THE
COMPLETE
DETECTIVE
STEPHEN GRECO
BOX SET
HELEN H. DURRANT
Four Gripping Crime Mysteries
CLICK ON THE BOOK YOU WANT TO READ
Book 1: DARK MURDER
Book 2: DARK HOUSES
Book 3: DARK TRADE
Book 4: DARK ANGEL
This box set first published 2020
Joffe Books, London
www.joffebooks.com
DARK MURDER first published 2015
DARK HOUSES first published 2016
DARK TRADE first published 2017
DARK ANGEL first published 2018
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The spelling used is British English except where fidelity to the author’s rendering of accent or dialect supersedes this.
©Helen H. Durrant
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ISBN 978-1-78931-457-1
TABLE OF CONTENTS ALL BOOKS
Book 1: DARK MURDER
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
Book 2: DARK HOUSES
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
Epilogue
Book 3: DARK TRADE
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
Epilogue
Book 4: DARK ANGEL
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
Epilogue
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Glossary of English Slang for US readers
Book 1:
DARK MURDER
A gripping detective thriller full of suspense
Helen H. Durrant
Prologue
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Sixteen years ago
“Are you alright, son?” Just in the nick of time, the man pulled the small boy away from the edge of the footpath. “You mustn’t stand so close to the road.” He watched the lorry speed away. “That silly sod nearly had you.”
Mavis Bailey’s heart was beating fast as she pushed her husband’s arm away from the boy’s shoulder and knelt down beside him. “For God’s sake, Paul, does he look alright?” she snapped at him. “He shouldn’t be out here on his own for a start.”
Good advice, but the boy didn’t seem to understand. “Where’s your mum, love? Have you lost her?” She looked up, catching her husband’s eye. “Something’s not right. Look at him: he’s shaking, traumatised I’d say.”
“He’s wet too,” Paul Bailey said, feeling the boy’s clothes.
“That’s because it’s raining, you div.”
“To get this wet he must have been wandering around for some time. Isn’t he a bit young to be out alone?”
The boy was standing stock still on the footpath at the side of Link Road, the one that ran right through the middle of Oldston council estate.
“Pyjamas and wellies — it’s an odd combination.”
“Has something happened?” Mavis asked the boy gently. “Do you know where you live? Is your mum in one of these houses?” She looked round at the properties along the street. “Do you know which one it is?”
He didn’t answer.
“He must have got out of the house on his own somehow,” she said to her husband. “He must have been walking these streets for ages and got hopelessly lost. Give us your jacket, Paul, he’s cold. We can’t just leave him here.” She looked up and down the deserted street. “Apart from the traffic, there’s no one about.”
“That’s because it’s only six thirty in the morning, woman. And why should there be? No one around here works. It’s the place they dump the down and outs. These houses are full of the scum of Oldston.”
Mavis ignored his comment for now. She took the coat and put it around the boy’s shoulders. It was extra-large and swamped the small figure. “You’d think someone would be missing him by now,” she said with concern. “The streets should be full of folk searching. What’s your name, love?” Mavis turned him round so that she was looking at him full in the face. He was no more than about four. His eyes were wide open — star
ing straight ahead of him. He was crying silently, the tears making tracks down his grimy face.
“It’s alright, we’ll get you home,” she reassured him, patting his back.
When he heard those words he screamed and shook his head. He would have run too but Mavis caught his arm and drew him close to her.
“He’s scared stiff, shaking with fright. Ring someone,” she told her husband, “the police perhaps.”
“I’ve got to get to work. If I’m late again they’ll dock my pay. Why don’t you just knock on one or two doors? Someone’s bound to recognise him.”
Mavis shook her head. She had a bad feeling about the state the boy was in. He was dirty; he’d not seen water for a while. The pyjamas were too small for him, his thin arms and legs stuck out from the legs and sleeves. “Look,” she said, pointing to his lower right arm. “Bruises. Looks like finger marks. Someone’s been a little too heavy-handed.”
“And not only there,” Paul Bailey grimaced, looking closer at his neck.
Mavis opened the buttons on his pyjama top, “his chest and side are a mess. This kid’s been beaten, and recently.” Mavis felt sick. Who could do that to a small child? He was small, frail-looking and underweight for his age.
Paul Bailey lifted the pyjama top to look at his back. “Looks like cigarette burns,” he practically whispered, “and there’s dried blood on the top of his legs.”
Mavis didn’t want to believe what he was telling her. She shuddered, the images in her head turned her stomach. It was looking more and more like this child had been seriously abused. She nodded at her husband. “Get the police. They need to know about him. They’ll tell social services and make him safe.”
Chapter 1
Today
It wasn’t the best way to start the week. A woman’s body had been found on Oldston canal bank. It had been called in earlier that morning by a man on his way to work on the industrial estate nearby. Uniform had been first on the scene, then they’d called for CID.
DI Greco kept checking his watch as he waited for the pathologist to arrive. He wanted to get things moving and he couldn’t do that until the pathologist said yes or no to murder. He stood alone outside the police tape. It was pouring with rain and bitterly cold. The body had been covered with a makeshift tent made from a trio of poles stuck into the ground and a tarpaulin.
Detective Inspector Stephen Greco had been with Oldston CID exactly three months. People were constantly asking him if he’d settled in yet. Settled in, what did they imagine the job was all about, for pity’s sake? On the menu most days was a pick and mix of murder, rape, robbery and — already — one child abduction.
No, he was doing what he always did, coping.
So why do it at all? Why not find an easier way of earning a living? The answer to that one was easy: he wasn’t capable of doing anything else; he was a policeman to the very core. The word detective ran through him like letters in a stick of rock, and he was good at what he did.
Oldston nick had recognised his talent from the off. He’d quickly earned himself a reputation as the new hotshot on the block. But recently the gloss had been wearing off. Not because of any work related issue — his clear up rate was excellent. The problem was, he didn’t mix. He was still very much the mystery man. Greco gave nothing away; he didn’t talk much about anything outside the current case and he never mentioned his family, a wife or anything. The nature of the job meant working long hours, and with a team. That was a hard ask for a man who was a natural loner.
His sergeant, Jed Quickenden, should have come to the scene with him, but yet again, when it mattered, he was late. If things didn’t change then Greco would have to do something about that young man and it wouldn’t be pleasant.
“Sir!” a raspy voice called out from behind him. “Sorry — couldn’t help it. Bloody car wouldn’t start and the bus was late.” The young detective coughed his way to Greco’s side.
Yet another feeble excuse. Greco wondered how long it had taken him to think that one up. Quickenden wasn’t getting any better. He was a shirker of the first order, not something Greco appreciated or understood. He turned to look at him. The mouthed expletive as Quickenden stood in a patch of mud said it all. He looked dreadful. He was pale, untidy; his tie wasn’t done up properly and his shirt hadn’t been ironed. He looked as if he’d thrown on the first items of clothing he could find that morning. Even when Quickenden was on top form, he still looked odd. He was tall, well over six foot, and thin. His suit jackets were never quite long enough. His hair needed attention; he wore it too long for a policeman, and it was curly.
“Just as well you didn’t drive, Sergeant. I can still smell last night’s booze on you.”
“Honestly, sir, it was only a couple in the Spinners.” He sniffed at the arm of his jacket. “Must have spilt some.”
The man was a joke. Jed Quickenden’s reasons for joining the force were a mystery but one thing was for sure, they had nothing to do with fighting crime. He was young, lazy and more likely to dodge a case than get stuck in. Greco had been told that over the last five years Quickenden had worked with all three teams in the station but his workshy attitude meant he hadn’t been encouraged to stay with any of them. Now they were trying him with the new boy.
The rest of his colleagues weren’t people Greco would have chosen, either. They all had history. DC Grace Harper was a single parent with childcare issues. The information officer, Georgina Booth, seemed keen enough but she was a resource shared by all the other teams in the station. DC Craig Merrick was young and had been earmarked to rise through the ranks quickly. But all that early promise had evaporated when he’d come under suspicion of taking a bribe. Both Superintendent Wilkes and DCI Green had made no bones about it; part of Greco’s remit was to mould them into shape. They wanted this ragtag bunch of no-hopers turned into a successful team. Problem was, he just wasn’t a ‘people person.’
“What do you see, Sergeant?”
“From here not much, sir, and we probably shouldn’t even try. I never understood why we all race down to these incidents. We rarely get anything that helps. We should just wait for the experts to do their jobs and then weigh up what we’ve got.”
“We’re looking at the crime scene, Sergeant,” Greco told him patiently, “so we look carefully, and we ask the basic questions. It is probable that that poor woman met her untimely end right here. Anything we see could turn out to be vital. For example, we’re near enough to see she doesn’t have a bag, and there are no other belongings lying around either.”
“CSI will find everything there is. We’re just two pairs of eyes.”
Greco looked at him. “You’ve a lot to learn, Sergeant.”
He watched Quickenden shrug that one off.
“We should ask what was she doing here — did she walk, was it part of her usual routine? If it was then did she live in one of the houses around here? Perhaps she had a dog with her and that’s why she chose to walk along the canal bank. Then we have to ask if she didn’t walk — how did she get here? There are no cars parked up except ours — so who brought her?” He looked at his sergeant, “perhaps you should make some notes — for later when we’ll need the answers to those questions and more besides.”
How he’d ever made sergeant in the first place was beyond Greco. He’d been given the nickname ‘Speedy,’ derived from the quick in Quickenden. Another joke, given the man’s work record, and one that Greco didn’t appreciate, nor did he like the use of nicknames much. He even objected when people called him Steve and not Stephen.
“Get on to Grace back at the station and ask her to check the missing person reports. We’re interested in women reported in the last couple of days. If she has no belongings then identification is going to be the first problem.” He looked at Quickenden. “What does that suggest to you, Sergeant?”
Quickenden shook his head — he’d no idea.
“A woman — no ID, no handbag or phone?” he asked quizzically. “I know
what it suggests to me.” His face went back to grim.
“Robbery,” Quickenden decided.
“Could be, could well be a mugging gone horribly wrong.”
“Or she could have been looking for drugs, sir.”
“How so?”
“That bridge further up.” He pointed. “That’s where most of the dealing goes on around here.”
“If it’s that well known, then it’s unlikely that your average middle-aged woman would choose to walk here alone.”
Greco took his phone from his pocket, adjusted the settings on the camera function and took a couple of photos of the body. “Might help with identification,” he enlightened Quickenden. “It’ll be a few hours before the official pictures hit the system. In the meantime if we get a lead, these could be handy.”
* * *
Jed Quickenden’s day had started badly, and it wasn’t set to get any better. The last thing he wanted was to partner the DI. He was well aware of his own shortcomings so there was bound to be trouble.
It would be a long hard slog and he’d get no peace.
It wasn’t that Quickenden was deliberately lazy. The problem was his social life. What with the booze, and being unable to refuse that last game of cards in the pub, most nights he rarely got to bed before one or two in the morning. He kept telling himself he couldn’t keep on living like this, but how to stop?
“Grace,” he said, when the DC answered. “I’m stuck down by the canal with the boss.” He walked a few yards away from Greco. “It’s bloody wet and freezing cold, and he’s obviously on a mission with this one. We’ve got a dead woman and we’re waiting for the pathologist. He won’t budge until one gets here, rain or no rain.”
“Isn’t that your job, Speedy?” she retorted. “Do us all a favour and pull your finger out — do some work for a change.”
He pulled the phone from his ear holding it at arm’s length as she ranted on. She could be a selfish cow. The number of times he’d covered her back when she’d been late. He made a mental note to revise that one. “Don’t you bloody start; I’ve just about had enough.” He shook his head; this was all he got these days — a load of backchat from the team and derisive remarks from them upstairs.
Complete Detective Stephen Greco Box Set Page 1
