DARK HOUSES a gripping detective thriller full of suspense by Helen H. Durrant Page B

other one, sir. Like the one on Arnold Street.”
    Greco’s stomach churned.
    “What is it?” Suzy had come downstairs to join him.
    “The case. I need to go. We’ve got another one.”
    “What’s going on, Stephen? Two murders in as many days?”
    She was right to be concerned. Whoever was doing this had been busy. These killings weren’t spontaneous. The house, getting hold of the key, it all took organising. But how did he select his victims? Greco had been looking to Jessie Weston’s life to provide a clue, but there was no clue. Apart from her rather volatile relationships with those close to her, Jessie had led a normal life.
    “Will you come back, have some breakfast and get ready properly?” Suzy asked. “You have a routine in the mornings. If you deviate too much, you’ll be uncomfortable all day.”
    He looked at her, his face grim. “I have to go. I can’t do anything else. I’ll try and get an hour later on to sort myself out.”
    “You should eat at the very least. Ring me if you need anything. We’re having staff development today, so no students. I can easily get away.”
    He’d been doing well with Suzy’s help. He couldn’t lose her again. It would do him no good at all to go through the upheaval of a second break-up. Suzy kept his life simple. Everything was in its place, meals were on time, and the household ran smoothly. If she left him again, he’d crumble. He knew he would.
    “I’ll be fine,” he said. He kissed her cheek and went back upstairs to get dressed.
    * * *
    By the time Greco got there half the street had been taped off, front and back. Archibald Street was short, with twelve terraced houses either side. The house in question, number four, had a ‘for sale’ board outside it. Harvey & Son were handling the sale.
    “The bloke next door is really cut up,” a uniformed officer told him. “His wife was putting rubbish out in the bin when she spotted the intruder. Whoever it was had left the back door open. She got her husband to have a look inside. He wouldn’t let her go in. It’s really bad in there.”
    “How far are we from Arnold Street?”
    “Top of here, turn right, then it’s the second street along. No distance at all.”
    “Have the people from the Duggan arrived?”
    “A local GP confirmed death, not that there could have been any doubt, according to the neighbour. Doctor Barrington and her team arrived five minutes or so before you. They’re in there now.”
    Greco inhaled deeply. He knew the scene inside the house was going to be bad. He heard someone call his name. It was Speedy. He appeared in the doorway, ashen-faced.
    “It’s awful in there,” he said. “It’s like a bloody slaughterhouse. The neighbour two doors down has made some tea. I’ll get a mug if you don’t mind. Want some?”
    Greco shook his head. “How old?”
    “Young. Teens, I’d say.” Speedy’s voice quivered as he spoke.
    “Everything’s very much as yesterday except that there’s a lot more blood,” Natasha Barrington told him when he went inside. “Stripped naked, strung up from a beam, speared through the heart with something hot. More of that awful cutting to the face and raped. The blood is everywhere, even up the walls. He pierced the aorta and it’s splattered everywhere.”
    “Her name was Rosa Hudson,” Roxy Atkins said.
    “Have the photos been taken?” Greco asked.
    “He’s just started.”
    The photographer briefly pulled the mask from his mouth and smiled.
    “You met Mark at Arnold Street,” Roxy explained. “Mark Brough, one of our new crime scene investigators. If there’s anything you want to know and I’m not available, just ask him.”
    “Get everything done as quickly as you can and take her down.”
    Natasha looked at Greco’s face and nodded.
    “She was very young. Pretty too,” Mark said.
    “Expert, are you?” Greco said.
    “No — but they both were, and blonde. There might be something in that.”
    “You stick to what