Brothers in Blood (30 page)
Snow sat absolutely still, held by the narrative, both fascinated and appalled by its revelations. He was also conscious that Laurence was treating the occasion like a confessional. He was at last able to unburden himself of all the dark sin that had built up like a heavy outer coating weighing down his soul.
Or was he just boasting?
‘Strange fellow, aren’t I?’ Laurence said with a sour grin when he had finished. ‘Of course you won’t get me to repeat one scrap of that again at any time or in any place – but I hope I have satisfied your curiosity.’
Snow nodded.
‘So, Mr Policeman, what are you going to do now?’
Snow paused. He knew what he was going to do now, but like flying a hang glider, he needed to screw his courage to the sticking place before he leapt off into the scary unknown.
After a pause, he said softly, ‘I’m going to make you an offer.’
Laurence’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Oh, yes?’
Snow leaned forward. ‘Do you take commissions?’
Snow popped his head around his office door and called across the room. ‘Bob, could I have a word?’
Sergeant Fellows looked up from the tedious paperwork which was demanding his attention and failing. Anything rather than this, he thought, but was wise enough not to verbalise the notion.
‘Sure,’ he said, and joined his boss in his office.
Snow waved him to a seat. ‘I’ve got a tentative lead on the Wilkinson murders. Something that Dinosaur Daniels let me have.’
‘That’s great,’ grinned Fellows.
Snow did not return the grin. ‘It’s tricky and rather sensitive so… I’m going to handle it myself for the moment.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Look, Bob, I can’t explain fully, but if I involve the troops out there the whole thing might go belly up. I need to do this alone.’
‘With respect, sir…’
Snow held up his hand. ‘I know what you are going to say, so spare your breath. I’ll take full responsibility for my actions – but I wanted it known to you that I was working on the case in a solo capacity.’
‘Solo capacity. That’s a new one. What d’you expect me to do with this information?’
‘Nothing. Just store it for further reference – if needed. That’s all.’
Fellows shook his head in bewilderment.
‘That’s all, Bob, you can get back to those fascinating files now.’
With a shrug, he rose and headed for the door. ‘Just you take care, sir,’ he said quietly as he left the room.
Snow sat back in his chair and sighed. Well, he’d done all he could do. Now it was up to the fates.
Michael Armitage hauled the two carrier bags out of the boot of the car. He had always hated shopping and while he was married he had been very adept at avoiding getting involved in the process. But since his divorce, he really had no option. Every bloody Thursday, down to bloody Sainsbury’s like a bloody fishwife. He slammed the car boot down and struggled up the path to his tiny terraced abode: his prize for being kicked out of the family semi up in the posh environs of Fixby. Now he had to find his bloody key. He dropped the two bags on the door mat and sought for his house key in his jacket pocket.
‘Michael Armitage,’ said a voice in the darkness behind him. Armitage turned awkwardly to face the speaker.
‘Who wants to know?’ he asked gruffly.
‘No one of consequence,’ said the stranger, thrusting his hand forward. As he did so Armitage felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. He glanced down as the stranger withdrew his hand and he saw that it was holding a knife: a long vicious-looking knife which had dark stains on it.
Blood.
His blood.
Before he could react, the man plunged again, the blade sinking even deeper this time. Armitage groaned in agony and doubled up after the third blow and slumped to the ground. His vision grew foggy and his attacker now became just a vague shadow. With the fourth blow of the knife, Michael Armitage lost consciousness and any hope of survival. Very quickly life, like the blood around his stomach, gushed out of him, his head resting on one of the shopping bags.
‘Brother, hail and farewell,’ said Laurence before turning and making his way down the path.
A little way along the road was a man standing in the shadows near a street lamp.’
‘Mission accomplished,’ said Laurence as he approached the man, not noticing the gun he held in his hand.
‘Good,’ said the man. ‘Very good.’
And then he pulled the trigger. Twice.
As Laurence toppled to the ground, Snow gave a grim smile. ‘Game over,’ he said.
DAVID STUART DAVIES left teaching to become editor of
Sherlock Magazine
and is generally regarded as an expert on Sherlock Holmes, having written six novels, film books and plays featuring the character. He has given presentations on Holmes at many festivals and conferences as well as on the
Queen Mary II
. He appeared as toastmaster at the Sherlock Holmes Dinner at Bloody Scotland in 2012 – Scotland’s first international crime writing festival. He also created his own detective, wartime private eye Johnny Hawke, who has appeared in six novels. David is a member of the national committee of the Crime Writer’s Association, editing their monthly magazine, ‘Red Herrings’. He lives in Huddersfield, West Yorkshire.
First published in 2013
The History Press
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This ebook edition first published in 2013
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