Goodbye, Mr Sallt

By Milly Reynolds

Forced out of the Police, former maverick Detective Inspector Jack Sallt, still finds himself drawn back into investigating the mysterious disappearance of long standing colleague and friend, Liv Harris.
Continuing to probe privately, Jack begins to uncover links between her disappearance, ongoing Police and political corruption, along with the high incidence of missing young women in his new home town.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Milly Reynolds
• Release date: Apr 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463962046

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

The bedroom had been locked from outside. Through the empty keyhole it looked like something heavy had been pushed right up against the door too. Try as she might, the door would not budge. Rachel sat down on the bed, wiping her eyes. He had got angry, she understood why. The fault was all hers. Maybe it had been her way of rebelling against his controlling nature. He had always been insecure, acutely aware of how her natural beauty could attract the attention of men. Yet they were a beautiful couple too, or at least that’s how they had been perceived during that last year of the sixth form.

It was only a few hours ago, one of those boozy girls’ nights he’d always hated her taking part in. This particularly good looking guy, probably a couple of years her senior, had asked her to dance. Within seconds they were kissing on the dance floor. Later, in the middle of the night in his nondescript flat, she’d run to the toilet to be sick. The naked male on the other side of the bed slept through it all, never even realising she had got dressed and left well before first light. Evidently, someone must have told her boyfriend within hours, a fact she could not deny. His anger soon grew to bitterness, a blazing row in his bedroom. She now found herself a prisoner, minus her mobile phone. Rachel was scared, she’d never seen him quite like this. Whilst she didn’t expect forgiveness, she had thought she might at least be safe from violence and injury.

Where he had gone she wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t be far away. Perhaps he was cooling off outside, or having a drink downstairs. The house was empty, it stood alone on the outskirts of town. His parents were on holiday skiing in Austria, his older sister out for the day. No amount of banging and shouting had brought anyone to her rescue. She went over to the drawers, catching a glimpse of her face in the mirror on the wall. Stepping back, she paused in front of it. Her eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot, a face as pale as a ghost’s against her auburn locks. Opening the top drawer, she rummaged around for something, anything to protect herself. He might be back at any moment, ranting and raging, capable of doing anything. At the back of the drawer she felt something cold and smooth. A Swiss Army knife lay in the palm of her hand. It was not a big item but something she might conceal in her hand. Pulling out a blade, once again she sat on the edge of the bed, waiting and shivering with fear.

Chapter One

Twenty years later.

Jack was walking back home through the town centre as the meagre winter light was fading. The town was almost empty now, too empty for late Friday afternoon. Not even the recent January sales could create any feel good factor. It seemed that nothing could blow away the post Christmas blues. Nevertheless, he was in profit for the week from his various gambling ventures, and he’d even won a few pounds on a scratch card.

Approaching the old town bridge, his left knee was beginning to give him some gip on the modern cobblestone surface. He’d been sitting down for far too long that afternoon at the bookies. These days both knees were a problem, no amount of rest or exercise could relieve the stiffness and pain. Alcohol might bring a minor respite, though he didn’t like to resort to pills. Standing outside the front door of his terraced house, he fixed himself a roll up and began to smoke, walking back along the short paved pathway to the front gate. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe he was here, in this two hundred and fifty year old house along the old river. He was leaning on the gate when he heard the rounded vowels of a southern voice approaching. Peering out along the pavement to his right, a briskly walking male in a long dark coat was approaching, a mobile phone pressed against his right ear. Any conversation this man had been having was promptly curtailed when he saw Jack’s bald head sticking out from behind the line of the hedge. Jack retreated, heading back along the path to the front door. Evidently, despite the town being worn at the edges, it was still a draw for some carpetbaggers from outside. Not a bad thing, he thought. Someone had to bring new money to the town, even if it was for selfish gain. Jack knew as much from conversations he’d had with various people over the last few months. The circumstances which had drawn Jack Sallt to this backwater, however, were far more complicated.

They were ordering drinks at the bar when Neal Tallboys wandered in on that freezing Friday evening. Invariably he made a good impression with the ladies. He had money as well as dark good looks. Such a combination was a somewhat rare commodity, especially in these parts. The only people with money seemed to be farmers with hundreds of acres, whilst any good looking male in his right mind would have surely escaped from this town before passing his teens. One of the girls must have spotted him, she nudged another and instantly there was a couple of seconds of pregnant silence as five or six pairs of eyes were focusing on him, the alpha male. They were standing open mouthed as he sauntered smoothly towards them. He knew the giggles would soon follow. And they did.

Barman, a drink for all the girls here, please.

He winked at them, leaving forty pounds before the young bartender. The gangly young male looked down at the notes as if he had never seen the Queen’s head before. Maybe this was the first time he’d witnessed such a demonstration of largesse.

Then I’ll have a Scotch and soda on the rocks, when you’re ready.

Business actually gave him plenty of time for pleasure. The two were inseparable, inextricably linked. He was a good delegator, head-hunted his underlings well, paid them over the odds to ensure their loyalty and ultimately, their silence. Being based in North London with various properties and some big building projects scattered about in the sticks, he’d first visited the town about five years ago and quite liked it; so he invested in it by buying two properties. He still wasn’t that well known in these parts, except to those who mattered in the mutual interest stakes - certain council members who were always on the lookout to cash in. In time, his North London based company became involved in a couple of big local projects, but even so he tried to restrict his presence. Still, he preferred it to that other small town in Norfolk where a similar project was at last not far off completion. The ex-army big-wig over there made him feel uncomfortable.

Here, in little Walney, he felt the balance was better. The way he played it, by making irregular appearances, made him stand out socially. Equally, he could quickly disappear behind the four walls of one of his two houses in town. On the face of it they were ordinary looking properties, places where the local hoi-polloi might hang out. And there was always a ready excuse for a trip here, a diversion, to escape his clingy wife.

Neal was returning the wallet to his coat pocket when he caught the eye of one of this female troupe. That split second was enough. How had he missed this wondrous creature when he came in? It was like a familiar electric shock which would get his testosterone level going up the scale. It was everything he needed to know - almost. He was hooked, there was only ever going to be one ending. Once the feeling took hold it was his master, overpowering and relentless. The only factor which could possibly scupper ‘the deal’ was the sound of her voice. He simply had to find out as soon as possible. But there was a problem. This girl, possibly young enough to be his daughter, was clearly no floozy, no female out on the town looking to pull. And she was certainly no prostitute from abroad who might simply disappear without anyone really caring, or even noticing. This girl would have a family, friends, probably even a boyfriend; lots of people who would miss her. Nevertheless, he had to find a way, even though it would be risky, dangerous - yet exciting.

He sat down in the corner of the bar. These women were obviously office workers, maybe bank staff. Hearing snippets of their conversation, he soon realised they were estate agents; women of various ages, from twenty to early forties. He began to feel hot under the collar as he regularly glanced across to where they sat just a few metres away. The girl he had singled out had her back to him. There were tried and tested strategies of separating weaker members from the pack and this ‘weakling’ had awakened his deep instinctual predatory needs. He’d already noted the nice ankles, that she was not too tall. She seemed reasonably athletic too, with straight, shoulder length hair verging towards auburn. There was a cool vulnerability about her too. He found this the most engaging, there would be plenty of scope for toying, playing, like the cat with the mouse, before the final act. But he needed to hear that voice. He saw his chance. There was a red beer mat on the floor just behind her. Draining his glass, en route to the bar he made a slight detour. He scooped up the beer mat and placed it beside her on the table.

Here, you might need this.

The girls suddenly fell silent again, shocked by his masculine presence towering above them. She looked up, smiling at him with cool blue grey eyes. Although singled out amongst the group, there seemed no trace of fear, no dilation of the pupils.

That’s very kind of you.

Somehow he managed to walk the remaining distance to the bar, his heart pounding as if he’d run a hundred metres flat out. The huskiness in that voice, it had almost cut him in two. She was perfect. Such girls just never realised the power they had. Ultimately, they would become empty, silent vessels, where once they had been full of life. In nature he wouldn’t have had to wait. Ridiculous social etiquette prevented the fulfillment, the instant gratification of the male instinct. Though the hunter was severely wounded, almost lame, with need, he knew he couldn’t rest until this young beast had been brought down. But how? It was a challenge he knew he had to meet.

Checking his watch, it was half past twelve in the morning. He was approaching his home along the terrace, feeling exhausted and devastated. His coat was undone but he didn’t feel the cold. For once he felt useless, powerless before that impenetrable barrier of oestrogen. He was empty handed. Following that pack of girls to the club had brought him no reward. Hiding in corners, looking for opportunities, he had stalked her patiently, an invisible presence. Strength in numbers had proved to be the best defence in nature once again. Nothing could separate the weakling from the pack, their determination to enjoy Friday night. The hunter always had to work alone, disguise his presence and identity until the opportune time. This time the prey had survived to live another day.

Kicking open the gate to his property, he was oblivious to the black car parked a few metres up the road. The occupant, sitting in the rear seat, took note of the time, hitting the name of a contact on a phone.

Chapter Two

Jack Sallt stood outside the bookies that sunny Saturday morning rolling a cigarette. February had arrived and winter was showing no sign of abating. Jigging around a little to generate some heat, he figured the temperature was still barely above freezing. That morning he’d just put a fleece on over the top of his shirt before leaving home. A jumper and coat might have been more appropriate. He could also have done with a beanie hat to cover his cleanly shaven head. Being Saturday, the town was quite busy, a vegetable stall and a fishmonger were set up close by in their usual places with lots of local banter going on. Gary, a betting shop buddy, was weaving his way through the crowd toward Jack, confident in step and looking pretty dapper in a long black coat.

You look freezing, Jack.

Yup, my knees are killing me out here. That’s the price you pay for being a smoking sinner, I suppose.

Well, I guess it’s one sin that I don’t partake in.

Gary went inside, leaving Jack staring at the approach of a scruffy young woman from the other direction through the various stalls. She would always enter the marketplace during the late morning, carrying her few belongings in a filthy bag slung over her right shoulder. They said she wanted to go back home to the Czech Republic, but always refused financial help to do so. Usually she found a place to sleep in one of the shop front recesses, covered by a duvet and cardboard boxes.

Jack lit up, shivering against the brick wall. He was anticipating the middle-aged manager of the café in the marketplace making an appearance. Invariably he would take out a hot drink, perhaps a sandwich for the homeless girl. It was a fine piece of charity, Jack supposed, a little tableau repeated most days of the week. He wondered if the manager paid for the food and drink himself, or found other ways to put it through the business. He had visions of local police officers asking questions, moving the girl on, although he had never witnessed it himself. He was highly suspicious of those in authority now, most of whom he rabidly despised. Jack watched the young vagrant standing by a brick wall unassumingly, realising that he too had the power to help her. He had a spare room, money to pay for her fare back home. Jack had too much and she had virtually nothing, yet he couldn’t reasonably invite her to stay. What would people say, the neighbours? Charity had its limits.

As Jack turned to go back inside, Gary passed him on the way out, the door making a heavy creaking sound as it shut. That was quick, Gary. Where’s the fire?

Gary Speight was doing up his smart black coat against the cold. Yeah, the horses will have to wait today. I can’t tell you what I’m doing or you might have me arrested.

Jack looked at his eyes, trying to assess the seriousness of Gary’s statement. "Even if I could, would