Buried With Honours: A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crime Thriller

by Davies, Oliver

  “No,” he waved a hand. “God knows I barely tolerated that stuff myself. I just thought you’d have a bit more to it, is all. What happened to them all?”

  “Well,” I sighed. “Sybil Riggs met the Flitting lot, and they made a memorial to Alexander in the village. Norma and Dennis went to prison, Daisy got a few months for her association, but she served well and got out quickly. Teddy’s health is on the mend last I heard,” I added. “He’s back in the village, and they’re working on making the place run a little smoother.”

  Paul let out a long breath. “Blimey, Max. All that from a dead soldier. Nasty business,” he shook his head, wiping down the bar.

  “I’m sure you saw worse things in your own time,” I said.

  “Every now and then, but I swear it gets worse,” he muttered. “Or maybe people are getting smarter. In my days, there wasn’t so much mystery around it all, or there didn’t seem to be.”

  “Maybe you were just a better copper than you realised,” I suggested.

  “Don’t you try to butter me up, lad. So, anything else? What about that constable of yours?”

  “Fry? I think she and Sharp are getting her on the pathway, which will be good. She’s got a good mind, from what I’ve seen, and once she’s passed the NIE, apparently she’ll be under my wing.”

  “Lucky you,” Paul chuckled. “Training up the next generation is as good a job as any.”

  “Don’t suppose they’re ushering me towards retirement, do you?”

  Paul scoffed. “They’d be mad to do that. Not until they’ve got your replacement lined up,” he added with a wink.

  I chuckled, looking down at my empty plate. Not until then, of course, however far away that might be.

  “Any other cases on your plate?” he asked.

  “A few. The usual ones, you know, though. Easy enough to solve.”

  “Don’t get cocky now,” Paul warned me. “A good copper’s always to have that voice in the back of their head saying, “What if?” That you know you’re thinking about all the facts properly.”

  “Why did you retire again?” I asked. “We could use you, you know, whip a few eager-eyed officers into shape.”

  “Think Sharp would let me do that?”

  “No better person for it,” I said with a grin. Paul puffed up his chest a bit, looking proud.

  “I know you’re buttering me up,” he waggled his finger at me. “But I’ll allow it this once. Another pint?”

  “You’re a saint.” I said.

  Paul cleared my plate away and shuffled away, muttering under his breath. I picked my phone up again, hoping for some news about Liene. It hadn’t been a bad scratch, only it had been a rusty nail that did it, and her arm had turned a very putrid colour. I’d get word soon, I knew I would, but I also know if I went home and stopped working, I’d fall asleep, and then I’d miss any calls that came through.

  It was the first time I’d gotten angry about the coaching house. It’d made me tired, nostalgic in the good ways and the bad, but now I was struggling to remember why I bothered with the blasted thing. It was meant to be home, of course, in the long run, but only because I’d bothered fixing the old ruin.

  I knew why. Of course, I did. I doubted I’d ever forget. We’d been in the cellar, clearing out some old storage that had been shoved down there by my grandad before he passed, and I’d gotten distracted after finding an old box of my mother’s clothes and didn’t spot the nail until it was in Liene’s arm.

  Paul returned, sliding a fresh pint down towards me and came over to lean against the glossy wood, his own mug of tea in hand.

  “I hear Smith’s doing well in Leeds,” he said.

  “So, I’ve heard.”

  “You miss her?”

  “Not much. She deserved the promotion, and I’ve still got Mills.”

  “He’s a good lad,” Paul said.

  “I’ll drink to that,” I said, clinking my pint glass against his mug of tea and taking a long sip.

  “Now,” Paul tapped the bar. “Tell me why you’re avoiding going home.”

  “I’m not,” I said. He raised a bushy eyebrow.

  “Don’t play me a fool, lad. I know a ditherer when I see one. Is it the missus?”

  I sighed, pushing my fingers through my hair. “If I stop working, I’ll collapse in a heap, and then I’ll miss any calls that come through.”

  Paul nodded understandingly, and I narrowed my eyes.

  “Did Sharp put you up to this?”

  “I’m allowed to be concerned, you rotter. Only she did mention that you were a bit low.”

  “She worries,” I muttered, taking another sip of beer.

  “As do you,” Paul retorted. “I remember you coming in here after that case with Mills’s face all black and blue, fussing like a nursemaid you were.”

  “That’s an exaggeration,” I said.

  “Maybe, but I stand by it. You and Sharp are very much alike, I’ve always thought so. Always taking the blame for things that aren’t your fault.”

  “I don’t do that.”

  Paul scoffed. “And you’re here because?”

  “That’s different,” I replied, holding a finger up. “I’m worried about my girlfriend, is all.”

  “Yeah,” he rolled his eyes. “You’re not sitting here stewing about how it’s all your fault?”

  “It’s a little bit my fault.”

  “Unless you stuck her with that nail yourself, lad, then no, it isn’t. Now, will you take yourself home or do I have to call Mills and have him collect you?”

  “Too late,” a voice chirped from my shoulder. I twisted around to find Billie there, clutching a bag over her shoulder. She walked over, jumping up onto the stool beside me.

  “Paul, Billie,” I waved a hand between them. “Billie, Paul.”

  “Nice to meet you, Paul.”

  “Nice to meet you, Billie,” he replied with a smile. “Lemonade?”

  “She’s not seven,” I said.

  “Lemonade sounds great,” Billie cut me off, smiling at Paul. He winked and strolled away, grabbing a clean glass. Billie turned to me.

  “Is Liene still in hospital?”

  “She is.”

  She twisted her mouth to the side, taking the lemonade from Paul with a grimace.

  “She’ll be alright,” I said. “It’s just a scratch.”

  “Why are you here then?” she asked, looking up at me.

  “Dinner,” I replied, “and a chat with an old friend. Why are you? And what’s with the bag?”

  “The boiler in the café is shot to pieces, so there’s no heating or hot water. Liene said I could stay at hers until it’s fixed.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “You’ve been busy solving murders,” Billie shrugged. “We were going to have a girls’ weekend.”

  “I’m sure Liene will make it up to you some other time.”

  Billie nodded.

  “You need a place to stay?” I asked. “You can stay with me. There’s a bed in the spare room.” Sally had made me get one, though only she and Mills were the only people to ever stay in it. I watched Billie carefully. She’d been over for dinner many times and had fallen asleep on the sofa a few times too, but she’d yet to stay the night, and I worried I was presumptive. To my surprise, she grinned and nodded.

  “Thanks, Max.”

  “Anytime, kiddo. Where’s the cat?”

  “Fiona’s had him while I helped Agnes at the café. I’ll grab him on the way.”

  “Sounds good,” I finished the rest of my beer and jumped from the stool. “It won’t be a girls’ weekend, but we can order pizza and watch films.”

  “Lord of the Rings?”

  “You’re obsessed.”

  “I like Sean Bean.”

  “He’s only in the first one.”

  “Pay your tab,” she said, emptying her lemonade.

  “On the house,” Paul said as he strolled over. “Yours too, love.”

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p; “Thanks, Paul,” she said, slipping from the stool.

  “Come again soon, the pair of you. I want to hear some more of those stories, Max.”

  “Right you are, Paul,” I called over my shoulder, steering Billie to the door. I grabbed her bag from her, hauling it over my shoulder and walked her outside. The walk to my place from the pub wasn’t too bad, and despite the little detour we’d take to fetch the cat, it wouldn’t be so bad. Other than the fact that it was freezing.

  “Do you think it will snow?” Billie asked as we walked along. “I can’t remember the last time I had a white Christmas.”

  “Me neither,” I replied, looking up at the sky. “Must have been when I was a boy, though. My mum and I used to build igloos. Never really worked through, so we’d go sledding instead.”

  “I took Stella sledding once,” Billie said softly. “When we were kids.”

  “Was it fun?”

  “As much as sliding down a hill on a tray can be.”

  I laughed, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “If it snows, we’ll get a proper sled.”

  “Deal. My dad emailed, by the way.”

  “Oh? Any news?”

  “He won’t be back for Christmas. But he says he’ll come to see me at New Year’s if I want.”

  “That’s something.”

  She shrugged.

  “Offer still stands for you to join us for Christmas, you know,” I said, giving her a nudge. “Elsie would love to see you. And Sally.”

  “The baby’s first Christmas,” she said. “I wouldn’t miss it. I’m awful with gifts, though, just warning you.”

  “You don’t have to get me a gift.”

  “People buy each other gifts, Max,” she replied, steering us down the road where Fiona lived. “I’ll be two seconds,” she said, running up to the front door. I leant on the brick wall at the end of the path as she knocked on the front door, my phone ringing. I quickly fished it out, breathing a sigh of relief as Liene’s name popped up.

  “Are you alright?” I answered.

  She laughed faintly down the line. “Hello to you too. Yes, I’m alright. Are you?”

  “I’m not the one in hospital,” I said.

  “No, but you are the one who’s probably kicking himself over something not in his control.”

  “That must be your other boyfriend.”

  “Must be,” she laughed. “Well, listen, they said I’ll be out in a day or so, but I wanted to call about Billie.”

  “I’ve got her,” I assured her. “She’ll stay over for the weekend, watch a few films.”

  “That’ll be nice. Any word on Christmas?”

  “Her dad’s not coming back.”

  “Bastard.”

  I smiled. “But she’s agreed to join us.”

  “Good.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow then. Love you, Max.”

  “I love you, Liene,” I answered, hanging up the phone as Billie appeared down the path again, waving to the figure in the door, a cat carry case bundled in her arms. From the noise coming from inside, Cat wasn’t happy about his moving.

  “Was that Liene?” she asked as she joined me.

  “It was,” I said, putting my phone away. “She’s alright, and they’ll let her out in a day or so.”

  “That’s good,” Billie breathed, her breath fogging in the cold, her cheeks pink.

  “Come on,” I urged. “Let’s get home before we get frostbite.”

  “You might get frostbite, but I’m still very youthful, thank you very much.”

  “The temperature affects all of us, you little toe rag.”

  She chuckled, adjusting her hold on the case, Cat hissing from inside.

  “I read about your case,” she told me. “Saw the story in the paper.”

  “Really?” I must have missed it.

  “It sounded weird. Confusing.”

  “It was.”

  “I can imagine so. How’s Mills doing?”

  “In regard to his face or his breakup?”

  “Both.”

  “On the mend for both,” I told her. “He’s very youthful too. He’ll bounce back, no problem.”

  Part of me thought he already was, the way his eyes followed Fry around the station. I didn’t think he was even aware of it himself, but it was nice to see that his heart wasn’t fully broken by Suzanne’s imminent departure.

  “The young always do, apparently,” Billie muttered. “What are his plans for Christmas?”

  “He’ll be with his family, his nephews, but I’ll see him around. Work never really stops for us, and it’ll be a busy time of year.”

  “Well, so long as you get a good lunch and sing a few songs, it’ll be good.”

  “Lunch, yes, but no singing.”

  “You don’t like a carol service?”

  “I do not.”

  “What about Wham?”

  “Aren’t you too young for Wham?”

  She scoffed. “Is anyone?”

  “Probably.”

  “One carol,” she insisted. “That can be your gift to me.”

  I looked at her sideways. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a carol person, Billie.”

  She shrugged. “Old tradition.”

  Ah. Her and Stella.

  “Alright then,” I said, resting my arm on her shoulder again. “One carol.” She grinned, leaning into my side as we strolled along.

  It was odd how tradition made people act, good and bad. That was the whole reason for Major Riggs’s death. Tradition had been jeopardised, and he had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. A terrible reason to have died, especially the way that he had, but there wasn’t anything that I could do about that. Never was. People died, people were killed or robbed, and the only thing I could do was catch whoever did it. Sometimes that didn’t feel like enough, not when the dead person stayed dead, usually for all the wrong reasons. But there were times, I had to admit, looking down at Billie when this job seemed to work in my favour, give me things worth going for.

  “What did you make of the case then?” I asked her.

  “I thought it was a shame,” she said, “that the man died for such a stupid reason.”

  “Me too.”

  “And I think it’s right that the inn has shut up shop,” she added. I blinked. Had it? I wondered how I missed that.

  “When?”

  “A few weeks ago, I think. The story didn’t come out long ago,” she told me. “And it was more of a look into old estates like that and all the weird family politics that come with it.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “It was. I can try to find it for you. I think it was an article in the Post. I’ve read a few of the journalist’s stories before though, she’s good.”

  I looked down at Billie. “She?”

  Billie nodded. “Maybe she’s covered more of your cases before,” she said hopefully. “You might have even met her. Joan, or something.”

  “Jeannie,” I corrected her with a sigh. “Jeannie Gray.”

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