Mournful Songs (DI Mills Yorkshire Crimes Thriller Book 2) Read online

  Mournful Songs

  A DI Mills Yorkshire Crime Thriller

  Oliver Davies

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  2. Mills

  3. Mills

  4. Mills

  5. Fry

  6. Mills

  7. Mills

  8. Mills

  9. Mills

  10. Mills

  11. Mills

  12. Mills

  13. Fry

  Chapter 14

  15. Mills

  16. Mills

  17. Mills

  18. Mills

  19. Mills

  20. Fry

  21. Mills

  22. Mills

  23. Mills

  24. Mills

  25. Mills

  26. Dorothea

  27. Mills

  28. Mills

  Epilogue

  A Message from the Author

  Prologue

  The station was aglow from the inside. Some of the younger PCs had draped tinsel around desks and chairs and hung it from the ceiling. Sprigs of mistletoe and the odd bit of holly dangled from the tinsel above our heads.

  Those who weren’t working the night shift milled around with mulled wine and wore Santa hats or antlers on their heads as they laughed and talked. Most people were off for a few days, and for once, I was one of them. I watched from the doorway of my office and checked my watch periodically. If I wasn’t off soon, my mum would’ve driven in to fetch me herself. I finished the drink in my hand, walked into the office, grabbed my coat and scarf from the back of my chair, and smiled at the raucous noise outside my door. The good cheer was offset by the grimaces of those who wouldn’t be home for a few hours yet. Christmas Eve usually kept us a little busy, though you couldn’t stop people from celebrating.

  I looked up as Fry walked in wearing a hat from a cracker. It was too big and kept slipping down over her forehead, which was rather perfect. She had on a pair of novelty bauble earrings that dangled by her shoulders. Her hair was loose in a long, black sheet down her back, something we rarely saw at the station.

  “You off, sir?” she asked.

  “I am.” I told her as I looked down at my bag and struggled with the buckles. “Don’t want to be late.”

  It was the first Christmas in a while that I had a few days off, and it was the first one in years that I’d be able to go around on Christmas Eve and actually stay the night. My brother would be there with the wife and children, which meant we’d all be stuffed into our childhood home.

  Fry tucked her hair behind one ear. “Take this before you go, then.” She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a present. It was wrapped in bright red paper, and she held it out to me.

  “For me?” I asked as I took it from her. She nodded and sat on the side of her desk. “Can I open it now?”

  “Sure.”

  She pulled her knees up, propped them on her chair, and watched as I leant against my own desk and peeled the paper back.

  “I’m surprised you had time,” I told her. “We’ve been busy this past week or so.”

  “You managed it,” she reminded me as she gestured to the pair of thick knitted gloves that stuck out of her coat pocket.

  “I didn’t wrap them,” I reminded her in return.

  “Doesn’t matter,” she said. “Open it.”

  I ripped the paper away and found myself holding a familiar red scarf. I’d let her borrow it a while back.

  “My scarf? Thank you, Fry.”

  She grinned at me. “I washed it before giving it back to you, but that’s not what I want you to see. Unfold it.”

  I chuckled and gently unfolded the scarf. Something small and hard was hidden in the middle.

  “A book?” I guessed, and then I shook the scarf free and slung it around my neck. Fry chewed on her bottom lip as I flipped the book over. “‘Muna Madan,’” I read aloud. “Laxmi Prasad Devkota.”

  “It’s the one book I know that you don’t have,” she said. “I’m not sure how the translation is, but it’s one of the best Nepali poems ever written.”

  I looked up at her with a smile. “Thank you, Leila. I’ll read it over my days off.”

  She smiled back, and I got off the desk to give her a brief, one-armed hug. My phone chose that moment to buzz in my pocket, and I grabbed it. I rolled my eyes at the text that came through.

  “My brother,” I told her. “I should get going.” I slid the book carefully into my pocket and secured the scarf around my neck. “Have a good few days, Fry.”

  “You too, sir. Merry Christmas.”

  I slung my bag over my shoulder and hovered by the door before I nodded to her and turned away. A few cheers greeted me as I strode out, joined by well wishes for the holiday and claps on the back as I moved through the crowded space. I waved at Sharp from across the room and headed downstairs, where it got much quieter. The desk sergeant glanced over when I walked past, and I offered him a sympathetic smile.

  “See you, mate,” I called.

  “Sir,” he nodded back.

  I shoved the doors open and got smacked in the face by a blast of cold air. Snow had been falling and was trying and failing to stick, at least. I pulled my collar up around my neck and huddled into my coat as I jogged over to my car, where I slid in, started the engine, and turned the heat up to full blast.

  As soon as the car was decently warm, I left the station and headed across the city to the quiet residential street where my parents lived. Holiday lights twinkled from the houses, and inflatable snowmen peered from behind a few garden hedges. I waved to a few familiar faces who were out as I drove to the house and parked in the driveway behind my brother’s car.

  A few white lights hung from the house, and in the living room window, a menorah was lit up with the Christmas tree poking out beside it. I grabbed my bag from the boot and headed up to the front door. I lifted my hand to the doorbell, but the door swung open, and my mother grabbed my arm and yanked me in.

  “Out of the cold, Isaac Mills,” she said as she took my bag from me and undid my coat.

  “I can take my own coat off, Mum,” I said.

  She shook her head and awkwardly bent my arms to pull the coat off. Once done, she turned and hung it on the hooks behind us.

  “Hello darling,” she said as she pulled me down for a hug. I rested my head on her shoulder and squeezed her back.

  “Hi, Mum. Merry Christmas.”

  She pulled back and lifted her hands to my cheeks with a wild grin on her face. “My boys are back in the house. I can’t remember the last time I had you both here. Your face is freezing,” she told me. “Get your shoes off and come in. We’re in the kitchen.”

  I kicked my shoes off and walked deeper into the warm house. All the candles were lit, as was the fire in the living room, and the house was neatly decorated with all the old ornaments. She never got new ones unless something broke. My nephews were on the sofa, watching a Christmas film from under a blanket, and I ruffled their heads as I walked through to the kitchen.

  “Hi, everyone,” I called.

  “Isaac!”

  My sister-in-law greeted me first by hugging me with her free arm. In the other arm, she held her daughter, Lily, who was dressed in her pyjamas and asleep on Carrie’s shoulder.

  “Hi, Carrie,” I replied as I stepped aside to let her through.

  “Isaac.” My brother, Elijah, nodded to me from the other side of the room. “Lily tried to stay awake for you, but it wasn’t happening.”

  “She’ll need her rest for tomorrow,” I said. “Hi, Dad
.”

  “Hello, son.” My dad reached around from his chair to hug me. “How are things?”

  “Oh, you know. Same old.”

  “We were worried you wouldn’t make it this year,” Mum said.

  “So was I,” I replied, and I took the glass my brother offered me. “Thanks Elijah.”

  “A nasty case, was it?” Dad asked, barely paying attention as he fiddled with the radio.

  “That it was. What are you doing?”

  “Trying to fix the bleeding radio.”

  “That radio is older than David,” Elijah said with a gesture to his oldest son in the other room. “Get a new one.”

  “I like that one,” Mum argued, and then she whacked him with her wooden spoon. “Your dad’s fixing it so I can listen to Michael Bublé’s Christmas. I like him,” she added. “You like him too, don’t you, Carrie?”

  “Who’s that?” Carrie asked, reappearing in the room.

  “Bublé.”

  “Oh yeah.” She grinned. “Love him. Can I help with anything?”

  “No, darling, you’re all right.”

  I leant against the wall as they went through their routine conversation and felt my brother looking at me from across the room.

  “I should let the dog out,” he said as he put his glass down. “Coming, Isaac?”

  “Wear your coats,” Mum called as my older brother grabbed my arm and half dragged me from the kitchen.

  The dog in question, an old adopted thing who was asleep by the fire, didn’t look too happy to be woken up and dragged into the cold, but we went along and stepped into the quiet street with a sigh.

  “Mum’s in good form,” I commented as I tucked my hands into my pockets.

  “She was getting worried that you wouldn’t come,” Elijah said. “So was I, actually. It feels like I’ve not seen you in ages.”

  I nodded as we walked down the street. “It’s been a while. How’s work?”

  “All good. Christmas holidays, thank God.”

  “And the kids?”

  “David taught James a swear word,” he told me with a grin. “Lily will have learnt it soon, I’ll bet.”

  “Where did David learn it?”

  “His mum,” Elijah replied with a laugh. I chuckled too. Carrie was known to let the odd curse word slip when she was in a mood. “What about you?”

  “I don’t have kids.”

  He reached out and shoved me. “How’s work, Inspector?”

  I walked back over to him with another chuckle. “Good, actually. I think I’m settling into it now. Still a bit odd without Thatcher there, but I’m getting used to it. Everyone else seems to be, too.”

  “And the sergeant? Fry, is that her name?”

  I nodded. “She’s good. Working tomorrow, though.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  I shrugged. “She doesn’t seem to mind. She couldn’t get home to Norwich, so I suppose working is better than spending the day on her own.”

  “Fair enough. That case really came at a bad time, didn’t it?”

  “It did.” I sighed.

  We’d only signed and sorted the last report two days earlier. The court case was still to go through, but I didn’t imagine it would take that long.

  “I heard about it on the news and figured it would be you working on it,” Elijah said. “Double homicide, was it?”

  I hummed. “Nasty business. Always is, though.”

  Elijah nodded, looking over at me. “Will you tell me about it?”

  “You want to hear about it?” I asked with incredulity.

  “I know you,” he said. “I can see you standing there, stewing on it. Talking about it might help get it out of your head so that you enjoy the next few days. Besides, I’m in need of a good story. The last one I got to read was about singing mice and a nutcracker.”

  I laughed. “That is a good story,” I pointed out, “and mine doesn’t have singing mice.” Just blood and secrets and lies.

  “I’d be grateful to not have any singing mice,” he said as he stopped to let the dog sniff around a patch of grass. “But I understand if you don’t want to tell it.”

  “You do?”

  “No. Come on, I haven’t seen you in ages. I at least want to know why. Please? You owe me.”

  “I owe you? For what?”

  “For sorting out all the presents this year because you were too busy running around catching a murderer! Thanks, by the way, for your service and all that, but come on.” He nudged me with his shoulder. “One story, or I’ll set my children on you first thing in the morning.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  He held up a warning finger. “I would, and I’d let them have a chocolate each before I sent them in.”

  I grimaced. As much as I loved those children, the thought of them bursting into my room early on Christmas morning, especially after the week I’d had, wasn’t my idea of heaven.

  “Where is everyone sleeping, anyway?” I asked.

  “Lily’s in with us,” he said. “Boys are sharing the sofa bed. You’re in your old room.”

  I nodded. “Sounds good.”

  “Your old door doesn’t lock,” he reminded me.

  I flipped him off and then stuck my hands in my pockets as he laughed.

  “Fine,” I snapped with my breath turning white in the cold. “I’ll tell you as we walk.”

  I wasn’t keen to relive the past few weeks, but Elijah was right. I was dwelling on it, and getting it out of my head might not be a bad thing. Besides, it would be better to talk to him about it than anyone else.

  He slowed his pace in order to walk alongside me.

  “It started just over a week ago,” I said. “Out towards the Howardian Hills.”

  One

  It was going to be a hard winter, and that was a sure thing. Allan Bird had been out almost every day to leave food for the birds anywhere he could. He’d put up a few more houses in the garden and surrounding the house for late birds to make nests, but there wasn’t much else he could do for them. He stood at his back door with a cup of tea in hand and watched a few robins fight over territory on the low garden wall. Allan liked to watch the birds out there. They’d become his friends over the years.

  The phone in the kitchen rang, and he shuffled into the warm house. He picked it up, but already knew who it was.

  “Hiya, Dot.”

  “Hiya, Dad. You nearly on your way?” his daughter asked.

  She didn’t sound surprised that he had answered. He figured she must have called just to see if he would.

  “Nearly, love. I just got to make sure the house is all locked up. I’ll be on the road soon. Don’t you worry.”

  She always did worry, his Dot. She was a worrier through and through.

  “We’re looking forward to having you,” she said. “I got all your favourites in.”

  “You did?”

  “I did, and we’ve got you all set up in the spare room downstairs. You can go out into the garden, then, if you want.”

  “You’re too good to me, you and Will. I best get on then,” he said with a chuckle, and then he checked his watch again. “I’ll be along shortly.” Traffic wouldn’t be bad that late in the morning, but he didn’t like driving and preferred to have it over with as soon as possible.

  “All right. Drive safe, Dad, and we’ll see you in a bit.”

  “See you in a bit, love.”

  Allan placed the phone back on the holder and drank the rest of his tea. He wasn’t used to leaving the house for long, let alone for over a week, but Dot couldn’t make it up to him this Christmas, She and her fella, Will, had insisted that he come to them for a few days over the whole season. He was sure he’d wind them up eventually, but it would be nice to have some company for the holiday, he supposed. In truth, he’d drive all the way to Mongolia just to see his little girl.

  He finished his tea, cleaned his mug and left it to drain, and pottered around the kitchen to make sure everything was turn
ed off or unplugged. He went through the whole house that way. Once satisfied, he went to the front door, pulled his boots on, and shrugged into his big coat. He patted his pockets to make sure he had everything, grabbed his things, let himself out, and checked that the front door locked as it closed behind him. He lugged his bag down to the car and threw it in the boot, where he double-checked that he had all the presents safely stowed inside, and then he turned and stuck his hands in his pockets.

  The house was remote, just as he liked it, and had remnants of Dot’s childhood here and there. He couldn’t bear to part with any of it, such as the swing that he had tied to the big tree beside the house when she was six, her bike just inside the garage doors, and the sunflowers she had planted as a little girl. Most of the plants had died back with summer’s passing, of course. All he had left were a few evergreens that continued to stick their heads out in the cold. They weren’t native plants, not to the area anyway, and it was on his list of jobs to dig a few of them out. Allan had no neighbours in the area, which didn’t help with his daughter’s worrying. The closest people to his home were the old Crickley couple on their farm down the lane that led the way into the village.

  Despite the solitude, Allan liked it. He liked the sounds of the birds, seeing foxes in the garden, and the endless woods that surrounded him. Eventually, trees gave way to heather as the moors drew nearer. Allan had fallen in love with the hills the first time he saw them, and he had little desire to leave. The only thing that could draw him away was his daughter, and for her, he would go as happily as he could. A week away couldn’t be all bad.

  He walked away from the car, took one last walk around the house, and made sure that everything was squared away before he left. It wasn’t a long drive to his daughter’s home—just under an hour if traffic was kind—but he didn’t fancy having to lug himself up the hills just to make sure the garage door was locked.