Long Drive to Death: The Verity Long Mysteries, #5

By Lynda Wilcox

A race against time. A rookie assistant. What could possibly go wrong?

For twenty years the unidentified body in the blazing car had baffled police. Researcher Verity Long, of the Cold Case Squad, isn't having much luck solving the puzzle, either. Hindered by holding down two jobs and the rookie officer assigned as her unwanted helper, Verity is getting nowhere fast.

With the constable trying to prove that everyone involved is a murderer, Verity will have to call on all her research skills before the real killer slips through their grasp - and strikes again!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lynda Wilcox
• Release date: Aug 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536559835

Lynda Wilcox

Lynda Wilcox's first piece of published writing was a poem in the school magazine. In her twenties she wrote Pantomime scripts for Amateur Dramatic groups and was a founder member of The Facts of Life, a foursome who wrote and performed comedy sketches for radio. Now she concocts fantasy stories for older children (10-13) and writes funny whodunits for adults. Lynda lives in a small town in England, in an untidy house with four ageing computers and her (equally ageing but very supportive) husband. She enjoys pottering in the garden where she grow brambles, bindweed and nettles along with roses and lilies. Oh! And slugs!  Slugs that feed well on everything but the brambles and weeds. Most of all, she loves to write —  it gets her out of doing the housework. She also reads a lot and enjoys good food and wine.

Book preview

Chapter 1

––––––––

I awoke in darkness, unsure of what had disturbed my rest. I listened for any sound that might explain this sudden rousing from my dreams, but heard nothing, not even the sound of traffic.

Still partly in my dream, the room and the bed seemed unfamiliar. Where was I and what was I doing here? I tilted my head on the pillow. The backlit alarm clock said six-thirty. That's when I froze. I was not alone.

So, you're awake are you? The man's voice was gruff and very close.

I said nothing, letting my eyes roam the room trying to see who was there. Not a sliver of light pierced the heavy brocade curtains. No breath of air fluttered them against the ledge. The windows must still be closed, so how had the man got in?

I tried to control my fear, lying as still as possible in the pitch blackness.

I know you're awake, Mrs Farish. Don't try to pretend otherwise.

His lips were close to my ear. I flinched as his hand touched my naked body, stroking, caressing, getting perilously close to where it shouldn't go. I batted the hand away.

Stop that!

I struggled to sit up, but he put a hand on my shoulder and forced me back.

Or what?

What indeed? I was helpless, unable to stop this man from doing what he wanted. And I knew what he wanted.

Look, I began.

His mouth came down on mine, silencing my protests. I put my hands to his chest to push him away, then relaxed, parted my lips, and let my husband of a week make love to me.

An hour later, he joined me in the kitchen.

You're a wonderful sight to wake up to. He slipped his arms around my waist.

What sight, Jerry? I couldn't see a thing. I waved the spatula I was using to push mushrooms around the frying pan at him. You scared me to start with.

Oh? Why's that? Who else did you expect to be in bed with you?

Silly! I'm just not used to sleeping with you yet.

We can soon remedy that. He put a hand around my wrist as though to drag me back to bed.

I mean, I'm not used to sleeping with you here at Fernbank, especially since I put up the new curtains which make the room so dark.

They were your choice, he pointed out, not unreasonably. I'm truly sorry if I scared you, Verity. I promise I won't do it again.

Not make love to me in the morning, you mean? I smiled at him.

Now who's being silly?

He made the toast and laid the table and we sat down to a hearty breakfast, which he polished off in no time.

Jerry had inherited the house from an aunt and decided to keep it only after I'd accepted his proposal of marriage, made here outside in the overgrown garden just over a month ago. Renovations were desperately needed and we were working our way through the old vicarage's many rooms as and when we had the money to do so. The first of the improvements had been the bathroom, and we'd brought in professionals to install a new suite and shower cabinet. It had also been completely re-tiled, and cushion flooring laid to replace the old lino.

Last night, though, was only the third time I'd slept with Jerry at Fernbank, and that after returning from our all-too-brief honeymoon.

Today, though, we were both back at work. Jerry to his his job as a newly-promoted Detective Chief Inspector in the local police force, and I to my work as personal assistant and researcher to bestselling crime author, Kathleen Davenport, or KD as she preferred to be called.

Jerry sighed as he moved his plate to the draining board.

I really don't feel like working. I'd much rather stay at home with you.

I finished the last of my toast before agreeing with him. Unfortunately, your aunt only left you this house and not a lifetime legacy to go with it.

Well, let's hope it's a quiet day.

Indeed. Now that you're a Chief Inspector, will it involve more paperwork and admin?

He pulled a face. Yes, but not purely so. I'll still be out there catching the bad guys.

I nodded briefly, shying away from thinking of the difficult job he did. Crofterton was a medium-sized town, and had its fair share of crime, which meant that Jerry faced danger every day as all policemen do. Whereas I went looking for it with a ruddy great magnifying glass and in the optimistic and misguided belief that I was indestructible and could succeed where my husband and the police team had failed.

Be careful, my love. I cleared the rest of the pots from the table and started to wash up.

I always am, you know that. Besides, I've got the added incentive of you to come home to now.

He gave me the fond smile that always filled me with contentment.

I shall be here, I told him, as he picked up the tea towel.

Of course, you're starting your new job today. Looking forward to it?

Yes, very much, depending on what you've got for me.

With the collusion of KD, who had readily agreed and given me a glowing reference, Jerry had offered me the opportunity to use my research skills working on police cold cases. For all that he had dropped this news on me at our wedding reception, I had jumped at the chance. I still did mornings at Bishop Lea, but every afternoon I would become part of Jerry's team and work from home here at Fernbank.

I've got the case file we'd like you to look into in my briefcase. I dropped into the office yesterday on one of my ferrying trips and picked it up. I'll leave it on the desk in the study.

Aren't you going to tell me what it's about?

I'd rather not, if you don't mind. It would be better if you came to it fresh, without any preconceived notions. We'll talk about it tonight.

All right. What would you like for dinner this evening?

He grinned. You. On toast.

I flicked the tea-towel at his bottom.

Get out of here, Jerry. I'll see you tonight.

He bent and kissed me. Have a good day.

You, too.

I waved him off, then flew upstairs, applied a lick of mascara and brushed my short bob of auburn hair, trying to make myself presentable. A quick study in the mirror showed my normally trim figure to have filled out since my marriage. I hoped I wouldn't need to diet.

Just before leaving, I went into the study and got my notebook and pen from the table. I dropped them into my bag and, taking my coat from the hook by the front door, let myself out of the house.

***

If I had expected a warm welcome back to work after my short honeymoon, I would have been disappointed. My boss was already at her desk when I walked into the office at her home, and barely looked up at my entrance.

Good morning, KD. Oh! I stopped in my tracks. You've had a change around.

Which was putting it mildly. Long before I had come to work for her, KD had added a large conservatory to a ground floor room of the mock-Palladian house that she called home, and turned it into an office. There were two large desks, two computers, a coffee table with four low-slung easy chairs, a bookcase, and a table to the side of the door on which the coffee percolator and a tray of mugs resided.

Now, instead of facing each other, our desks were side by side with a large gap between them. Hers stood in the conservatory, so she could look out at the garden, mine entirely within the room, so I could look at the wall. Great.

Hmm? Oh, that. Yes, I thought it was time for a revamp.

You've also bought new furniture. I surveyed the new leather affair that had replaced the comfy typist's chair behind my desk. I hope you didn't do all this yourself.

No, of course I didn't, she snapped. I hired a man and van.

That made sense. I could get a hernia just thinking of my dumpy-figured employer shifting heavy desks and chairs.

I put my bag on my desk and hung up my jacket. So what brought this on?

I wanted a change. Things have changed for you now that you are married, so why not here? After all, if we don't change, we don't grow, and you being away on honeymoon gave me the perfect opportunity for it.

Yeah, well, some things don't change, I thought, looking at the mug she held out for a refill. I took it from her, replenished it and replaced it on her desk, before pouring my own.

What would you like me to do, today? I asked, sinking onto my new chair. It squeaked, perhaps in protest at the extra pounds I'd put on since my wedding day.

She gave me a list of chores, including making appointments with her hairdresser and garage —the car was due for a service— then asked me to speak to her agent about a book signing, and to call the gardener and tell him to plant some bare-rooted roses when he came.

Tell him I've put them in the greenhouse for now.

Very well. I picked up the pile of mail I'd brought in with me. Any research you want me to do?

Despite appearances to the contrary, she actually employed me as her researcher, so I thought it as well to ask.

In the past I had provided her with information not only on poisons, forensics and other aspects of the basic crime novel, but on a plethora of other subjects as well. In the last month alone, she had asked me for the mileage between London and Falkirk, the price of a particular model of car in the 1970s, the ratio of ingredients in pastry—it's half fat to flour in flaky pastry, for example—whether snow fell anywhere in the UK in December 1980, and many more, all designed to give her tales greater depth and verisimilitude.

Harrumph! She sat back in her chair and swivelled to face me. Well, yes. I need to know how many standard soccer pitches would fit on the Ark Royal.

I goggled at her.

What on earth are you working on now?

Don't worry, she said, catching my look. "It's something a character says in Have Travel, Will Murder. I'd also like you to look into angina and let me have a list of medications for it, please."

This was more like it. All right, I said.

She returned to her keyboard and I set about opening the post and sorting it into piles before starting on the tasks she'd set me. I'd completed them by eleven o'clock and went to the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee.

When I returned, KD sat on one of the easy chairs and motioned for me to join her. For the first time I noticed the flared green skirt she wore under her sunshine yellow top — a combination that make her look like a dumpy daffodil.

I'm sorry. I forgot to say 'welcome back' earlier. I was working on a particularly tricky passage that took all of my concentration. Anyway, how are you? How was the honeymoon? She gave me a smile full of genuine warmth, and took the mug I offered.

I doubted she wanted the personal details, so told her about the few happy days that Jerry and I had spent in London.

We had a great time, thanks. We saw the sights, visited the Tower and the British Museum and went to a West End show. It was only a short break unfortunately, and we were back by Thursday lunchtime.

Well, if you and the Inspect—sorry, Chief Inspector, feel you want a longer honeymoon, you have lots of holiday still due to you this year, you know. I'd be grateful, though, if it wasn't the first week in November.

Why, what happens then? Book launch?

She nodded and pulled a face. My boss hates what she calls the razzmatazz of publishing and gets out of book signings if she can, convinced that if her public actually saw what she looked like, she'd never sell another book.

Where this ridiculous idea came from, I never did find out, nor could I dissuade her of the notion. She was a world-famous author of crime books featuring amateur sleuth Agnes Merryweather, a Church of England vicar, in a rural and, frankly, murderous parish. They were massively popular, generating fan mail from all over the globe and, at a conservative estimate, she earned millions.

Still, there were times when she succumbed to her publisher's pressure and appeared in public because, she said, I need to let people know I'm still alive.

Thanks for reminding me about taking my holidays. I'll probably spend it at Fernbank. There's such a lot to do there, and I've only just moved my stuff out of the flat. I'll be handing the keys back to the landlord later this week.

Ah, she said. The end of an era.

I hadn't thought of it like that but supposed she was right. I had been on my own for so long, self-reliant and thinking only of and for myself, that my married status would take some adjusting to. I hoped I was up to the task, for Jerry's sake.

She moved her head from side to side, surveying me critically. Well, married life is clearly suiting you, my dear.

I smiled grimly at her none too subtle hint that I was putting on weight.

Thank you, though I'm having a bit of trouble adjusting to my new name. I've been Verity Long all my life, and I still find myself saying it when asked my name.

You could always add them together.

I threw her a doubtful look. Don't be ridiculous, KD. Long Farish sounds like a village in Leicestershire.

Ha, ha! So it does.

And Farish Long could be a character from one of your books.

Ooh! So it could. Her eyes widened at the suggestion.

Don't even think of it, I said.

Oh, well. There's nothing to stop you carrying on calling yourself Long if you want to. I'm sure you'll adjust, especially as you've got this new job as well. Are you looking forward to it?

I shrugged and stared into my coffee, trying to formulate an honest answer.

Well? she prompted.

Yes, but frankly, I'm terrified. I don't want to let Jerry down and, thanks to your glowing reference, he and his Assistant Chief Constable seem to think I'm the bee's knees.

Oh, nonsense! I merely told them the truth. You are the best researcher I've ever had, and are very good at what you do.

Yes, but if they think I'm going to solve all these old cold cases single-handed where the police at the time failed, that's an awfully high bar for me to clear.

I shouldn't worry that they expect that much of you. From what Detective Chief Inspector Farish said to me when he asked for the reference, they think you might uncover something that they missed, that's all.

Having thus damned me with faint praise, she sat back and gave me a reassuring smile.

And what if I don't?

"What if the sky should fall? Que sera, sera, Verity. You can only do your best, and I have no doubt that you will."

I nodded my agreement, but still worried about the damage that might be done, not just to my reputation but to Jerry's, if I should really foul up. He'd only recently been promoted and was justifiably pleased, especially as it made him one of the youngest Detective Chief Inspectors in the country.

Honestly, Verity, I don't think you have anything to worry about. Wife or no wife, I can't see the Chief Inspector offering you the job if he didn't think you were capable of doing it. Do you know which cases you'll be working on?

Not yet, not until I get home. Jerry's left the case folder on my desk, but I haven't looked at it.

She drained her mug and stood up. You realise that it may be a case you've already looked into or researched for me, don't you?

Oh!

The thought had not occurred to me. KD is interested in old cases and has me delving into newspaper archives and the internet to find any that she might be able to adapt for her own crime novels.

However, the information that I cull from these researches is mainly local rather than national, and most of the crimes happened twenty years or more in the past, so it was very possible I'd be given something I had already come across