High Moor 2: Moonstruck Read Free Page A

looked into the other man’s eyes. “Phil, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. How’s Steven? Is he alright?”
    DC Garner scribbled something down on a notepad and showed it to her colleague. He nodded and turned back to John.
    “Mr Wilkinson is alive, but as I understand it, is critically injured.”
    John leaned forward in the chair. He had to ask, even though he knew the answer. “And Marie? Is she…”
    DI Fletcher shook his head. “If you’re referring to the young woman that was found at the scene, then I’m sorry but she was pronounced dead on arrival. You say her name was Marie? Marie what?”
    John sucked in a breath. Hearing her name was like sandpaper on his soul. His voice cracked when he spoke”…Williams. Her name was Marie Williams.”
    DI Fletcher sat back in his chair and interlocked his fingers behind his head. “I have to say, John, it’s not looking too good for you. There were several unregistered firearms found at the scene, including the one that killed Miss Williams, and they have your fingerprints all over them. Not only that, but you were found with half of Mr Harrison’s throat in your mouth, lying naked over his corpse.
    “Even possession of a weapon like that Ingram will get you five years, and that’s before we take the deaths into account. So come on, John, why don’t you tell me what happened, so we can sort this mess out?”
    John sat back and exhaled a deep breath. “You want to know what happened? Really?”
    “No, John. We’re just sitting in here because we like the decor. Why don’t you start from the beginning.”
    John managed a lopsided grin, despite the stitches in his face. “Be careful what you wish for, Phil. You might just get it. You want the truth? OK, I’ll give you the truth.”
    ***
    15th November 2008. University Hospital of Durham. 13.00
    Doctor Henry Pearce pushed the pieces of grey meat around his plate without any enthusiasm. The food in the hospital cafeteria was barely edible at the best of times, and judging from the thin gruel on his plate, masquerading as Lancashire Hotpot, today was not one of the good days. Of course, given what he’d witnessed during the autopsy of Malcolm Harrison that morning, he doubted that even a meal in a five star restaurant would have done much for his appetite right now.
    The injuries to the corpse had been horrific. In twenty years as a pathologist, he’d never seen anything like it. The police report that accompanied the body stated that the injuries were caused by another man, but everything about the corpse indicated that the terrible wounds were the work of a large animal. Henry honestly could not imagine how another human being would be able to inflict that amount of damage.
    The mental image of the eviscerated cadaver caused his stomach to churn, and his mouth filled with the aftertaste of the hotpot. It wasn’t any more appetising coming up than it had going down. He pushed his plate away in disgust, cleared the table and poured the remains of the meal into the waste bin. From the notes he’d been given that morning, this afternoon was not going to be any better either. Gunshot wounds never were. He left the cafeteria, and moved along the cheerfully painted corridors to the elevator that would take him to the basement pathology lab.
    The doors slid open, and he stepped out. Here, the bright decoration adorning the public areas was conspicuous by its absence. Instead, cold white ceramic tiles covered the lower part of the walls, while the old beige paintwork above them blistered with age and salt residue from the brickwork. The air smelled thickly of disinfectant and formaldehyde. Harsh fluorescent lighting ran the length of the corridor, buzzing and flickering. He’d reported the fault to the maintenance department numerous times and so far no one had bothered to come down here to fix it. He’d speak to them again about it, once he’d performed the next autopsy, and his mood was sufficiently