A Reason to Kill

Contents

Cover

Recent Titles by Jane A. Adams from Severn House

Title Page

Copyright

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Epilogue

KILLING A STRANGER

LEGACY OF LIES

BLOOD TIES

NIGHT VISION

SECRETS

GREGORY'S GAME

PAYING THE FERRYMAN

A REASON TO KILL

FRAGILE LIVES

THE POWER OF ONE

RESOLUTIONS

THE DEAD OF WINTER

CAUSE OF DEATH

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

First published in 2007 in Great Britain and 2008 in the USA by

SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

19 Cedar Road, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM2 5DA.

This eBook edition first published in 2015 by Severn House Digital

an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

Copyright © 2007 by Jane A. Adams.

The right of Jane A. Adams to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

Adams, Jane, 1960-

A reason to kill

1. Actors – Great Britain – Fiction

2. Detective and mystery stories

I. Title

823.9'14[F]

ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-6575-5 (cased)

ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-683-0 (ePUB)

Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

This ebook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited,
Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland

F
ebruary was not a month that McGregor associated with weddings. He assumed that most people would prefer to be married when the weather was warm enough for the lightweight froth and frills that most brides of his acquaintance deemed essential for the ushering in of connubial bliss.

He might have guessed that Naomi would do things differently.

Cliff View had been licensed for weddings almost as soon as the licences had become available, and the wonderful Art Deco building, with its views of the ocean and rolling countryside, had been turned into the perfect venue for celebration. The ceremony could be carried out in the Summer Lounge, a high-ceilinged room, one wall of which was entirely made up of window which gave on to a generous terrace and formal garden. The reception would then take place in any one of four rooms set aside for dining and celebrating, each with its own bar, and guests could, of course, stay over in the hotel.

McGregor had gone for one of the little B&Bs down the hill, as the prices for a one-night stay at Cliff View had caused him to blanch. He had to admit though, it was a lovely place. Warm rooms substituted for summer sun and bride and attendants flitted like so many bright butterflies among the equally gaudy guests. Mac, in his sober grey suit, the lightest and brightest of his limited collection, felt distinctly drab.

‘I'm so glad you could come.'

Alec grasped his hand, beaming like a loon, Mac thought, not that he could blame him. Mac studied Alec's radiant bride and felt a flush of deep envy. ‘Naomi, you look wonderful,' he said sincerely. ‘Truly lovely.'

‘Thanks, Mac.' She leaned in to kiss him and he was astonished as ever at how delicately she managed to land the kiss on his cheek. On the odd occasion he was called upon to deliver a kiss, he could be guaranteed to fumble it, and
he
was able to see.

‘We are
really
glad you could make it,' she told him. ‘I didn't know if you would.'

‘Couldn't miss this now, could I?' he said. ‘Alec's been asking you for so long I'd about given up hope.'

Alec laughed and Naomi reached and clasped his arm. ‘I hear you're back at work?'

‘I start on Monday. Frantham-on-Sea. I hear it's quiet this time of year.'

Alec laughed. ‘I hear it's quiet any time of year.'

‘Suits me,' Mac said and an awkward silence fell. There was so much that could not, would not be said. Then the couple were called away and McGregor watched them go, mingling with the joyous crowd.

He almost
hadn't
come. But he had wanted to see these two wed and in the end that desire had won. Just.

He and Alec had gone into the police force together, done their basic training at the same time and Alec was about the closest thing Mac had to a long-term friend. Naomi, though a later addition, was a woman he had always liked a lot. OK, if he were honest, a woman he wished he'd had the nerve to ask out before Alec got to her.

But still, he almost hadn't come. Just back off long-term sick leave and now about to transfer to a place where he was unknown, Mac had been unsure about the wedding, knowing so many of his former colleagues would be present. He had been so relieved to find himself seated at a table with friends of the bride and groom who were not associated with the force. Grateful and, at the same time, oddly put out as he realized that Alec or Naomi – or probably both – had known how awkward it would be for him. They had recognized what Mac saw as his weakness.

A waiter offered him another drink and he selected a fruit juice from the glasses on the tray. He'd had a glass of champagne for the toasts and sipped it sparingly, worried that even a small amount of alcohol would break his carefully maintained control.

He could not countenance that. Not now. He glanced round, noting familiar faces among the crowd. A man he had worked with for fifteen years caught his eye and raised his glass in awkward acknowledgement, then turned away.

I'm a leper
, Mac thought, deciding he would find Naomi and say goodbye.

A leper; six months off sick.
Stress
, it said on his records. His superintendent had been at pains to say that no one blamed him and that everyone understood. A case like that – no leads, no closure – it could get to anyone.

And Mac knew the truth of that. He watched hungrily as guests laughed and joked and teased and as the two smallest bridesmaids, dressed like lilac fairies, floated by. Twins, he noted; small blonde twins with their long hair streaming out behind them as they ran.

He did not need to close his eyes to see that small, pale face. Eyes staring upwards at the darkening sky as though she still saw the moon rising and the stars prick through the black.

Mac swallowed hard, trying not to see her long fair hair darkened by the tide, flowing out across the sand, and the blue eyes, sightless now, just staring at the stars.

F
ebruary had arrived on the wings of a vengeful wind that whipped off the ocean and flung a chill flurry of salt-tanged rain into the face of any soul wilful enough to venture out. Rina Martin, with sixty-three winters behind her, was not about to be driven inside by this one.

She marched sturdily along the promenade, the little wicker trolley with its uneven wheels ticking along behind her and the crepe soles of her embroidered leather boots squeaking slightly on the smooth slabs of fancy stonework the council had laid in the autumn to define the new pedestrian area. Rina had no truck with bad weather. In her opinion, it should be dealt with the same way as anything that misbehaved and that didn't respond to either a stern telling off or a quick slap on the legs: it should be stoically ignored.

Anyway, this morning she was a woman on a mission and a little bit of weather certainly wasn't going to slow her down. There were, unfortunately, some things that even Rina could not be stoical about and which she certainly could not ignore, and the break in at number 42 Newell Street fell firmly into that category. What was more, Rina was determined to make certain no one else ignored it either.

Rina wheeled sharp left at the end of the promenade and dragged her little trolley up the three steps that led to the big double doors. There was a newly installed ramp at the side of the steps which would have been somewhat kinder to the wheels, but Rina was in no mood for concessions. The doors of the police station, which faced directly on to a distinctly grey and irritable sea view, were firmly shut against the chill weather. Rina had expected that. What she had not expected at eight o'clock in the morning – a weekday morning at that – was to find them still locked.

‘Well, really!' Rina hammered on the wooden door, bringing a response a few minutes later as the bolt was drawn back and a very young and slightly blemished face topped with a shock of bright red hair poked out.

‘Oh!' The head was rapidly withdrawn. ‘It's you, Miss Martin.'

Rina ignored the usual mistake; calling her Miss instead of Mrs seemed to be a common fault among the young and at this moment she had other, more important things to occupy her mind. She marched across to the desk and hammered on that too.

‘Frank Baker, don't you dare try to run away from me. You get back here.'

Behind her, the red-haired and spotty boy stifled a giggle. Rina turned just long enough to stare him into silence then removed her attention back to the desk sergeant who was reluctantly returning to his post.

‘It's the third this week,' she told him.

‘Um, third what?'

‘Oh, for goodness' sake. Third burglary. In our street. The third. I want to know what you're doing about it?'

Frank Baker looked askance. ‘Third?' he said. ‘Look, I'm sorry, Mrs Martin, I've only just come on. I've not had time to consult …'

‘Third,' Rina reaffirmed. She unfastened her coat and unwound one loop of scarf from around her neck. She was wearing two and they were a little too much in the warmth of the station foyer, but the Peters sisters had started knitting again and Rina didn't like to hurt feelings by choosing one woollen offering over another. ‘We had
one
patrol car round last night and poor Mrs Freer had to call a locksmith out herself to secure her back door. All your lot wanted to do was nail a bit of wood over the broken pane. What good, I ask you, would that have done?'