by Adam Melrose
The
Determined
Widow
A Matthew Holland Mystery
Adam Melrose
Copyright
First published in Great Britain in 2021 by Refract Speech Press
First published in the USA in 2021 by Refract Speech Press
This ebook edition published in 2021 by Refract Speech Press
Copyright © Benjamin John Felsham 2021
The moral right of Benjamin John Felsham to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, photocopying, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner identified above.
All characters and events in this book are imagined by the author and purely fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ebook Edition
ISBN 978-1-3999-0162-8
www.refractspeechpress.com
To A, A, J, M and everyone who came before, with love.
Thank you all for everything you have taught me about life and living.
Table of Contents
Copyright
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
A note from the author
Acknowledgements
About the author
Prologue
When he saw the message on his phone, his heart stopped.
Pete Stone, a battle-hardened man in his mid-thirties noticed his hand was trembling. As he replaced the phone in his pocket, he heard one of the work vehicles approaching across the gravel. He closed his eyes and prayed it would pass on by.
As the van slowed down, the stabbing pain in Pete’s stomach doubled. The vehicle came to a halt. Pete kept his eyes closed. He inhaled the fresh summer air, trying to regain control over his body’s fight or flight response.
‘Alright Pete?’
‘I’m good mate, you?’
‘Yeah fine,’ said Ned. ‘The boss just radioed to tell me to drop you off at the site. Hop in. I’ll give you a lift down there.’
A tingling sensation was now powering down Pete’s arms. His boss was one step ahead of him, he could not just run. He could not be sure that if he ran, they would not go after his wife.
They set off to meet the boss, winding through the small Cotswold country lanes. Neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the engine and the long grass reaching out from the verge making its usual loud thwack as the grass-heads made contact with the plastic casing on the van’s mirrors. The two men sat in silence. Pete began working out whether there was any way of escaping what he felt was coming. Try as he might, he couldn’t come up with anything.
Ned turned the van off the tarmac and onto a dirt access road. Pete undid his seatbelt.
‘Let me out here thanks. I could do with the walk up.’
‘The boss said I was to take you up there.’
The two men had never liked each other.
Pete gave Ned as withering a look as he could, ‘What am I? Twelve years old? I think I can manage.’
Pete’s facial expression had the desired effect. Ned hauled on the brakes. As he did so the resultant dust cloud blew into the van. Pete could feel the particles coming to rest in his mouth, instantly making it feel dry and uncomfortable.
‘Get out then.’
Pete climbed out. He was glad Ned was so easy to annoy. It might buy the lifesaving time Pete required. Ned sped off back up the road.
Pete composed himself. He crossed the road, down some steps and under a bridge. He had an idea; he would call the police. The shooting pains were back in his arms and he struggled to hold the phone steady. No Service. Outsmarted by his boss again. They must have shut his phone service off. Of course they had.
Pete decided his best bet now was to reason with his boss. It was not like his employers were killers. He turned around and walked back up the path towards his rendezvous. Approaching the entrance to the works, Pete quickly emptied his pockets and placed a couple of items in a pair of disposable gloves he had to hand. He tucked them in a bush near the water. It was all he could manage to come up with at such short notice. If he was about to meet his maker, hopefully the police would find these and use it to piece together what happened to him.
He carried on his journey and before long he was deep inside the works facility. After the familiar walk along the damp concrete corridors, the staircases and several large grey metal doors, Pete had reached his destination, the final grey door. It looked like something that belonged in a submarine. He reached out to open it, his hands and arms shaking uncontrollably again. Taking a breath, he walked through the door. Although he did indeed see his boss was standing there waiting for him, Pete was delighted to see it was only the two of them. Pete relaxed dramatically. Internally he laughed at himself for being so melodramatic. It really was not like him to get so stressed. He approached his boss.
For the next twenty minutes they argued. Pete assured his boss that he was not about to betray any confidences about what went on here, and that he had only been mouthing-off in anger when he had threatened to earlier in the week. His boss didn’t seem convinced.
During their argument his boss dropped a pen and bent down to pick it up. Before Pete realised what was happening, he felt a vice like grip on his ankles and a power forcing him up and pivoting him over the railing. Pete died the instant his head hit the concrete floor some thirty feet below.
The boss walked over to the phone fitted to the wall, coughed a couple of times and practiced a panicked, odd and high-pitched voice out loud before dialling.
‘Evelyn de Varley here. Come quick. There has been a dreadful accident. Pete Stone has fallen over the railings; I think… I think he’s dead.’
Chapter 1
16 Months later – May – Present day.
Matthew Holland was making his way across London from his flat to his office. Apart from an odd incident with a bald man in a boat, his holiday had been a perfect antidote to his s
truggle with his mental health. He re-read yesterday’s text message on his phone.
From Ava:
Matt, hope all is good? Are you still back in the office tomorrow? Max has a case for us and has arranged for the initial client meeting for tomorrow at the office at 9:30 a.m. The referral is Max himself, and the client is his ex. Her husband was found dead. Official line is nothing suspicious; ruled as misadventure. Client insists otherwise. Issue over missing tattoos. Just thought I would give you a heads up.
Ava x
As the bus pulled up outside the building that housed the office of his private investigation agency, Matt slipped the phone into his pocket and hopped onto the pavement. The building in question was called Franklin Blake House; its location was on Fleet Street in central London, and it was a testament to the sort of money a tech firm could realise on becoming financially successful.
It was headquarters for the mysteriously named Refract Speech Ltd. This particular tech firm pioneered some early AI technology. In doing so, they had been able to generate some serious revenue, and here about ten percent of that wealth rose high into the sky; its glass and stone façade gleaming in the morning sunlight. As Matt passed through the outer courtyard, the combination of high walls and the sound of water splashing in the fountain provided its usual pleasant antidote to the frenzied hustle and bustle of the street outside.
Back when Matt was freshly out of the Army, he had a chance meeting with the Refract Speech CEO Oliver Scott, who was a distant cousin. This had resulted in Matt helping to solve the disappearance of one of the company’s chief software architects. Matt and two friends had found the software genius just in the nick of time when no one else was able to. This had led to Matt’s new and unexpected career; and ultimately the creation of his new investigation company called Scott and Munro, which now had a total of six full-time investigators.
The CEO of Refract Speech had been so grateful for their help, and so impressed with how they managed to recover his valued employee, that on hearing of the official formation of this new company, he had insisted that he put his cousin’s firm on retainer should he have any further need for them. Part of that generous retainer was the provision of some decent office space; way more than a newly formed investigation company could have afforded.
As Matt headed past the security station that sat in the middle of the entrance hallway, a man of similar build and stature to Matt turned and smiled.
‘Morning Sir.’
Matt gave an equally effusive smile back, ‘Morning Ian, how was the weekend?’
‘Good thanks, nothing to complain about.’
‘Happy days.’
Matt moved over to the reception desk to double check his client was on the visitor list. There were only two people waiting to be signed in. Everyone else had their own pass and was filtering through the automated barriers. Matt joined the queue behind the two visitors. The shaved headed man in front began to move off in the direction of the elevators whilst fixing his badge to his jacket.
Just the woman left to sign in, then I can get upstairs for a quick catch up, Matt said to himself. His inner monologue was interrupted by something in his brain tuning in to what the woman in front of him was doing. Her shoulders were just lifting and dropping a little. She must be listening to some music, Matt thought. He scanned as subtly as he could to see if there were some earphones hanging out of her ears. He envied people who could move comfortably to music in public; he was way too self-conscious to manage such a thing.
The woman in the queue was now lifting her left hand up and brushing it across the left side of her face and sweeping it back. At that moment Matt saw traces of moisture on the back of her hand; tears – she’s not dancing you idiot, she’s crying.
As this realisation dawned on him, the woman’s small shoulder movements became more pronounced. This person was clearly in distress. The receptionist leant as far over the front of the desk as she could, and offered the crying woman a paper hanky from a small box of corporate branded tissues. The woman took one. This distressed soul was clearly not coping with whatever had happened to her.
The woman in question was about five foot five inches tall, with a slender build and coloured dark red hair. She wore a pair of slim fitting faded jeans, and a loose fitting blouse that had a large print floral pattern on it. If you described the ensemble to someone it would sound mismatched, but it actually looked great. What finished the look off where the different coloured trainers that she wore, black on the left foot and dark blue on the right. Matt had always liked those traditional American ones with the white toe.
Matt caught the attention of Ian, and beckoned him over. By this time the receptionist had come around the front of the desk to join the still unhappy soul.
Reading the situation at once, Ian suggested to the woman that they take a seat in some of the chairs that were laid out in a row against one of the walls. She nodded her agreement, and the four of them headed in that direction. Matt instinctively grabbed a cup of water from the water dispenser to offer up.
The woman, now drying her eyes, and clearly embarrassed at all this attention politely declined the water, and was doing her best to sit up and apologise for causing a fuss. Matt drank the water, and placed the empty cup in the bin before returning to the two women who were now talking to each other.
‘Who is it you’re here to see? Let me phone them and get them to come down. Would you like to wait in our small meeting room?’ The receptionist motioned to a door set in the wall just to their left, but the woman shook her head.
‘That’s very kind, no thank you, I’ll be fine. I am really sorry about this, I have no idea what has come over me, this is not normally how I behave in front of strangers.’
‘Hey there’s nothing to apologise for. Are you able to tell me who you are, and who you have come to meet?’
The woman looked down and began reaching into the purple shoulder bag that she now had on her knee. ‘My name is Bella Stone.’ Her voice drifted off as she became more focused on what she was looking for. A set of keys jangled, followed by the sound of plastic cases clicking off each other and sliding along the lining until the searching stopped, and Bella Stone pulled out a yellow piece of paper with some handwriting on it, ‘The company name is Scott and Munro… yes that’s it. I’m here to see a man called Max Ingram. Is it possible to let him know I’m here, or should I wait? I’m not due until nine-thirty, but I found myself here early.’
The woman’s voice was speeding up, her stress clearly not yet under control.
‘I wanted to stay busy you see, so I left things as late as I dared precisely so this wouldn’t happen. I had planned it so I would have no spare time to sit and think, but I got my calculations all wrong and arrived here way too early.’
Matt unbuttoned his suit jacket before lowering himself into a squat position in order to make direct eye contact with his new client. He also didn’t want to tower over her as he spoke. As he saw her face for the first time, he saw the trickle of tears and droplets forming on her cheek, magnifying her flawless complexion.
‘I can take you up to see Max. My name is Matthew Holland and I work with Max at Scott and Munro. I can take you up right now, if that’s OK?’
The woman managed a clear nod of the head. Matt and the receptionist exchanged looks that signified a mutual agreement to the plan, and Matt motioned to Bella to follow him through the open security barrier. He took her off to one of the free elevators that had just opened its doors. Turning round whilst selecting the required floor button, Matt gave a nod to thank Ian and those who had stood back to let them take the elevator alone.
The elevator car began to rise. Realising it was better to give this distraught soul a few moments to compose herself Matt decided to say nothing. That was probably a more decent thing to do than make small talk. Things were going to get worse before they got better; Bella was going to have to recount the events that had brought her here to the doors of Scott and Munro. The
process was necessary to allow the team to understand what they were getting into when taking on a new case. The downside was that although this was unavoidable, it was nevertheless a painful experience for the client which the whole team hated witnessing, and it did not seem to be getting easier with time.
The elevator came to a halt. The doors slid back, and before them lay an open-plan office with lots of natural light that was complimented by a lightly coloured beige carpet. The welcoming ambience was further enhanced with the smell of fresh coffee percolating in their general direction.
Standing by the elevator, ready to greet them, in a smart pair of dark blue coloured jeans and an open necked blue shirt with sleeves rolled up was a tall, elegant man with a very warm welcoming smile. As Matt and Bella stepped off the elevator, Max stepped forward, he and Bella put their arms around each other and hugged tightly.
In that instant, Bella suddenly felt safe for the first time since Pete had died. She breathed in through Max’s shirt; he smelt the same, and she remembered that scent with fondness. Despite her best efforts, Bella let go and began to cry. Months of trying to control her grief whilst she fought the authorities to get to what she believed was the truth about her husband’s death had finally caught up with her. Now she felt she was no longer alone. The relief at even the hint of some support from people that might be on her side was enough to lift the latch on the door she had locked all her emotions behind in order to go it alone; now out it all came, and she couldn’t stop it. Matt caught Max’s eye and signalled he would head off and wait in the meeting room. Max gave a gentle nod, still holding Bella.
‘We’ll be there in a moment Matt,’ his voice was soft but deep, and Bella could feel his chest vibrating through his shirt as he spoke. She hugged him tighter.
After a couple of moments had passed, Max and Bella instinctively pulled themselves apart.
‘Hey kiddo, how are you managing?’
