Rolling The Jack

By Milly Reynolds

When Jon McElvoy, a Liberal Democrat MP, is found dead in his North Norfolk home, DI Jack Sallt and his colleagues quickly decide that this is a murder made to look like a suicide. However, when the Intelligence Services arrive, all of their findings are thrown into the air.

As Jack tries to expose the truth, he finds that someone is trying to use his personal demons to ruin him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Milly Reynolds
• Release date: Oct 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301494675

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

…rolling the jack…

By Milly Reynolds

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011Milly Reynolds

Smashword Edition, License Notes

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Beginning

Helen called several times. She just wanted to talk, but his mobile was switched off. She called the landline and got the answer-phone. Perhaps he was out getting the morning groceries. She decided to drive round to the house; it was only four miles away and she didn't like leaving messages on phones anyway. At least this way she could drop off any useful extra documents, letters or provisions without having to pop over later, after Jim had finally returned from birding. Was she making an excuse to see Jon? She told herself not to be ridiculous; after all, there were party matters to discuss.

It was just after nine when she arrived at the flint-covered terraced house; the May sun was threatening to break through the cloud which had amassed along the coast. She managed to park, squeezed behind his little yellow Cinquecento. If Jon had gone out, he hadn't taken his car. As she got out of her car, she noticed a distinct chill in the air; the breeze off the North coast seemed to have stiffened somewhat. She opened the iron-gate, making a mental note to ask the gardener if he could come more regularly from now on. They didn't want a repeat of last year. Grass was beginning to intrude upon the slate pathway and dandelions were having a riot on the lawn. But the roses would soon be out, as would the lavender. She smiled as she sauntered the few yards to the orange-yellow door, thinking back to last summer when every Saturday they had sat on the doorstep together after the surgery, clutching their mugs of tea, the heavenly aromas of lavender and rosemary filling the air around them while they talked about politics or her children.

That's strange, she whispered, coming to an abrupt halt. The door was slightly ajar. Jon usually had the door locked at all times and it wasn't very warm, certainly not warm enough to leave the door open. She pushed it open, brushing back the strands of auburn hair that had blown across her face.

Jon? Only me.

She stepped inside, kicking off her heels as she did so, and closed the door behind her, turning the key firmly. She sniffed the air. Alcohol! Jon didn't normally drink. Even after six years in Westminster village with all its shenanigans and late nights, he only rarely drank. Or so he said.

Jon? Are you there?

She walked through into the small kitchen. There was an empty bottle of vodka on the scrubbed oak table. That was Polish writing on the label, she was sure of that. A foreign chocolate wrapper was beside it. She had sudden visions of him sleeping it off upstairs. He hadn't said that he'd had a bad week when they spoke briefly on the phone yesterday. But it wasn't vodka she could smell. Vodka didn't smell, that much she knew. It was more like... whisky? In the silence, she felt her stomach churn. Dropping her briefcase on the stone floor, she walked through the hallway and stopped at the lounge. The door was closed. Her hand paused above the handle. There was no choice, she had to go in. Quickly, she said to herself. Get it over with and it will be alright. She turned the handle and walked in. It wasn't alright.

Jon? No!!

She dashed across to where he lay on the grubby sofa. He was lying on his stomach, his face turned towards the door. His half-open eyes looked at her blankly and there was a graze and a bruise on his cheek. She knelt down, touching his limp hand while wiping away tears with her sleeve. His hand was cold. She saw the half empty bottle of whisky on the coffee table. She saw the bottle of pills. Sleeping pills? She stood and had a closer look at the bottle. Somehow she still had the wherewithal to know not to touch anything. Yes, they were sleeping pills. A pen and a blank sheet of paper lay on the floor, close to where his right foot touched the carpet.

Helen sat down, trembling, on the chair opposite him and took her phone from her handbag. Breathe, girl! Breathe! She took several deep breaths as she struggled to keep control. Do the right thing, she said out loud. Nine. Nine. Nine. They answered immediately.

One

'The first player has the choice of three throws, and may stop at the first or second if he has made a good score. Other players are limited to the number of throws taken by the first player.

1st try: All five dice are thrown and the best scoring dice are put aside.

2nd try: All five dice may be thrown again, or only those not put aside, and the best scoring dice are added to those put aside after the first try.

3rd try: Not more than the number of dice thrown in the second try can be thrown in this final try, after which the five dice will show the total score

The player with the highest score in the round wins the game, Each player in turn starts a new game...

Best scoring combinations in order:

1. No pairs: The lowest score, Ace high wins.

2. One pair: Two of a kind, Two aces etc.

3. Two pairs: A pair of Aces and a pair of Nines would beat a pair of Kings and a pair of Queens.

4. Triplets: Three of a kind.

5. Straight: Ace, King, Queen, Jack, 10, or King, Queen, Jack, 10, 9.

6. Full House: Combination of a triplet and a pair. Highest triplet wins.

7. Fours: Four of a kind.

8. Fives: Five of a kind...'

Jack knew the instructions off by heart. Sometimes he got restless, began to sweat, even to itch. After all this time, he knew how to read the signs. He carried that small, old box of poker dice everywhere; they fitted nicely in his jacket pocket or his trousers. Of all the therapy and advice he'd been given over the years, for him this was the most effective, like a little fix or a shot, a periodical vaccination which stopped him going off the rails. The psychiatrist had found something that had worked – for Jack. The box was well worn now; the type on the outside was almost invisible. He kept the rules folded up inside, even though he knew them by heart. The dice, like five little friends, all faded yellow, felt so nice in his sweaty palm; they made that satisfying, comforting clink when he rolled them around.

Jack! Why was he called Jack? Our name is our destiny, he thought. Not John or Jonathan, it had to be Jack. Didn't it? In fact, he liked his name. The same devil – or was it a gene – that turned him into a risk taker, also gave him a friendly, sociable disposition. Two sides of the same coin; you couldn't have one without the other. And it could have been worse, much worse. He liked a drink, quite a lot to drink sometimes, but he was a million miles away from being an alcoholic. He also liked women but he was never a womaniser. He was glad that most people liked him and thought he was a laugh; he was glad that they knew that he had opinions about most things, from politics and religion to sport. Especially sport. These days though, he had fewer friends, but those he had were loyal and discreet. And they had to be, didn't they? Very few policemen could have expected to keep their careers with an addiction like his. Then there were the debts, financial and otherwise. Financial debts could be paid, eventually, but he knew he could never repay the debt he owed to his mother, his former wife and colleagues, and his present boss, DCI Olivia Harris, or Liv as she liked to be known.

His mind was back in the car, the poker dice back safely in his pocket. He had developed the little ritual of arranging them jack side up. Five jacks in a row to greet him the next time he took them out. He sighed and stretched, running a hand over his head. The bald patch was growing, he felt sure of it. He looked in the mirror. Bollocks! Forgot to shave again; grey hairs were clinging defiantly from his cleft chin. And his eyes – Denise used to say he had eyes that smiled – they looked so tired now. But at least it was the weekend. Summer Saturday mornings meant cricket, taking his eleven year old son, Josh, to a game, home or away. And they played cricket at the new Academy that Josh was joining in September. So here he was again, sitting in his car and waiting for the front door to open. It was football from September to April, cricket from May to August, if he could make it; if he wasn't called out on police business. Perhaps there would be a cursory wave from Denise today as she sent Josh on his way. Jack could hardly ever bring himself to go inside the house and wait. He didn't like her new partner, Dawid Kowalski, a tall, quiet, sinewy man, five years her junior from Gdansk. Unlike nearly all of his compatriots, he didn't seem to be able to hold down a job, or his drink. Denise said that he was descended from royalty. Considering how many so-called royals behaved these days, he quite believed it. But Jack said nothing. He knew that he'd given Denise a bad time when they were married. And, although he was relatively in control of his gambling addiction now, he realised that she found it hard to forget what he'd done to her and Josh. But sometimes, on the odd occasion they spoke to one another, a few chance remarks and he could almost get her to smile in the way that she had when they had first met at the Police Ball. Maybe there was still some hope. Maybe she'd even make a remark about his smiling eyes again.

His phone rang, vibrating annoyingly in his jacket pocket. It was Liv.

Hi Jack, she sighed. She sounded tense. "Sorry, but we've got a big one, I'm afraid. Jon McElvoy's been found dead in Cromer. A squad car's there,