Cold Death Read Free Page A

the man’s face. Hunter could see there was a frank exchange of words between them, and then as quickly as it started it was all over. His father spun back around and marched off in the direction of their rented cottage.
    The bald headed man picked himself up and dusted down his knees, reached into his pocket and took out his mobile phone. Seconds later in obvious disgust he pushed it away again.
    “He can’t get a signal either,” Hunter muttered to himself.
    Then as the man turned Hunter raised his camera again, quickly adjusted the zoom and rattled off several more frames, before the stranger disappeared from view.
    Hands on hips, poised at the edge of the cliff, Hunter spent several more minutes scouring the cobbled High Street, straining his eyes into the narrow alleyways of the thrown together houses but he couldn’t pick up the sight of either his father or the incomer.
    I need to get back and make sure everything’s OK.
    With a sense of urgency he threw together his things.
     
    * * * * *
     
    Half-jogging, half-marching, breathing heavily, Hunter mounted the steep incline out of the old village and up towards the newer part of Staithes where their rented cottage was.
    All the while he’d been keeping a watch for the bald headed man but the only people he had come across were the fishermen preparing their boats as he strode across the bridge overlooking the beck, and as he neared the top of the hill he could make out his father approximately a hundred yards ahead. He was ambling along, hands thrust deep in pocket s , as if nothing had happened.
    Hunter took a deep breath and shouted after him. His dad stopped, turned around and waited for him to catch up.
    By the time Hunter had reached him he was gulping for air and beads of sweat were trickling from his hairline down the sides of his face, tickling his neck.
    “I thought you were supposed to be fit son,” his father said sarcastically in his strong Glaswegian accent, pointing to the glistening sweat on his son’s brow.
    Hunter set down his box easel and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, flicking the residue onto the footpath.
    “I am. It’s that bloody hill, it’s a killer.” He took in several deep breaths. “I’ve been trying to catch you up to see what that was all about.”
    “What was all about?” replied his father, blandly.
    “You know what I’m on about. Don’t give me the all innocent. That argument you’ve just had with that bald-headed guy.”
    “That wasn’t an argument. Just a case of mistaken identity. He thought I was someone else.”
    “You don’t dump someone on their arse because of a case of mistaken identity.”
    His father’s face flushed. “Leave it son, it’s nothing to do with you.”
    “What do you mean it’s nothing to do with me?  My dad smacking someone is nothing to do with me?  I think so.”
    His father held up a hand giving him the stop signal. “No you don’t think so at all. That was my business down there. I said leave it and I mean leave it.” He spun on his heels and marched away.
     
    * * * * *
     
    The mild August evening was giving way to a sheet of fine drizzle. It peppered the windscreen of Hunter’s Audi, obscuring the view of the main road through Sleights village. Hunter flicked on the wipers and the blades swished across, clearing the screen. As he began the steep incline up towards Blue Bank he could already see that his father’s car in front was almost at the top.
    Hunter dropped down a gear, squeezed the accelerator and sped towards the steep summit.
    Since they had set off from the cottage Hunter had been at odds with himself and Beth had sensed it, even checking to see if anything was wrong. He’d shrugged it off, telling her he was back to thinking about work. The fact was he couldn’t get out of his mind the episode he had seen earlier involving his dad and the bald headed stranger. What had made it worse was that his father had initially lied to him about the