Burning Truth: An Edge-0f-The-Seat British Crime Thriller (DCI BOYD CRIME THRILLERS Book3) (DCI BOYD CRIME SERIES)

by Alex Scarrow

  As Boyd ushered them into his house and Lorna cooed at the sheer size of it, Sully rolled up on foot, sweating profusely from his ascent up Ashburnham Road. He was wearing a white panama hat, a lemon-coloured blazer, burgundy cargo pants and flip-flops.

  ‘Now there’s a bold fashion statement,’ said Boyd.

  ‘I do believe the saying is “Go large or go home”,’ Sully replied, breezing past him.

  Boyd introduced Lorna to everyone in the backyard and left Ozzie – clunking around with his cone of shame – to make his own introductions as he wandered from person to person and evaluated them for treats.

  Emma took charge of the growing workforce while Daniel began to set up the barbecue, with Sully providing back-seat advice on how to stack the charcoal briquettes for maximum thermal efficiency.

  Boyd busied himself in the kitchen, removing meat in various forms from plastic and Styrofoam packets, then hacking away at an iceberg lettuce to produce a salad.

  ‘Let me do that,’ said Okeke. ‘You’re actually killing it.’

  He handed her the knife. ‘Thanks.’ He looked at her. ‘Is this your doing?’ he asked.

  ‘What?’ she replied innocently.

  ‘The full team turning out?’ From the muted response around the conference table the other day he’d assumed this afternoon was going to be tumbleweed.

  ‘I might have given them a little kick up the arse on Friday night,’ she confessed.

  ‘Well, thanks, Okeke. I appreciate it,’ Boyd said, moving on to mixing the fruit punch. There were, after all, drivers out in the garden and work tomorrow morning, where clear heads would be needed.

  Someone had put the music on. It sounded to Boyd like a playlist Emma would have put together: energetic stuff to get the workers out there stoked up to properly flatten his jungle. He glanced at his watch. It was nearly half past one and there was no sign of Charlotte so far.

  Maybe she isn’t coming?

  If he was completely honest, a part of him was a little relieved. With all the beer that had turned up, this afternoon was in danger of becoming a bit laddish. Some worlds should never be allowed to collide, he thought. Throwing someone like Charlotte – a woman he really didn’t know that well – into a backyard full glistening chest tattoos and locker-room banter, fuelled by ice-cold export lagers, probably wasn’t the smartest idea he’d ever had.

  On the other hand, he also realised he felt a little stung that she’d decided to give it a pass. She’d probably had no intention of coming along and was just being polite at the café. He’d forgotten to get her number, or give his. So perhaps she’d decided it wasn’t a serious invitation after all.

  He could smell the charcoal going already and could hear them outside cheering on Minter and Jay as they beat paths into the wilderness like lost Victorian explorers. He finished pouring in the orange juice and lemonade, then tipped some orange slices and apple chunks he’d chopped earlier into the punch bowl.

  ‘Aren’t you going to put a little something in there for the grown-ups?’ asked Okeke.

  ‘Absolutely not. This is to mitigate all that beer,’ he said.

  She shrugged. ‘And that’s very sensible of you.’

  ‘Well, I might say it’s got a little alcohol in to entice them into drinking it,’ he said with a grin. ‘So keep shtum!’

  The main part of the marathon gardening task was completed surprisingly quickly. By three o’clock, Minter and Jay, with a little help from Warren and O’Neal (both of them shamed by Lorna into picking up a garden tool to at least give them the impression they’d done something) had made his forty foot-by-forty-foot garden look as though a Brazilian logging company had been through it.

  The ground was a battlefield of slaughtered stems, branches and upended roots. A couple of discoveries had been made during the process too: they’d uncovered an old stone fountain, that Jay had offered to load into the back of his van and take away, and a sinister-looking pile of old plastic dolls that Sully had enjoyed making tasteless, but funny, forensic-themed quips about.

  ‘We’ll gather up the brown-bin stuff, boss,’ said Jay, ‘and might as well bonfire the lot.’

  Minter nodded. ‘There’s way too much to fit into a wheelie bin.’

  ‘Thanks, guys,’ said Boyd, surveying the wasteland. ‘I just need Charlie Dimmock to come in and pretty it up.’

  ‘She your type, then, is she, Boyd?’ asked Sully. Emma snorted into her drink.

  Five minutes later, a small bonfire was going halfway down the garden and Warren and O’Neal were feeding it branches and twigs one-handed while they smoked.

  Work stopped for food. Boyd laid everything out on the dining-room table and pulled all the chairs outside for folks to sit on and eat off their laps.

  The team queued up to fill their plates and refresh their beers and came out to sit in a contented circle in the afternoon sun.

  ‘Thanks for coming, everyone,’ said Boyd as the tailenders emerged with laden plates. ‘That garden would have taken me days.’

  ‘Or never at all,’ added Emma.

  ‘Well…’ He shrugged. ‘Yeah. Probably.’

  ‘No probs,’ said Jay. ‘It was good to see you getting your hands dirty with that salad too, boss.’

  The workers laughed and raised their beers. There was a chorus of ‘yeah’s and ‘we noticed’.

  Okeke nudged her boyfriend. ‘He’s not your boss.’

  Jay shucked his huge shoulders. ‘He’s the Big Man. The Chief.’

  She laughed. ‘Yeah, but not yours.’

  ‘Today, I’m not anyone’s boss,’ said Boyd. ‘We’re off the clock, folks. Eat, drink, enjoy.’

  ‘Hey, Chie– Boyd?’ started O’Neal. ‘Why’ve you got such a big house? I mean, it’s just you, the dog and Emma, right?’

  ‘I picked it initially,’ answered Emma. ‘We wanted something that contrasted with the last place. Big rooms, high ceilings and stuff.’

  Before Boyd could add to that, Daniel emerged from the kitchen doorway. ‘You’ve got another guest,’ he said, throwing the group a big comedy wink.

  Charlotte walked out behind him. She had a large summer fruit Pavlova in one hand and a bottle of Pimms in the other. She Pavlova cotton dress and a broad-brimmed sun hat, and Boyd thought she looked perfect.

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  ‘Uh, good afternoon… everyone,’ she said politely.

  ‘Charlotte!’ Boyd said, getting up quickly. ‘I… thought…’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t sure what time you… wanted me here. So…’

  He must’ve forgotten to give her a time too. ‘Oh, fuck, I’m sorry. Didn’t I say?’

  ‘Dad?’ said Emma with a friendly warning tone. ‘Language?’

  Boyd walked over to Charlotte and held his hand out for the Pavlova. ‘Let’s put that in the fridge and… get you something to eat and drink.’

  They disappeared into the house, leaving the garden silent for a moment.

  Okeke turned to Emma. ‘So… your dad has a lady friend?’

  Emma looked at her, Okeke’s brows arched with intrigue. ‘Apparently so.’

  ‘You’ve not met her?’

  Emma shook her head. ‘Nope. I have absolutely no idea who –’

  ‘Good for him,’ said Jay, quickly glancing from Okeke to Emma to check he hadn’t just said the wrong thing.

  Emma nodded. ‘No, you’re right. Good for him. It’s about bloody time.’

  Inside, Boyd led Charlotte to the dining table, which looked as though a tornado had swept across it.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I thought you weren’t coming, otherwise I’d have held back feeding time.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t sure if it was an invitation for lunch or tea. So I aimed for somewhere in the middle.’

  ‘Ah, my bad. I messed up.’

  She patted his arm lightly. ‘Not at all. So…’ She nodded through the dining-room window at everyone gathered outside. ‘Are they your police forc
e?’

  ‘Yeah, they’re my team,’ he replied. He pointed out Emma. ‘That’s my daughter, Emma, and her boyfriend Dan. The rest of them may not look like it, but they’re all detectives. Except for that odd one with the plum trousers. He’s a forensic pathologist.’

  ‘Gosh,’ she said, gazing out at them.

  He took that moment to study her face surreptitiously and realised just how pretty she was. Her auburn hair with a few early strands of grey was pinned up into a forties style. He caught a glimpse of her slender neck and angular jawline. Her eyes were dark brown, to the point of blending with her pupils, and the gentle flare of crow’s feet and the pencil-line crease either side of her lips told him she was a habitual smiler.

  He picked up a clean plate and piled it with salad, garlic bread, a jacket potato and a couple of crispy-black sausages. She looked at the plate full of food. ‘Oh, gosh! That’s more than enough, thanks.’

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asked.

  ‘Just something soft to start with,’ she said. ‘I’d hate to make a fool of myself in front of your colleagues.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about them,’ he said. ‘Despite me telling them otherwise, they’re all on their best behaviour.’

  He served her some punch and then, carrying her plate, led her outside to meet the others. After a round of polite nods, Boyd gave up his empty seat and found some loose bricks to stack into a low stool beside her. The playlist had ended and the garden was quiet save for the sound of the parrot next door whistling away to himself and the crackle of the bonfire.

  ‘So how do you and Dad know each other, Charlotte?’ asked Emma.

  She explained Ozzie’s toilet infractions down on the beach and Boyd coming to the theatre for CCTV footage.

  ‘Ahh.’ Emma smiled at him. ‘So he can make friends with people outside the office then?’

  ‘As opposed to getting involved in punch-ups with them,’ offered Sully.

  The others laughed as Charlotte’s eyes widened.

  ‘Ignore him,’ said Boyd. ‘There’s always a bit of argy-bargy with fieldwork. It goes with the job, I’m afraid.’

  ‘What… punching?’ she asked, frowning.

  ‘Well, in my case, being punched mostly,’ he said as the others laughed again.

  Jay was about to speak, but Okeke nudged him discreetly.

  Emma got up. ‘I’m just going to put some more music on. Charlotte, do you have any favourites?’

  ‘Oh.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I’m rather partial to a little Erik Satie, or umm… William Byrd on a day like this, but, honestly, don’t mind me. Whatever everyone else wants to listen to.’

  ‘The Manics for me,’ Minter said to Emma, ‘although you millennials are probably too young to remember them.’

  Daniel smiled. ‘Oh, we know the Manics,’ he said. ‘They’re rock legends.’

  ‘Nothing too blarey, Ems,’ Boyd called out after her. Given Charlotte’s suggestions, he didn’t want the peace in the back garden being shattered by Nine Inch Nails or the Chemical Brothers.

  Warren got up. ‘Can I go get some more food, sir?’

  ‘Bloody hell, Warren. Are you still hungry?’ Boyd said, incredulous. Warren had been to the table several times already.

  ‘I’m starving,’ he said.

  Boyd wafted his hand in the direction of the door. ‘Fill your boots.’

  ‘Me too,’ said O’Neal, getting up and following him. Ozzie and his cone bashed their way to the front, helpfully showing both lads the way.

  ‘Actually, I’m still a little peckish,’ said Sully, hurrying after them.

  Jay looked at Boyd. ‘Mind if I…?’

  Boyd nodded. He had been hoping he’d have a week full of fridge-cold leftovers to work through, but it seemed as though the table was going to be cleaned.

  ‘I’m glad you brought a pudding,’ Boyd said to Charlotte.

  He looked around and saw that Minter was feeding the bonfire, Lorna standing beside him having a smoke and not too subtly admiring his bare back.

  Okeke finally stood up. ‘I’d better go in and make sure the kids don’t squabble over seconds,’ she said.

  Boyd and Charlotte were left with a circle of five empty dining chairs and Daniel perched on a stool and intently scrutinising something on his phone.

  Charlotte smiled. ‘Was it something I said?’

  He chuckled and sipped his beer. ‘Bunch of gannets.’ Although, to be fair, he was still feeling a little bit peckish too. ‘I thought you might have had a change of mind?’ he said.

  Charlotte gave up trying to balance the plate on her lap while using cutlery and picked up one of the sausages in her fingers. ‘On the contrary… I’ve been looking forward to it.’ She took a delicate bite and began to chew it cautiously. She swallowed her mouthful and looked at him. ‘These are delicious! What’s in them?’

  ‘Err… they’re just Tesco’s regular pork sausages,’ he replied.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘well, they’re utterly scrummy.’

  Warren returned a minute later with an almost completely refilled plate. Then O’Neal, who was also clutching another beer.

  ‘Who’s your nominated driver?’ asked Boyd.

  O’Neal nodded at his girlfriend. ‘Lorna.’

  Lorna had a bottle of Stella in one hand, but it looked as if it was the very same one she’d been handed earlier. Anyway, she seemed far more interested in pointing out and discussing Minter’s various tattoos with him than drinking.

  Stormzy blared out from the dining room. It was hardly the chilled Sunday afternoon playlist Boyd had been hoping Emma would put on.

  ‘Well, this is a very cool garden party,’ Charlotte offered sincerely. ‘The kind I’ve been to in the past have been all blazers, cricket jumpers and cucumber sandwiches.’

  ‘What sort of –’

  ‘You know, church fetes, work dos. Local charity things.’ She grinned. ‘Certainly no Stormzy playing.’

  He did a double take. ‘You know who this is?’

  She winked at him. ‘Maybe I’m younger than I said.’ She got up. ‘I might grab a naughty beer. Do you want one?’

  He nodded, watching her as she walked towards the house. There was the slightest swagger in her hips, which contrasted with the hesitant little steps she’d taken into the back garden earlier. He wondered if Emma or Okeke had sneaked something extra into the mostly-non-alcoholic punch.

  Daniel got up from his stool, his eyes still glued to his phone.

  ‘You okay, mate?’ Boyd asked.

  He nodded absently as he headed off the uneven cobbled patio and onto the flattened wilderness towards Minter and Lorna. Minter had just dumped another armful of foliage on the fire and a cloud of white smoke billowed upwards into the blue sky.

  Boyd shifted his bum from the improvised brick stool and onto the ground. He settled back against an old vinyl beanbag that he’d dug out of one of the back rooms. He wriggled until he was comfy and folded his arms up behind his head. After all that haring around this morning to Tesco and Homebase to buy briquettes, firelighters and food, he realised he was beginning to feel pleasantly chilled. He’d only had one beer so far, obviously a little stronger than his usual brand, but then he wasn’t driving anywhere later. Another would be nice.

  He looked up at the clear sky and the circling seagulls high above and even felt a bizarre neutrality towards them – for today, and today only, there was a negotiated truce between them, as long as they stayed in the sky and didn’t start dive-bombing his garden for snacks.

  He felt… good. Really good. When was the last time he’d felt this chilled and content? Years? Decades?

  Charlotte appeared over him with a bottle of beer in each hand, the brim of her sun hat catching the sun and making the light flicker in his eyes.

  ‘You look rather comfy down there, Mr Boyd,’ she said, taking a swig from her bottle.

  He started to get up. ‘Do you want to…’

  ‘No. No. You stay put,�
�� she said, handing him his beer. ‘Is there room for another, do you think? If I perch on the edge?’

  ‘Uhh… sure,’ he said, scooting over slightly.

  She made an attempt to descend gracefully to the beanbag, but its apparent bulk was deceptive and she sank deep into it, ending up wedged against him.

  ‘Ooops,’ she said, giggling. ‘I think that punch has got a little goodness in it somewhere. I’m feeling a little tiddly and I’ve only just sipped this beer.’

  She pulled off her sun hat and removed a hairclip from the back of her head, quite literally letting her hair down. ‘Oh, now… this takes me back.’

  ‘To what?’ he enquired.

  She cocked her head as she tried to pinpoint exactly what and when. ‘To my music college days,’ she said. ‘A whole lifetime ago.’

  ‘Music college?’ he asked, curious.

  She nodded. ‘I used to play the flute.’

  The rest of the team began to drift back into the garden. Boyd decided to not mention the Pavlova in the fridge quite yet. After the vultures had been through that, they’d be down to just crisps and biscuits.

  The playlist had moved on to Nile Rodgers and Chic, giving the garden a chilled festival vibe. Sully, of all people, had started dad dancing on the scorched ground beside the bonfire, beer bottle in one hand, waving his straw hat around in the other, his supernaturally pale skin beginning to redden in the sun.

  ‘Do you and your colleagues party like this often?’ asked Charlotte.

  Boyd emptied his bottle with one long chug. ‘It’s the first time actually.’

  He watched Okeke get up, dragging Jay over to the bonfire to join Sully who was dancing to Le Freak. It was soon evident that Jay’s lumbering top-heavy bulk was completely unsuited to the activity.

  He looked around and saw Emma chatting with the ‘boys’. It seemed bizarre that his little girl was – give or take a couple of years – pretty much the same age as Warren and O’Neal. A couple of lads with the authority to arrest, charge and interview, looking right now like a couple of mischievous scallywags.

  Daniel was squatting beyond the bonfire, still with his phone in his hands, Ozzie peering curiously over his shoulder. It seemed as though he was taking photographs of the trampled garden for some reason.