Crow Hill: Nathan O'Brian

By Arwyn Yale

She doesn't say a word. She just hands him a piece of paper with the name of a girl who drowned 30 years ago. Detective Inspector Nathan O'Brian just wants to relax in the remote holiday cottage, but then a distraught little girl knocks on his door. 

Crow Hill is a thrilling mystery novel set in rural England. A detective who is trying to take a holiday in the country stumbles into a new case.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Arwyn Yale
• Release date: Apr 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9781547578214

Book preview

1

Her hands grasped the legs of the chair tightly, she lay on her stomach, taking shallow breaths, and peeked between the two plant pots her mother had put there just that morning. She had chosen this as her hiding place. Above her was the table, in front of her the plant pots, and on the right and left an armchair and a dresser. In this house you couldn’t have enough hiding places. Anyway, not when the bad man, as she called him, was drunk again. And he was drinking a lot lately.

Dazzling flashes flickered through the dimly lit room, plunging the furniture momentarily into eerie shadows. Her mother had fallen against the living room lamp after the bad man had slapped her so hard that she had first stumbled against the coffee table and then torn the lamp before falling to the ground, screaming and pleading, holding her hands up protectively in front of her face.

The rumble of thunder swallowed his swearing. Her mother cried out as he kicked her in the stomach.

‘Where is she, bitch?’

‘Not here. Please, leave her alone! Please!’

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as she saw his foot kick out again. He’s going to kill her, this time he’s going to kill her!

‘I'm warning you, Kitty! If you don’t tell me right now - ‘A deafening bang shook the whole house. ‘Shit, the lightning struck close by!’ Somewhere in the back of the house she heard something crackle. She opened her eyes and saw the black boots move towards the hall. Her mother groaned. Without really thinking, the girl ran to her, startled by the pale face. Her eyes were bloodshot. A thread of saliva mixed with blood ran from the corner of her mouth. Her thin body trembled.

‘Go and get me something to write with, quickly.’ Her voice was hardly more than a whisper.

The little girl ran to the dresser where she grabbed a pen and some paper from the drawer.

Holding her breath, she watched as her mother scribbled words awkwardly onto the paper.

‘He's coming back,’ her mother whispered, swallowing hard and holding out the paper to the little girl. ‘Run to the village with it. You need to get to the other side of the forest. Don’t come back, do you hear? Give that to the first person you see. Do you understand? Climb through the broken window I showed you before.‘ Her voice was firm and unusually stern. The girl nodded, but just as she was about to reach for the note, she heard rapid steps coming from the hallway. ‘Run!’ Her mother whispered. The note tore in half as the girl grabbed it and shoved the remaining piece of paper in her pocket, then ran as fast as she could down the stairs to the utility room.

It was pitch black, but she knew where there were obstacles to avoid, where the stairs ended, and where the freezer was. She had to climb on top of it to reach the window. The window was tiny, but led out into the garden. Luckily he didn’t feed her very well, otherwise she probably would not have fit through it.

There were screams from above. She flinched, climbed over the basket of apples that always stood beside the stairs, and climbed onto the freezer. For a moment she stopped and listened. Her mother’s screams became increasingly frequent. Nausea washed over her. He would kill her, and it was because she was hiding. If she went back, he might leave her mother alone. Her trembling hands reached for the window frame. What should I do? What should I do? She inhaled deeply... she had to do what her mother had told her. She had to go and get help. She reached out and touched the glass with her fingertips. Somewhere on the edge there was a huge crack that went almost to the middle. If she pushed in the window, she could get out through the narrow opening. With the next thunderclap, which followed the lightning immediately, she thrust her bare feet against the cold glass. It crunched and cracked, then gave way. She felt a sharp pain on her left toe and something warm running down her ankle, but she had no time to do anything about the bleeding wound. She took the small brush from the shelf above the freezer and removed the remaining pieces of broken glass that might hurt her when climbing out from the window frame. When the lightning flashed again, she slid like a snake through the opening, she pushed herself up from the lawn, and ran into the forest. She knew that the creepy house he had shown her in a photograph was out there somewhere. There, where bad things happened to the children. She knew that she must not go there, she had to get to the other side of the forest.

In spite of the stabbing pain in her left foot, she didn’t dare slow down.

Her breath sent small clouds out into the night sky. It was cold for the end of April, she wore only a sweater and jeans. Again and again branches hit against her face, she could feel bare bushes scratching her cheeks, but she could not slow down. If he saw the broken window in the cellar, he would come after her. And he was so much faster than she was.

Another flash lit up the night sky, but the thunder that followed was gone in seconds. The storm continued. She ran, felt her left foot buckle beneath her, but she ignored both the stitch in her side and the throbbing wound. As the trees cleared, the ground became muddy. Before she had time to react, she slipped in a puddle and skidded sideways to land under a chestnut tree. She heaved herself to her feet, panting heavily. Only now did she realize how totally exhausted she was. Her entire body ached. She pressed against the stitch in her side and straightened out her upper body so that she could breathe more deeply. When she heard a crack behind her, she flinched and ducked behind the thick trunk of the chestnut tee. Holding her breath, she listened in the darkness. The lightning had stopped. Soon she would not even be able to make out her own hand in front of her face.

In the tree opposite, two bright spots were illuminated. Instinctively she put her hand over her mouth to suppress a scream. Then she realized that it had to be an owl, but the fear did not pass. Her knees trembled, her heart raced, and no matter how much air she inhaled, she could not seem to take in enough oxygen.

After a few minutes, she forced herself to move on. There was no point in running, without the lightning, the night was impenetrably black.

2

The Three Bells was right at the entrance to the village, just around a bend. It was an old, two-storey farmhouse with lattice windows and a sloping roof. Nathan O'Brian parked as close to the entrance as he could to try to avoid getting soaked through. It had been pouring down ever since he had turned off the motorway. The streetlamp lights were reflected on the wet asphalt, glowing balls of light. He heard thunder rumble in the distance.

The windows of the pub were steamed up. He could make out dark silhouettes behind them that didn’t seem to be moving. Gravel crunched under the soles of his shoes, and the gentle undulations of the hedgerows as the wind blew through them made an eerie atmosphere seem to exude from the place. The road was deserted, no houses were in sight. A red Mercedes and black Polo were parked at the roadside. Beside the entryway of the pub, a woman’s bicycle lay on the ground.

The babble of voices could be heard through a half-open window along with soft music. The smell of curry filled the air. In a few steps Nathan had made it from the car park into the porch. The heavy oak door squeaked open. A torrent of warm air came towards him as he entered the public bar area. A huge wooden bar ran the length of the room. On the barstools sat two bearded men in checked shirts, next to them were three middle-aged blonde women, they looked somewhat the worse for wear and stared at the newcomer with glassy eyes.

The tables by the window were mostly occupied by older men.

The voices ebbed briefly as he approached the bar. The landlord, a small man with a moustache and a red bow tie around his neck, finished pulling a pint and frowned at him. His face was flushed, he had the bulbous nose of a hardened drinker.

‘Are you here about the cottage?’

‘Yes. I was told to pick up the keys from here. ‘

The landlord nodded, handed the drink to one of the blondes, who, accepted it with a loud giggle and then managed to spill a good portion of it down herself. Her friends shrieked with laughter, then everyone erupted into wild cackling.

The landlord stepped to one side of the bar, opened a drawer, and handed Nathan an envelope. ‘Do you know the way?’

Nathan felt the white envelope and put it in his jacket pocket. ‘Down the road and then turn left I think.’

The landlord grunted and shook his head. ‘No, down the street as far as the yellowish house. Then take the next right. Go straight on, then turn left at the edge of the woods. Do you want something to drink before you go? ‘He picked up an empty beer glass.

Nathan was tempted to accept the offer, but he was tired, his eyes were burning from the long car journey, and he longed for a hot shower and a roaring fire.

‘Thanks, another time.’

As he reached the door someone suddenly tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around; the corners of his mouth formed a smile as he recognized the woman. It was Amy. She was a head shorter than he was, with an oval face with pretty brown eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips. The light brown hair was tied up in a ponytail.

‘Nathan!’ She threw her arms around him. He returned the hug. A delicate fragrance of orchid filled his nostrils. She still used the same perfume.

‘I can’t believe my eyes! What are you doing here? ‘She took a step back, her eyes studying him from top to bottom. He was aware that his hair was a tad too long and already curling behind his ears, but he liked it that way. Would she think that he had changed a lot? She still looked exactly the same. He, however, had gained a bit of weight. But he was more muscular and fit now, not as thin as he had