hired by Rowan Bartlett.’
She laughed. ‘Oh, sorry. Yes, Sheila did email me saying her father was back.’
‘I hope you don’t mind me ringing you. I just wanted to ask a few questions.’
‘That’s all right. Hold on a minute, I want to let the dog out.’
There were barks and sounds of doors banging. She returned quickly.
‘Right,
‘Okay, Ty. Email me the details and I’ll see what there is. Been out on the river today?’
‘This morning. How about you?’
‘Not since we went out that time, months back. Work getting in the way, as usual.’
‘Can I buy you a drink as thanks for the favour?’
There was a slight hesitation, then she said sure, that would be great. He took a deep breath after the call. That was the first time in years he had been able to ask a woman out with a clear and easy conscience.
* * *
Swift opened his front door just after six o’clock and was assaulted by a nauseating smell. Lying on the doormat and the surrounding tiles was a large pile of bloody offal. He almost stepped in it but managed to jump as his foot lifted. He looked down at the glistening, twisted shapes of livers, hearts, kidneys and what he thought was tripe. Blood had spattered up the walls and dripped onto the skirting board. He gagged and turned away to the doorway to breathe, bending and holding his jacket collar across his face. He looked up and down the street, in case the perpetrator was waiting to see his response. It was quiet, just a woman walking with two children and a suited man with a briefcase entering his house a couple of doors away. He could hear the sound of jazz from Cedric’s flat and moved quickly to clear the stinking pile away before his tenant knew about it.
He left the front door open and took several photos of the entrails. Then he donned rubber gloves and found large bin bags, bleach, a scrubbing brush left by his aunt and a pack of cleaning cloths. It took him a good half hour to clear the mess. He put the door mat in a separate bag. Luckily it was bin collection the following day and the weather was cool. He scrubbed the tiles and washed down the skirting board, the paintwork and the back of the door. Even after he had rinsed the floor three times with hot water and bleach, he was convinced he could smell the feral, cloying aroma of the organs. He found some Jo Malone men’s cologne his stepmother had bought him a couple of Christmases ago. He disliked most aftershaves and had never worn it. He sprayed the hallway liberally, glad that he had finally found a use for it. It certainly helped obliterate any lingering traces. He emailed PC Simons, attaching the photos he had taken, then put his clothes in the washing machine and took a long, scalding shower. He used handfuls of shower gel, washing his hair twice.
Whoever was doing this was becoming bolder, acting in daylight, escalating the threat.
Chapter 4
Swift had risen early and spent a couple of hours on the river. The water was murky and smelled of the season, with a hint of decay. There was a scent of smoke on the air and the trees along the river bank were turning shades of tawny yellow and orange. The horizon was misty and the still air soft and hushed. Contentment skirted his busy thoughts as he grasped the oars but edged away again as he remembered Mary and the conversation they needed to have.
He headed for home, needing hot food. He microwaved some of a risotto Cedric had given him the day before, his mouth watering as garlic and parmesan scented the kitchen. When he had eaten he brewed a strong coffee and phoned Teddy’s Aunty Barbara in Dorchester.
‘Hello, is that Barbara Stead?’
‘Yes, unknown number. I’m not interested in changing my energy supplier or any other such rubbish so bugger off . . .’
‘Hold on, hold on! This isn’t a cold call. My name is Tyrone Swift. I’m a private investigator, hired by Rowan Bartlett.’
She laughed. ‘Oh, sorry. Yes, Sheila did email me saying her father was back.’
‘I hope you don’t mind me ringing you. I just wanted to ask a few questions.’
‘That’s all right. Hold on a minute, I want to let the dog out.’
There were barks and sounds of doors banging. She returned quickly.
‘Right,