The Murder House Read Free

for Oakley’s lack of a personal life was Gordon Noble, a vicious thug with fingers in many illegal pies. Noble had previous convictions for robbery and aggravated burglary – including a time when he had almost severed a security guard’s arm with a hatchet. During the previous decade he had eliminated his competitors to become a major player in Bristol’s criminal underworld. Although now wealthy, he refused to sit back and supervise his underlings, such as his two heavy-set ‘enforcers’ – Justin Castle and Mike Gray. Instead, he continued to lead his operation from the front, actively participating in a variety of crimes. Yet, despite being caught several times, he remained free, thanks to James Paxton’s courtroom skills.
    For months, Oakley’s informants had been telling him that something was brewing at Noble’s dilapidated row of sheds near the marina. These were ostensibly used for storing engine parts, as Noble’s legal business was repairing outboard motors. But Oakley believed his sources, and was convinced something significant was about to happen there.
    That ‘something’ was related to the kids hanging out near one of Noble’s all-night pizza joints. Oakley and his team watched money and small packets exchanging hands there on a regular basis and, although he could not prove it, Oakley was sure Noble was a key figure behind the flow of drugs to Bristol’s bored and sullen youth.
    But Noble wasn’t Oakley’s only case, and it was a struggle to watch the sheds and investigate Bristol’s other crimes at the same time. Superintendent Taylor had been keen when Oakley had first gone to him with the rumour that ‘something big’ was brewing, but his enthusiasm had waned as days became weeks and nothing happened. Oakley refused to give up, though, and his patience paid off: word came that Noble was expecting a shipment of goods ‘one morning soon’. He detailed a young DC to watch the sheds each day, but Oakley was a meticulous, cautious man, and he wanted the place watched 24/7. As no one from CID was available at night, he was obliged to beg uniform’s help.
    He approached Inspector Blake, whose shift was working nights that week. Blake was a genial but foolish man close to retirement, who was more interested in honing his computer skills than in actual police work. He approved Oakley’s request with a casual nod, and said Sergeant Wright would allocate an officer.
    Oakley disliked Wright, mostly for the deplorable way he treated his female officers, particularly Helen Anderson. Oakley suspected that Wright was frightened of her, afraid she might use her sharper wits to expose him as a stupid, vain man without two brain cells to rub together. However, Oakley doubted Anderson would do any such thing: she was shy, and so desperate to be accepted by her colleagues that she ignored his brazen favouritism towards the men in his command.
    When Oakley made his request, Wright leaned back in his chair and fixed him with rodent-like eyes. Oakley stared back, noting that Wright had plastered strands of hair across his greasy, balding pate and that his moustache was stained yellow with nicotine.
    â€˜You can have Anderson,’ Wright said eventually. ‘She’s no good for anything anyway. Head too full of theories to get down to any real policing.’
    â€˜Oh?’ asked Oakley mildly. ‘And what theories would those be?’
    â€˜She’d rather ask a villain about his mother than knee him in the bollocks,’ sneered Wright. ‘Bloody women! They should stick to raising babies and having the tea on the table when we get home.’
    â€˜Anderson will do nicely,’ said Oakley. Then he couldn’t resist adding: ‘I don’t want a truncheon-happy yob who assaults suspects and provides them with an excuse for charges to be dropped.’
    He turned on his heel and stalked out, feeling