Gregory's Game
Authors: Jane A. Adams
Table of Contents
Recent Titles by Jane A. Adams from Severn House
The Naomi Blake Mysteries
MOURNING THE LITTLE DEAD
TOUCHING THE DARK
HEATWAVE
KILLING A STRANGER
LEGACY OF LIES
SECRETS
GREGORY'S GAME
The Rina Martin Mysteries
A REASON TO KILL
FRAGILE LIVES
THE POWER OF ONE
RESOLUTIONS
THE DEAD OF WINTER
CAUSE OF DEATH
A Naomi Blake Novel
Jane A. Adams
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 Great Britain and the USA 2014 by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of
9â15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.
eBook edition first published in 2014 by Severn House Digital
an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited
Copyright © 2014 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- author.
Gregory's game. â (A Naomi Blake mystery; 9)
1. Blake, Naomi (Fictitious character)âFiction.
2. MurderâInvestigationâFiction. 3. Kidnappingâ
Fiction. 4. Ex-police officersâFiction. 5. Blind womenâ
Fiction. 6. Detective and mystery stories.
I. Title II. Series
823.9'2-dc23
ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8366-7 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-512-3 (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.
T
hey had been waiting for him when he came home from work on the Tuesday evening; grabbed him as soon as he came in through the front door. He was aware of two people; thought there might have been a third. He was also aware, sure as he was of his own name, that he was going to die.
He'd told them he didn't know the answers to their questions. That he hadn't been involved â hadn't even been there. Didn't recognize the names they threw at him, the accusations. At first they'd refused to believe him. Later, when they'd realized he was telling the truth (and how could he not? The pain ⦠the pain was just too much to bear), he realized that they didn't really care.
No, even after they had realized he was telling the truth and he had finished begging for his life, knowing it wouldn't do a damn bit of good, they didn't let him alone.
In truth, he was already too lost in the agony to know what they were asking him, but he would have told them anything by then, had he known it. Anything. And maybe he did.
Had he understood â had he been able to take anything in â he would have been glad that the pair were so inept. That they couldn't keep him alive. That their expertise was in inflicting pain, not in keeping their subject conscious and breathing. The end came relatively fast; unconsciousness and then death.
They left him hanging there, blood pooling on the kitchen floor. No one had seen them arrive and no one saw them leave. The quiet road, the silent house, all seemed unchanged and as civilized and suburban as it had ever done.
It would be three long days before anyone found him.
âS
o, think of it as a business deal. A partnership if you like.'
âJunior or senior?' Gregory had asked, his tone jocular, as though he thought the whole proposition absurd.
âEqual,' Nathan said. âI could use your skills.'
Gregory shook his head. âI think, if you're planning for the future, you need another kind of skill set, and younger blood. I'm retiring, remember?'
âSo you keep saying.' Nathan paused and regarded the older man thoughtfully. âDo you think you can?' he asked and Gregory could hear that he was genuinely curious.
âI don't know, but I think I'd like to give it a try. What about Annie? What does she think about this?'
âAnnie is busy being a domestic goddess with that husband of hers.' Nathan smiled and softened any harshness in his words. âI expect she'll do the odd freelance job for me, but no more wet work; we agreed that. And nothing that takes her away from home for more than a few days.'
Gregory was dubious. âYou think she'll keep to that?'
âI do. You and I were born the way we are. Annie, well, life just dictated to her and I'm glad she's in a position to dictate back now. I want her to be happy.'
Looking at the younger man, Gregory realized that he had no more idea of what happy domesticity would be like than did Gregory himself. No more notion of how to live what might be termed a normal life. âI need time to think,' he said.
âTake it. The offer will stay on the table for a while. Get back to me in, say, a month, and tell me what you think.'
And that was how they had left it: Gregory determined to retire and Nathan wise enough to know that now he'd laid his cards on the table there was nothing more he could do. Gregory was not someone you could persuade.
That had been, Gregory recalled, ten days before and he'd actually given Nathan's offer very little conscious thought, knowing that by the end of the month something or other would have emerged; some thought, some event, some circumstance that would make the decision obvious. Then, three nights ago, Gregory had dreamed a very vivid dream, one of those strange visions in which known reality had been overlaid by something more. The dream had stayed with him on waking; both the dream and the conscious sense that what it told him was important â if only he could figure out what that was.
In his dream he was lying on a ridge, half buried in an undergrowth of bushes and long grass, looking down into a valley. Tall trees filled with the sound of birds, surged upward around him and below, in the narrow valley, was a house, a track, a walled compound.
Vaguely, he recognized that this was not one single place, but an amalgam of several he had encountered in his career. Below him, in the valley, there was little movement, but he was aware of people in the house and others approaching the compound. He could hear the sound of a car engine approaching along the track, the change in pitch as the driver changed gear. There's a steep hill, Gregory thought, dreaming, a sharp bend and a sudden steep rise, then you can see the compound wall when you crest the rise.
He shifted fractionally, so he could keep the compound in view and see the car as it came into sight. The sun was hot and the earth dry, even beneath the trees, the scent of pine and wild thyme making him think of Corsica, but it could have been one of many places ⦠or none.
Seeing the car come into view, Gregory lifted a pair of binoculars and peered down, hoping to get a glimpse of the driver as he got out. From where he lay, he could not make out if there was a passenger. Gregory rarely dreamed, but one thing he had discovered way back when he'd been just a boy was the faculty he had to
recognize
that he was dreaming â to stand almost outside of his own dream. As a child he'd thought this was the natural way of things and it had come as a surprise to realize that others found this kind of lucid dreaming impossible; that most people didn't even recognize a dream when they encountered it.
Another thing Gregory had discovered very early in life was that his dreams, when they came, usually told him something. Not in any prophetic or mysterious way; more that they represented unravelled or unravelling problems. Resolutions. Answers.
Gregory paid attention to his dream. He was conscious of the soft grass and scent of thyme and hard ground beneath him. Of a bird, some kind of raptor, high up in the very clear, very blue sky. Of the old car's engine sound, of the way it skidded sideways on the rough and rutted track, the mud baked in high summer heat.
Who is in the house? Gregory asked himself. Who is it in the car? Had they come with a message, a threat, or both?
The car entered the compound. There were no guards on the gate and no one came out to greet them. Yet there was, Gregory thought, a feeling of watchfulness as though no physical guard was required. Those inside the house knew what was coming, and who, and why.
And why? Gregory asked himself. Why are they here and why am I?
Two men got out of the ancient vehicle. One, the passenger, was tall and slender. Lanky, Gregory thought. The passenger stretched himself as though relieved to be out of the cramped vehicle, as though he'd been travelling for some considerable time. The driver was a smaller, darker man with a chunky body that might once have been fit and muscular. From the way he moved, Gregory guessed that the man still thought of himself in younger, fitter terms. He said something to his companion and they both headed for the house.
Unarmed, Gregory thought. At least, as far as he could see.
At the periphery of his vision, he saw a raptor stoop and he took a moment to watch its dive before it disappeared behind the ridge and was lost to him.
