Pea Pod Murder: A Suzie Hyde Crime Thriller

By Kerry Sharp

Pea Pod Murder:

Suzie is super smart, very successful and flawed, she believes herself to be unlovable.

She is seeking redress for her father's murder but the case is cold. Her route around insufficient data, is to design a cutting edge case management solution and sell it to the Metropolitan Police, so she can plunder their data.

Owen was a personable, successful police officer, a Chief Superintendent. That was until his wife and daughter were destroyed by a bomb meant for Owen. He is seeking a path to oblivion, eschewing friendship and support in his dark quest.

Suzie's plan progresses, she is seconded as a Detective Sergeant, to trial her software. On being tasked to solve a violent murder, Suzie's singular focus is subverted by her desire to find justice for Sarra, the violated victim of the crime.

As the truth relating to the murders is slowly revealed, Owen who doesn't want love comes closer to Suzie who can't be loved. Will their budding friendship be allowed to blossom, or will death or the dark sides of their natures intervene?

Interview with the Author

Q - So, what makes the Suzie Hyde series special?

A - It's a mix of things, really. Suzie is smart and flawed, tough and vulnerable, and has a kick-butt attitude. She also attracts trouble like a magnet.

This makes Suzie's stories fast paced and designed to keep you turning the pages, with never a dull moment.

Q - What order should I read the books in?

A - I've written the series so you can read the books in any order, and all the story threads will tie up nicely by the time you're finished. If you do want to read them in order, I'd suggest the following sequence:

- Oxford Murder (prequel) Free copy avaliable. 

- Pea Pod Murder

- Angel Murders

- Wood Smoke Murders

Q - So, why should readers give these books a try?

A - Because the Suzie Hyde series is a fast, fun, thrill-ride that takes no prisoners.

Ultimately, readers who enjoy lightning-fast pacing with a plot that twists and turns all the way to the end will get a kick out of this series.

Q - Can readers get the whole series in one go?

A - Sure. Look for the Boxed Set and grab all the books in one go. You'll save some money too!

Suzie Hyde Series eBook Categories:

- Mystery Series

- Crime Thrillers

- Private Investigator Series

- Private Detective Novels

- Thriller Detective Series

- Women's Fiction

- Amateur Sleuth

- Women Sleuths

- Romance

• Language: English
• Publisher: Progenero Press
• Release date: Aug 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9780994556905

Kerry Sharp

Kerry was born in Gloucestershire UK he later discovered that he was philosophically Australian when he followed a cute Australian/Italian girl back to Melbourne. Marriage; family, work all followed. Kerry was always a bit of a late starter (1st Degree at the age of 34). He waited until his hard work made the tyranny of swapping time for money unnecessary, before writing his first Novel ‘Pea Pod Murder’. Pea Pod Murder, the first book in the Suzie Hyde Thriller Series, it was completed in 2015.

Book preview

Before You Start Grab

The complimentary prequel

Oxford Murder

Suzie knows she does not deserve affection. Friendship is impossible and love, well someone wanting HER is just laughable.

Suzie’s unbending principles soon draw her into trouble. Prepared to fight the world unaided she finds she is not alone. But do her allies have their own agendas?

Believing a missing girl has met with violence, Suzie seeks the guilty. She becomes embroiled with a spy network, in attempting to penetrate their evil, she falls foul of the police.

Suzie watches a vengeful gang member kill her ally, will she die not knowing Suzie really did call her friend?

Click for your Complementary Copy

INDEX

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

About the Author

Oxford Murder

Boxed Set

Angel Murders

Wood Smoke Murders

Copyright

Chapter One

Proloque - Friday 17th October

The figure clad in black leather merged with the shadows. The leather was not an affectation or a fashion statement but a necessity, a motorbike stood around the corner, ready for a quick escape.

Gus McLean was in for a surprise, as a Gangland patriarch, he would expect to feel safe in his own home. The leather clothed Intruder cared nothing for McLean's reputation or expectations it was information they were seeking.

All entry routes, though well researched had changed. The weak night latch on the scullery door was no more, replaced by a high end lock. As was the lock to the coal cellar which would have given access to the rear of the property. Gus had upgraded his security since the reconnaissance.

Keen ears could have picked up a grunt of frustration, keener ears would have heard a laugh. The figure stood back from the wall, an upper window was open, it was the daughter's room. She didn't share her father's paranoia.

The downspout was a highway for the Intruder who on gaining the desired window removed a device, from a generous pocket and installed it on the outside of the window. The device winked with a friendly green light.

With the alarm disabled, leather boots landed inside the house.

Gus' preference was to offer no violence to women, this made the feral gangster a pussy in his own house. His wife, who ruled the roost, had the common sense to only challenge him when they were alone. If she disrespected him in company Gus would ignore his preference. She had learned this with only one black eye.

His face displayed an uncharacteristic grin, he could watch the soccer without interruption. His daughter had won tickets to a concert, they were for Elena and Connie McLean so that got rid of both women. A rare event.

He heard a footfall behind him, his gun appeared from nowhere. Despite his speed the Intruder was quicker they tapped his gun arm in the direction it was traveling. He could not bring the gun to bear. Then with a graceful strike hit his solar plexus with a fist bent at the middle knuckle giving an ax shape striking surface. The nerves which ran through the plexus spasmed and Gus hit the floor like a bag of moldy potatoes.

All the fight had gone out of Gus, his only concern was to breathe. The Intruder knelt at his head and compressed his Carotid sinus, Gus lapsed into unconsciousness. Freed from his panic his body induced enough oxygen despite the temporary nerve damage.

The Intruder was small, no bigger than five two and Gus was almost six and a half feet and not thin. Despite the disparity, ultra strength nylon cable ties soon constrained him in a sturdy chair.  Around his wrists, above his elbows; around his ankles and above the knees. He was going nowhere.

Still wearing a crash helmet the Intruder sat and waited. It didn't take long for Gus to recover he took in the situation. A little rat of man had easily beaten him.

You are so fucking dead...

The tirade which followed was impressive, a litany of threats and penalties delivered with such a variety of expletives that repeats were unnecessary. While this string of invective filled the space of the room, the Intruder found two glasses to match a bottle of wine which lay open to air.

... I will castrate you, you little runt and shove your balls up your arse!

The Intruder unfastened the crash helmet.

You'll find that difficult, the voice though deep was mellifluous and female.

That explained his assailants size and grace, Gus thought.

So, you want me to kill you? she said.

Gus could no longer talk, his mouth formed a perfect circle. When he thought about this moment in his life, he still could not decide what frightened him the most. The dispassionate way she dismissed his life, the calm tone in which she used, or that it was a woman who beat him. Or maybe, he thought, it was her mischievous smile. A sign he took to mean, she would enjoy killing him.

According your threats as soon as I let you go you will kill me. So if I am to believe you my only choice is not to let you go.

Gus found his missing bluster, You can't just waltz in here and do this, he nodded at his bonds. Do you know who I am?

She ignored him and poured two glasses of wine. She spotted a nest of steak knives, pulling it over next to the glasses, she pulled one of the vicious serrated blades from the block.

How about we assume neither of us are idiots?

She stepped into him, had there been room for him to recoil he would have. Maintaining eye contact she plunged the blade down, severing the cable tie holding his left wrist. Stepping back she returned the blade to the block and handed him a glass of wine.

You've just sold a company for billions, it makes the proceeds of crime look very shabby.

She raised her eyebrow, he took the invitation and continued.

Suzie Hyde, that's who you are, Suzie Hyde.

He smiled enjoying his minor victory until she handed him a business card with all her contact details.

I asked for an interview via one of your minders, his refusal was very eloquent. Just think, if he'd had manners this approach would have been unnecessary.

Very opportunistic, this is the first night I have been alone for months.

Connie and Elaine are at a Royal Blood concert. It's Elaine's favorite music duo. The boys look tasty, from a teenager's eyes, they can sing too, she said.

He sipped his wine and nodded, she had provided the tickets.

OK, let's not treat each other as idiots, he agreed.

He had read of her in his daughter's nerdy tech magazines, she was rarely off the front page.

Are you over your fit? she asked.

Again he sipped his wine, he nodded.

I haven't disrespected you with witnesses. So, if I let you go you will slice and dice me?

No.

If I let you go will you answer all my questions truthfully?

This one took longer, had it not been for that quirky smile he would have considered her incapable of murder. She'd also succeeded in business, in an area where they took no prisoners. He concluded that she was a real threat, he'd answer but she wouldn't know the truth from a donkey.

OK.

She grabbed a steak knife and threw it at him, it severed the cable tie holding his right hand.

You won't assume that I am defenseless will you?

The corner of his eyes creased, he liked her style.

No, I won't!

Suzie grabbed another steak knife she walked behind the chair and cut the remaining ties as if she had no worries in the world. She then turned her back on him and walked to her chair.

So I pass?

She smiled, unlike the other one it reached her eyes.

For the moment.

Well, what do you want to know?

You booked into the Royal Hotel in Portree the week my father died. Did you have anything to do with his death?

Suzie had built a program to crunch data around her father's death. She was about to give up, having chased every stream of information irrespective how insignificant, to no avail. When Angus McLean had showed up on a recently digitized hotel register. Her program identified him as a criminal figure. This lead was a bright light of a fading star, her data had been overused, it was tired, there was nothing left after this. She realized that this was making her more gung-ho than usual.

The Isle of Skye in 1997, yes I was there and no, I had nothing to do with your Dad's death.

What do you know about it?

Nothing.

She removed a knife and played with it.

That's not true, I'll ask you again. What do you know about it?

Suzie was a superb flat reader. Truth had intrigued her since her teen years at Oxford University. She had gained a PhD at the London School of Economics with a thesis on truth. Suzie had even written a best selling book 'The Truth Bubble'.

No, that's the truth!

The thunk of the knife scared him more than the proximity of the blade to his neck. He moved away from the sharp edge as the knife quivered in the chair. He stood and pulled it from the woodwork, walked to the counter and placed it in front of her.

Why do you want to know?

"Someone killed my dad, it's time for retribution.

1997?

I've been busy, now I have time.

He retook his seat and smiled his business was his business. Then he stiffened. Suzie saw his reaction and pulled three knives from the block and lay them on the counter in front of her.

FUCK YOU! You used my daughter.

Suzie just raised an eyebrow.

She's applied for one of your tech scholarships, he shouted, spittle spraying from his mouth.

She'll get it too, she's talented.

He deflated as quickly as he'd blown up.

So you didn't lure her to get to me?

No, but I would have thought it was an occupational hazard? Why would I need your daughter when I can walk straight in anytime despite your security? But...

She pulled a series of photographs from her pocket and passed them to him. She picked up the knife he had returned and toyed with it, this was the dangerous part.

Despite her alertness her mind wandered, she knew she was at the end of the road she needed a better source of data. Then it hit her like a blinding light, The Metropolitan Police, access to the National crime database, even Interpol. She could convert her scrappy data program into a commercial product. Before she could ponder further Gus' color showed he was close to apoplexy.

He had scanned the photos of himself in vulnerable positions, then those of Connie but when he got to the photos of his daughter, he was ready to kill.

I studied the modus operandi of Morry Morrison, that's what he would do when working on a target.

Morry is bloody expensive!

Money concerns me little, I am seeking justice.

Is this a threat? he spat.

I would be silly to leave myself vulnerable.

Have you let a contract?

Only if I die.

He nodded, it was what he would have done in a similar situation. This little waif of a girl owned him. He couldn't kill her, he would have to co-operate and negotiate.

It was a real holiday, I had no criminal meetings, but I had a drink with Hammy Hamilton-

You mean Hamish Hamilton a little thug from Inverness, Suzie interrupted.

She had already spoken to him. He blamed the Russian mob by a long line of twisted logic.

The Russian mob? she asked.

He nodded, suppressing his surprise.

Yes, but I also saw Vlad Smith. He was taking contracts on behalf of the mob... Vlad, it could be the Russians?

How can I find Vlad Smith?

He shrugged and sipped his wine. Her overworked eyebrow rose again.

They found him diced into one inch cubes.

Definitely him?

Yes one hand and his head was intact, whoever julienned him wanted him identified.

Her ray of hope disappeared. She turned inward. He interrupted her introspection.

How do I negotiate the release of your contract?

Suzie's focus returned, she would need to penetrate the Police databases. Thinking about what her program would make possible she offered a sage piece of advice.

If the Police had my program, the one I used to find you, gang crime would pretty much be dead.

He didn't dismiss her statement, Why? he asked.

There are too many insecure ends. So many people on the periphery whose only concern is themselves, they are not close enough to feel important. Like a loose thread, pull them and the garment unravels.

Will you give your program to the police?

Let's say they'll be using it by early next year.

He took another sip. It was his turn to raise an eyebrow.

I've researched your legitimate businesses they are being held back by their links to crime, without all the secrecy you could fund them properly. The profits would make the proceeds of crime look very shabby, she said repeating his earlier statement.

And if I was to go legit?

I would not renew the contract at the anniversary.

So I have to keep you safe for a year, do you do this often?

He held up his wrists, which still showed the marks of cable ties.

Suzie shook her head and said simply, I am seeking justice.

Chapter Two

David & Suzie - Tuesday 12th May

Assistant Commissioner David Dury, gave a satisfied sigh, he was looking forward to his next visitor. He thought he would enjoy skiting with an old friend, about his achievements.

He had more than traveled the fast lane he had surfed it.  David was not yet out of his thirties but there was only one position between him and the top job at the Metropolitan Police. His rank as Assistant Commissioner was on a par with the Chief Constable of the smaller forces but for him the Met was the only Police force that mattered.

His new lavish office on the Yards executive floor would be ready for him soon. His temporary office on the sixth floor of the Victoria Street building was acceptable.

He pushed away from his desk and walked to the window, although not large, he had a fantastic view down Abbey Orchard Street, right down to Old Pye Street then onto Perkin's Rents. This area was London's worst slum. Charles Dickens had called the area 'The Devil's Acre' and the name stuck.

David liked history, he would imagine as he stared out on this notorious area, how policing had preceded the renewal which had taken place in Victoria's reign. It reminded him why he had become a policeman, before an area can develop, the people must feel safe.

He viewed the safety of the populace as the principal aim of policing. He stared out of the window pondering these thoughts until a flash of yellow caught his eye. Even from a distance, the classic lines of a Triumph Thruxton were unmistakable. He grabbed his binoculars, from the credenza by the window, he recognized the Rider.

The bike stopped at the intersection of Abbey Orchard Road, then sped away when all was clear. Then the front suspension dipped, and the bike veered, just before a pram dribbled onto the road. The mother's attention had drifted to her fractious her older child.

The swerve succeeded the pram survived, but it looked as if the Rider would be unable to regain control of the bike. A building was being renovated, the part built scaffold posed a serious threat to the Rider. Uncapped ends of the partly built scaffold, were spears.

He had a sudden image of a crashed bike and an impaled body. Just when a collision seemed inevitable, the rear tire smoked and with a foot down, the Rider doughnut'd the bike around washing off all the speed. Back in control, the Rider continued the turn and parked the bike between the now stationary pram and any potential oncoming traffic.

The Rider hopped off the bike, wheeled the pram off the road, to the distraught mother. So fast had these events unfolded that the mother hadn't moved.

With the handle of the pram firm in her grasp, she dropped to her knees, her emotions unable to keep track of the events. She was still living in the -what could have beens- rather than acknowledging that the danger had already passed.

The mother looked up, the Rider helped to her feet. She folded the motorcyclist into a clumsy embrace. The Rider accepted the bodily contact as thanks, patted the mothers back and walked back to the bike. With a Hollywood wave, the Rider regained the bike, spun it around and motored away. The speed at which the bike exited the scene, was not within the speed limit. Clearly, there was adrenaline to wash off. The bike turned right onto Victoria St. David followed its progress as it turned left into Dean Farrar Street, he presumed to park in the Met's car park off Dacre Street.

If he was right about the Rider's style and skill, his visitor would be here soon.

He put the binoculars back into the top draw of the cadenza regained his desk, he put his head in his hands. Vicariously felt the emotion of the event he had observed, the image of his friend hanging pierced by an uncapped scaffold pole had the adrenaline flowing. He induced a meditative state, to help dispel both the adrenaline and the thought of not just a gored body but the gored body of a friend. 

Within minutes there was a perfunctory knock on his door, he looked up as his PA ushered in his guest.

Professor Hyde is here sir, she said.

He held out his arms. Suzie, he said, scanning his eyes top to bottom over her attire, you are looking... nice?

She avoided his arms.

Don't you raise your eyebrows at me. I made an effort by not wearing leathers and I found a blouse, just because you are a prude.

Jeans on a bike? he countered.

They are Kevlar, Draggin C-Evo's, even got knee and hip armor, thank you for your concern!

Let me guess, you ride a yellow Triumph Thruxton?

Her eyes widened, but she suppressed her surprise with a non-committal, Yep.

Did anything eventful happen on your way here?

She crinkled her nose and shook her head.

Nothing about a pram?

She looked over his shoulder at the window, realizing he would have had a grandstand view of the incident.

Gees haven't you got anything better to do than look out of windows?

You seemed to brake before the danger, even then I thought the pram was a goner. You moved towards it first.

I did, it's called counter steering, you steer the wrong way to make the bike fall over in the direction you want to swerve in. It allows quick evasive action. She smiled, I tried to teach you, but you kept falling off, remember?

Yes I do. his eyes went up to the left, he was enjoying a memory.

You were the best thing my sister ever brought home.

She likes fixing broken things.

Broken?

I was sixteen, a girl alone in an adult world, hardly old enough to engage with my peers, yet your sister and wife were there for me.

I found you engaging!

You thought I was your younger brother, I could ride both bikes and horses better than you and even out-shoot you. I even recall beating you up.

Hmm... If I'd known you were a martial artist, I would have avoided physical contact. If you had been older, I would have quite fancied you.

So you say, superstar. Nice office.

She had defused all the things he had wanted to skite about, in one quick dismissive statement and by the smile on her face she knew it. 

Suzie you are so quick, you are dangerous, he said.

A quick rap on the office door heralded David's PA, who entered with a tray.

Where would you like it? she said.

Ah... thanks Deanne, on the side table please. Can you deal with all potential interruptions, at least for the next half hour.

Deanne smiled her consent as she left.

He turned to Suzie.

Long Macchiato, if I remember. I even found those Australian biscuits you like... Tim Tams.

Been to The Strand on my behalf? she said.

Let's say someone did. Sit, enjoy.

Even banter stops for Tim Tams, she said.

She sat and enjoyed. The silence was comfortable, a sign of their friendship.

He studied her as she bit off both ends of the chocolate coated biscuit. Suzie was an enigma, for someone who could hold their own with anyone, she had a quality that allowed her to fade into the background. She was female yet displayed little femininity, her Kevlar jeans cut for women, but revealed little. The garment she called a blouse was asexual in the extreme, like a man's shirt.  Even on the odd occasion he had seen her dress formally, she wore clothes that were expensive and sometimes stylish but they were not allowed to show off her curves. Which he knew she had, or at least she did, when she was younger. Her hair was mousy brown worn in a ponytail which accentuated her long nose. He was thinking she gave the world an androgynous dowdy -I'm not important- appearance,  when she looked at him.

With a twinkle in her eye, she used the biscuit which she'd bitten the ends off, as a straw. The hot coffee melted the caramel chocolate between the biscuit layers and delivered a caramel sweet, coffee hit. She raised an eyebrow at him. She was not dowdy, her smile, full of mischief, could melt a frozen heart and her grin challenged him. He looked to the door.

Go on live a little, she said.

He bit the ends from his biscuit and sucked up the strong coffee through its layers. Indulging in their Tim Tam feast, they reverted again to comfortable silence.

Finishing her coffee she looked at him.

Elizabeth not talking to you?

A brief crease appeared between his eyes, he stared at his cup.

Mmm... was his only response, eventually he looked up and lifted an eyebrow.

You have a double crease ironed into your French cuff, Elizabeth's good at everything, including ironing.

He looked at his cuff with disapproval.

Things are a little strained, he said, looking away. Him not holding her gaze showed there was much he was missing out.

Sensing the emotion she apologized.

"Sorry, I came here for business but I have so few friends, I have to look after them. Elizabeth is smart; pretty and has the soul of an angel that's why you are still together. I suspect you have been living your own achievements a little too loudly.

With motherhood, her need for stimulation is greater than yours. Although she loves your tribe, she might even view relentless family demands as a trap."

Suzie looked him in the eye.

If you don't help her escape, she may do so by herself.

David appeared deep in thought. 

Would you like me to tell you what you have been arguing about? she concluded.

You already have. I will quote your comments verbatim when she finishes chuckling we'll have a talk.

He sighed, So have you bought any new motorbikes?

He knew talking about bikes, her passion, would take her mind off his marriage.

I know why you want me to talk about bikes, she winked, I wrote the book. 

Even though she knew she was being side-tracked she couldn't help herself. Like David had wanted to skite about his progress, she was always willing to discuss motorbikes.

I have bought three new bikes in Australia, all Isle of Man TT winners. A Manx Norton; an AJS 7R and a Velocette KTT. Her smile said it all.

Why Australia? said David, this seemed like weird behavior even for Suzie.

During her childhood she seldom spent over nine months in one place. Her father was a peripatetic computer consultant, contracted to solve problems which exceeded even the original programmers' ability. The exception was Melbourne where she enjoyed a normal childhood, almost three years in one place.

For my Museum, she said.

You have a Museum... where?

I bought a gravel pit.

She didn't like being quizzed, she stared hard at him until she thought he'd got the message. David  acknowledged the silent communication.

Instead of the interrogation, why don't you tell me. 

I bought a seventy acre ex-gravel pit in Shepperton and have almost finished building the Museum. She held up her hand to stay the interruption, And I've bought an island in the Thames.

How the hell can you afford 70 acres in Shepperton and a bloody island? David asked, unable to contain himself.

"It's in the green belt and its reclaimed land, so no one could get building permissions, so it was only £1m. I got a permit for a Museum because Museums don't fall under the local planning scheme.

The filled land was more of a problem. So I proposed a Rider Training Complex. So many young riders die on the road through inexperience that approval for that came straight from the government.

I also have a tourist grant for the site, we will have a 'TT Experience', where I'll let trained riders, ride the race bikes of the fifties."

David would have been gob smacked, but this was Suzie.

And the Island? he said.

The Island it's called 'Folly Eyot' or D'Oyly Carte Island, but it's a cool place to live... damp too, she added with a smile.

But... the money Suzie? David spluttered.

I sold 'Autonomous Robotics' to Google.

Was your company that good?

She looked at him through her eyebrows, in admonition.

Sure was, she said. The cost of the Island and gravel pit, were less than four weeks interest.

David shook his head, surprised that he was surprised. Suzie was capable of the impossible, or at least, the unlikely.

That reminds me, the other reason I called, was to tell you NOT to sell the shares I gave you. 

After her parents had separated, Suzie had spent most of the University breaks with David's sister Fiona.  Whenever  Elizabeth visited, which was often,  David was sure to be there.  Suzie used her friends as guinea pigs, she had developed an interest in Truth.  She rewarded her long suffering friends with five thousand shares each, in the company was to become Gemini Technologies.

I reckon the lawyers have stuffed up, Suzie continued, they will want to compulsory purchase my remaining 10%. They may be unaware of the shares I gave to you, Elizabeth and Fiona. So they only own 89.9%. So forcing me to sell, they need to buy your shares first. You can sell for £677 per share but NO less.