The Price of Protection

By Milly Reynolds

In this latest adventure, DI Mike Malone finds that the East End mobs have set up camp in his adopted town. Businesses and proprietors are under threat and this is not the only problem that Mike has to solve. A monster is prowling the riverbanks at night. Protection is the keyword, but at what price?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Milly Reynolds
• Release date: Jun 11, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370911288

Milly Reynolds

As you may have already guessed, Milly Reynolds is not my real name. Like my 'hero' Detective Inspector Mike Malone, I also hide my real identity. Having 'retired' from my job, I was a full-time teacher in a secondary school, I decided to pursue my dream of becoming a writer. So why Mike Malone? I love all things detective and wanted to create my own series. However, I decided not to go for the deep, dark thriller - I could never compete with the masters of that genre, like Jo Nesbo whose books I adore? Therefore I came to the decision that the Mike Malone series would be off-beat. I like to think that there is humour in my books; I don't want to scare people, I want to make them chuckle - there is not enough laughter in the world at the moment. As the series has progressed, I have become very attached to Mike; he is the comfortable pair of slippers that I put on at night. My husband has also become attached to Fi and I am under strict instructions not to let anything happen to her - yet. Living in Lincolnshire, I love the flat, endless landscapes and want these to be seen in my books alongside places that I know and love. Mike Malone has moved from the city to Lincolnshire and has fallen in love with the place; me, I was born here and can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be. However, although Mike was my first creation, he is not the only one. I have also created Jack Sallt, another Detective Inspector. Jack is grittier than Mike and there is not the humour in his stories that there is in the Mike Malone stories. I wanted to write a more 'grown-up' detective story. When time allows this will be developed into a series as well. With two male detectives under my wing, I also decided that it was time for the girls to take centre stage and 'Scorpion's Tale', my first novel featuring Liv Harris, a character in the Jack Sallt novels, was published in 2013. I am hoping that Liv will make another appearance at some point in the future. Not content with crime, I have also wandered into the realms of romance; my first stand-alone novel 'The Unseen Sky' was published August 2011. I'm lucky, I enjoy writing and find it just as relaxing to sit and create as it is to read, although sometimes a good book can get in the way of my writing. I read on average 50/60 books a year and always keep my blog updated with reviews. Anyway, I hope you like my novels. I have fun coming up with ideas for Mike -...

Book preview

Prologue

The milk float shuddered to a halt, causing the crates of bottles to chime melodiously in the early January morning. John Bellamy swung his legs out of the cab and stretched. When would he ever learn that having a late night after a snooker match was not a good idea when he had to start work at two in the morning. Still, only the High Street deliveries to make and then he was finished. His bed was calling him again. Dropping two bottles of semi-skimmed milk on the doorstep of Perfectly Polished, the nail salon, he had just started to walk across the road to the florists when he halted. Something wasn’t quite right. Slowly he turned back to the nail salon and studied the window, trying to spot what had crept under his subconscious. Nail-bar, seats, lamps. Everything was as it should be, wasn’t it? He looked again. Counter, seats, lamps, pig. That was it. Lying on the floor beside the counter was a sow, peacefully sleeping. A sow with her trotters painted in glittering silver and lilac.

Well, I never, John chuckled. Looks like you can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear after all.

1

I stirred a glittering ribbon of golden syrup into my creamy porridge while opposite me, Fi was buttering a slice of crispy toast. For once we had been able to rise as one to enjoy breakfast together; one of the perks of married life was to sit across the breakfast table staring into the eyes of the woman I love. It's just that on too many occasions crime seems to get in the way

Did you ever want to go into space, Mike? Fi asked as she read an article about an Italian astronaut who was going to take an espresso machine to the International Space Station.

Of course! I took a mouthful of porridge and allowed the sweetness of the golden syrup to tap-dance over my taste buds. When I was a kid, all I ever wanted to do was to fly on the Enterprise.

Fi laughed. Oh, Mike, you are funny.

James T Kirk was my childhood hero. I remember my mum making me a uniform one Christmas. I didn’t even take it off when we went to church.

Just as long as you don’t start tucking your trousers into your socks to start exploring strange new worlds.

You, my love, have no sense of fun. I’ll have to start calling you Spock.

Don’t you dare.

I ducked to avoid a tea towel. Oh dear, it looks as if I am going to have to set my phaser to stun.

My phone saved me from a second tea towel.

Malone.

Morning, Sir. Grayson’s cheery greeting was hiding something.

What is it, Grayson?

Judy Spicer seems to have lost one of her pigs, Sir.

Is she sure it hasn’t just wandered off in the farmyard?

She says she’s looked everywhere, Sir.

Phone Shepherd and tell him I’ll pick him up.

I already have done, Sir.

Good man,

Well, it looks as if I am going to be spending my morning on a pig hunt, I informed Fi. Judy Spicer seems to have lost one of hers.

Poor Judy. She never has a lot of luck.

But hasn’t Ryan and his wife moved back to help to run the farm?

Ruin the farm, you mean. Ryan Spicer was never interested in the farm when he was younger. I doubt if he’s changed.

So why did he come back?

He lost his job and his flat. He had nowhere else to go. I wouldn’t be surprised if the pig escaped because he forgot to shut the gate.

He must have some redeeming features? I looked at my wife with concern, Fi usually saw the good in everyone.

That farm belonged to Sam Spicer’s grandfather. Judy loves the place and it is breaking her heart that she is finding it harder and harder to keep it going. When Sam died and then Will, Ryan should have been here supporting his mother. Instead, he just sent her a message saying he was too busy. It broke her heart, but mothers never give up on their sons, do they?

I never realised. I pulled on my jacket.

Judy’s proud. She just rolls up her sleeves and carries on. Maybe you could have a fatherly word with him.

I don’t think Judy would thank me. I kissed Fi goodbye and left the house with a heavy heart. How could I tell a grown man that his place was at his mother’s side helping her to keep the farm running? It wasn’t my place. Nevertheless, I owed Judy Spicer. Three years ago she had saved my life. Maybe the time had come to repay my debt.

The sun, still barely out if its pyjamas, was still struggling to force its way through the clouds as Shepherd pulled on his wellingtons.

So, where do we start hunting for this pig? He sighed. It could be anywhere.

It is funny that no one has phoned to say that they have seen one wandering about. That single thought had been tapping an annoying rhythm in my head on the journey to Judy Spicer’s farm. The local farmers are always very quick to help to re-locate lost animals.

True. You’d think someone would have spotted a pig talking a leisurely stroll along the lanes, wouldn’t you?

Come on, let’s see what Judy has to say. What do you know of Ryan? I locked the car and pocketed the keys.

Shepherd sighed. He was the eldest, must be in his thirties now, I would think. It nearly broke Sam’s heart when Ryan left to become a rep for a holiday company so he could travel. The farm has been in the family for years and Sam wanted it to pass to his sons. First Ryan left and then Will went to London where he … well we know what happened to Will.

Yes, I remembered all too vividly exactly what had happened to Judy Spicer’s youngest son. That period of time was one that I had no desire to relive.

Apparently he met his wife in Ibiza, Shepherd continued. A holiday romance. From what I have picked up, he returned to the UK and he and his wife settled in London where they decided to open a tanning salon, but neither of them had the business acumen to run a successful business. It failed and he’s come home to mummy.

You don’t like him.

Not a lot. Ryan Spicer works for Ryan Spicer. To tell you the truth, I am worried about Judy. For Ryan to do the prodigal son act, well, he wouldn’t be doing it for his mum’s sake.

With such negative praise from Fi and now Shepherd, I was looking forward to meeting Ryan Spicer. He must be quite a character to provoke such animosity?

Hello, Mr Malone.

Judy Spicer appeared behind me, making me jump. I had been so engrossed in Shepherd’s account of the wayward Ryan Spicer that I hadn’t noticed her coming across the yard to meet us. A blush crept over my collar to start painting my cheeks. How much had Judy Spicer heard? I studied her face, a face that still wore good humour despite the hardships that life had thrown her, and saw nothing in her features to suggest that she had been upset by stray words.

Hello, Judy. How are you? You’re looking well.

It was Judy Spicer’s turn to blush and she brushed non existent curls from her cheeks with mittened fingers in an effort to conceal their delicate pink hue.

It’s only January’s chill nipping my nose, Mr Malone. The cold air always gives me a bit of colour.

Whatever you say, Judy. I winked at her and her blushes deepened.

Anyway, what are you going to do about my Maggie? Judy pulled herself up straight in an effort to shoo away her embarrassment.

Tell me what happened. Could the gate have been left open?

No. Judy Spicer pulled her jacket around her and started to lead us across the yard.

Following her, I had chance to observe her closely. Judy Spicer might only be in her early sixties and the proud owner of a kindly face, but she was losing her strength; she was beginning to bend, almost as if life was slowly crushing her. That she was still standing at all, amazed me. After losing both a husband and a son, she was now desperately hanging onto a farm that she could no longer manage to run on her own. What a pity that the only person who she would accept help from was the son who had turned his back on the farm in the past. Judy Spicer deserved some luck. I needed to find her pig.

The sty was not just empty when we reached it, it was also silent, eerily so. The birds that had accompanied us with their cheery songs as we walked across the lane had vanished; this sty was not a place for those with joy in their hearts. Immediately I could see that the gate was closed.

Was the gate open or closed when you noticed that Maggie was missing? I asked Judy Spicer.

Closed, of course. Judy studied my face and she didn’t like what she read there. You think that Ryan left it open, don’t you?

No. I felt the lie colour my cheeks. Well, to be honest, it did cross my mind, Judy. I’m sorry but …

But you have been listening to this town bad-mouthing him. Sorrow was in her eyes. Ryan does care about this farm, whatever the town thinks of him. He might have turned his back on us when he was young, but he is home now. He wants the farm to succeed, he wants it to be a happy home for us. He is trying, Mr Malone. He really is.

Behind me, Shepherd was kicking stones, embarrassed at the turn in the conversation. He looked up at me quickly and then wandered off to inspect the ground around the gate.

I don’t suppose any of you saw or heard anything strange last night?

Judy Spicer shook her head sadly. Nothing, Mr Malone. Nothing.

Why don’t you go back to the house. Shepherd and I will have a look around and then come and find you.

I’ll get the kettle on, Mr Malone. You’ll both need a hot drink when you come in. Her smile tried to reach her eyes, but failed. And you’ll have a slice of cake, too, won’t you?

My stomach did a somersault of joy. Yes please, that will be very kind of you.

I watched Judy Spicer as she made her way back to the house; sadness was pulling at her sleeves, tormenting her. I needed to find her wandering pig.

Anything, lad?

Shepherd was on all fours examining the ground near the gate. There are plenty of footprints, but it’s impossible to tell if they are fresh or not. The ground is rock hard.

Let’s walk across to the farm entrance, we might spot something.

They must have used a vehicle to take the pig away or some one would have seen it. A large pink pig is pretty difficult to miss.

In which case someone must have seen a vehicle - or heard one. We’ll get some of the lads out asking questions, and I’ll get Leverson to check CCTV.

What’s this? Shepherd bent down. There are dog faeces, Sir.

So? Judy Spicer has a dog.

Judy’s dog is an old cocker spaniel that suffers from arthritis. It hardly ever goes out.

Maybe a dog got in.

Or maybe whoever took the pig had a dog with them.

It’s dog poo, lad. Nothing to get excited about.

As we turned back and headed towards the farmhouse, I could sense that Shepherd was sulking, smarting from my rebuff. The silence between us was growing thicker.

I’m going to look in the sty. Before I could say another word, Shepherd had left my side and was walking back to the empty sty. Sometimes it was best to leave him to his own devices so I didn’t follow him, just observed from a distance. He vaulted over the gate and disappeared from my view as he dropped down to examine the sty in closer detail. It always amazed me how time after time, Shepherd could find those little clues that others would miss; he missed nothing. Waiting for him to make a reappearance was not something that my stomach appreciated. After hearing Judy Spicer’s offer of cake, it had been preparing itself and didn’t want to be kept waiting. The painful digs that it kept giving me were only the appetiser to its campaign of revenge if it was forced to suffer hunger pangs for much longer. Luckily, Shepherd’s head appeared above the wall and I could immediately see that he was looking decidedly more cheerful than when he had left my side.

Footprints, Sir.

I rushed over to him and peered over the wall, straining to see inside the pig’s sleeping area to make out the footprints for myself

Perhaps they are Judy Spicer’s or Ryan’s or …

I can’t see Judy in a pair of Converse boots, nor Ryan actually.

Converse?

The thread pattern is very distinctive.

Impressive, lad. I doubt if anyone else in the station would be able to identify a brand of trainer from a tread pattern. I beamed at Shepherd, amazed once again of the intelligence of this young man.

Well, it’s not difficult, especially when the shoe sinks so far down in the mud that you can actually read the brand. Shepherd laughed.

You cheated! And here was me about to write to the Chief Super praising you. My telling off was good-hearted. After all, Shepherd had once again provided what could be a crucial clue. Come on, let’s just check the Spicers’ footwear while we are eating our cake, just to make sure.

With Shepherd by my side again,