And Then She Was Bad

By Milly Reynolds

In this latest mystery, when the naked body of a young man is found in a local beauty spot, Detective Inspector Mike Malone has two problems. Firstly to find the young man's identity and secondly to find out who murdered him. However, things are never simple and when Mike also discovers that one of his own is in trouble, he realises that an old adversary is once again playing him for a fool.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Milly Reynolds
• Release date: Jul 31, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301298976

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

As the locals gathered around to watch the start of the annual 10k run, Fred Greengrass stood and watched Frank Bassett lunging and stretching beside him.

What the bloody hell are you doing that for? Fred grumbled. Everyone's looking at you.

You must always warm up your muscles before doing any physical activity, Fred, Frank responded with his head between his knees. It prevents muscle tears.

Don't know how I let you talk me into this. Bloody stupid this is. Fred felt a nudge in his back and turned to see a well-built young man performing his own set of acrobatic stretches. Watch it, mate!

The young man mouthed an apology and continued with his side stretches. Ahead of him, above the writhing mass of heads and shoulders, Fred could see some unknown dignitary, who was clutching a red flag to his chest, puffing his way up the steps to the little podium that had been erected at the entrance to the playing field.

Here we go, Fred. Frank grinned at Fred who glowered back. Last one back buys the drinks.

The red flag rose and fell, releasing the many-legged creature that spewed forth from the playing field, its body rippling like waves on a beach. Fred found himself being pushed along by the crowd and he struggled to keep his feet. He was twirled and pulled around until at one point he found that he was actually facing in the opposite direction. Eventually, he managed to gain a position at the back of the pack, alongside the mums with their pushchairs, the walkers with their dogs and the fun-runners with their sweaty banana costumes.

Bloody waste of time, he muttered, making sure that he kept a few steps ahead of Mrs Benjamin and her Great Dane.

The climb up The Approach always made Fred puff and today was no exception. The physical effort of putting one foot in front of the other caused his face to redden and his heart to thud. In the end, he was forced to stop and hang over the wall of the railway bridge to catch his breath. The railway line stretched off into the distance like a cool metallic stream that Fred wished he could plunge into. He felt the air vibrate around him as one by one, the mums with their pushchairs, the walkers with their dogs and the fun runners with their sweaty banana costumes passed on by. Fred didn't care that he was now at the back of the pack, he had already decided upon a course of action. He was going to have a leisurely amble to Millennium Wood where he was going to rest for a while before emerging to rejoin the pack as they made their way back to the finishing line.

The warm sun gently patted Fred on his shoulder as he walked down The Approach, over the river and past the garage. There was very little traffic about and birdsong seemed to fill the air. Luckily, there were no cars at the entrance to Millennium Wood, so Fred squeezed through the gate and plunged into the cool shade of the trees. He could see that the little den, that had been built several weeks before by the local kids, was still standing and decided that it would be the perfect place to rest his head for a while. Fred pushed his way through the branches to the little clearing and dropped to his hands and knees so that he could crawl into the den. He lowered his head under the tiny entrance and stretched out a hand."

Bloody hell!

Fred’s head shot up so quickly that twigs scratched his scalp; they clung onto him as he tried to back away. His face reddened and his heart started to thud with the physical exertion of trying to escape from the iron grasp of the den's branches until finally, free at last, Fred scrambled to feet and ran out of the wood faster that he had ever run in his life.

One

I stuck another pink post-it note onto the crime-board to remind me to pick up Fi’s dress from the dry-cleaners. I was so glad that I had decided to make the board a permanent fixture in my office as not only did it stop Shepherd and I getting grazed knuckles every time we pulled it up from the basement, but it now served as my very own reminder board. It looked quite attractive too, with its multicoloured collage of notes, reminders and relevant Shakespearian quotations. Whatever the rest of the boys in the station said about it, I tended to think that, in style, it owed a lot to the influence of Jackson Pollock.

In the centre of the board was a pink post-it note with a date on it that was very significant. It was the date that I would make Dr Fiona Davies my wife. After the Robin Jelley murder case had been completed, in my mind unsatisfactorily, and once Shepherd and Cat had returned from their honeymoon, I had whisked Fi away for a romantic break to Venice. There, in a quiet little restaurant on the Grand Canal, with the full moon looking benevolently down upon us, I had proposed to her and presented her with a sapphire and diamond engagement ring to match her sparkling eyes. I’m not ashamed to admit to a few tears when she said ‘yes’. In fact, as I remembered it now, a warm glow spread over me and peace and harmony settled themselves on my shoulders for a spot of sun-bathing. I joined them and lay back in my seat with my hands behind my head. Peace, perfect peace.

My period of calm was abruptly shattered when there was a sharp rapping on my office door and Shepherd entered my office. The last vestiges of his honeymoon tan were still clinging bravely onto his face, and his blond hair was, as usual, flopping over his eyes as he bounced up and down in his toes in excitement.

A body’s been found in Millennium Wood, Sir.

I glanced at the crime-board and sighed at the thought of dismantling my masterpiece to make way for gruesome shots of bodies. Such a pity.

Ok, lad, let’s go.

The little car-park at the wood was full, the team had beaten us, and so I was forced to park on the roadside. As we approached, I could see a WPC sitting on the little wooden seat at the entrance to the wood beside Fred Greengrass, who I noticed with some amusement, was wearing shorts!

Fred! I didn't realise that it was you that found the body. I patted him on the shoulder.

He was just lying there. I touched him! Fred shuddered at the memory and he wiped his hand down his leg several times.

We'll just go and see what is going on and then I'll come back and have a chat with you. I left Fred, who was still trying to wipe his hand clean and I smiled to myself. Lady Macbeth he certainly was not.

The clearing had already been decorated with blue tape and in its centre I could see a little make-shift den, clumsily constructed with twigs and branches.

I used to make dens like that, Sir, Shepherd confided, although mine were much better constructed.

I’m sure they were, lad. Have a sniff around, will you?

Shepherd left my side to start his own finger-tip search. When Shepherd had first started his finger-tip searches of crime scenes, dropping to his hands and knees and meticulously turning over very speck of dust, the lads at the station had thought it all a bit of a joke, he had taken quite a bit of stick for it. However, as his methods had time and time again turned up vital clues, the sniggers had slowly become murmurs of admiration.

Adrian O’Brien shuffled backwards out of the den to greet me. He pushed his glasses back up his nose and got to his feet.

Young man, late teens to early twenties. Naked. Single stab-wound to the heart. I think he has been dead about eighteen hours, but I’ll let you know definitely. And he wasn’t killed here. Anything else you want to know, Mike? He grinned at me.

His name and who did it, perhaps.

I don’t want to make your job too easy. Adrian paused. Oh, and I think he’d had sex recently as well.

How...? I was amazed sometimes at the information Adrian could glean just be looking at a body in situ.

I’m only guessing, but he’s got fresh scratches over his chest and both of his shoulders. I’m guessing that they were inflicted by a woman. Adrian grinned again. Ride’em, cowboy!

I think it’s time that I had a look at this body myself. I knelt down and peered into the den.

The structure of the den was very good, the kids who built it had evidently put a lot of work into it, whatever Shepherd thought. They had even covered the floor in leaves and grass in an attempt to make the ground more comfortable to sit on. I was impressed. However, the young man lying in front of me did not impress me, he made me feel very sad at the waste of a life. Adrian had been right about his age, he was very young. The fact that he was curled up in the foetal position just served, in my mind, to emphasise his youth. It wasn’t a lad I recognised, but maybe Shepherd knew him. I studied him carefully, trying to get an understanding of his life from the empty shell that was left. His long blonde hair looked as if it had just been washed, his body also looked clean, almost too clean. Even the soles of his feet were pink. He looked like a perfect, sleeping angel, his face was at peace. In fact, the only flaws on this perfect creation were the neat stab wound to the heart and