Six Feet Under

By Colin Garrow

A murder victim, a deserted airfield, a sinister project. Can Terry untangle the mystery before someone else dies?

Asked to investigate the death of a building contractor, taxi-driver and amateur sleuth Terry Bell thinks the dead man’s widow may be wasting her money. But when the trail leads to an old airfield and a brace of brutal thugs, he begins to wonder what they’re trying to hide. Tracking down one of the builder’s former workmates, Terry finds him unwilling to answer questions. When the man is beaten up, the canny cabbie gets a visit from his favourite detective inspector. But DI Charis Brown and her latest sidekick seem determined not to get involved. Until the man is attacked again...

In this murder/mystery series set on England's northeast coast, Six Feet Under is book #4 in the Terry Bell Mystery series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Colin Garrow
• Release date: Oct 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005799274

Colin Garrow

Colin Garrow grew up in a former mining town in Northumberland. He has worked in a plethora of professions including: taxi driver, antiques dealer, drama facilitator, theatre director and fish processor, and has occasionally masqueraded as a pirate. All Colin's books are available as eBooks and most are also out in paperback, too. His short stories have appeared in several literary mags, including: SN Review, Flash Fiction Magazine, Word Bohemia, Every Day Fiction, The Grind, A3 Review, 1,000 Words, Inkapture and Scribble Magazine. He currently lives in a humble cottage in North East Scotland where he writes novels, stories, poems and the occasional song.

Book preview

Six Feet Under

By Colin Garrow

Distributed by Smashwords

Copyright © 2020 Colin Garrow

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Contents

Glossary

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Excerpt

Geordie Glossary

Author’s Note

Other Books by this Author

Connect

About the Author

Geordie Glossary

Ah – I: Ah’m gannin (I’m going)

Iz – me: Leave iz alone (Leave me alone)

Doon – Down: Tek it doon (Take it down)

Divvent – Don’t/do not: Divvent touch iz (Don’t touch me)

Gan/gan on – Go/go away

Hadaway – Go away. Also used as a demonstration of disbelief: Hadaway an’ shite. (You’re talking rubbish)

Marra - pal, mate

Morn - tomorrow (the morn's morn - tomorrow morning)

Telt – Told: Ah telt ye (I told you)

Chapter 1

Why do bad things always happen on a Friday?

As an old friend of mine used to say, the day had been a crock of crap from arsehole to breakfast time. Torrential rain and the promise of thunder on waking up that morning, left me in no doubt that a forty-mile-round-trip wasn’t a good idea. But time is money, as some boring fart once said, so I told myself to get on with it and stop complaining. In any case, the journey wouldn’t take much more than half an hour each way, and if the story turned out to be true, I needed to know for sure.

Thunder came and went, but the rain persisted. Standing by the window in the flat I shared with Carol, I congratulated myself for having the sense to take another day off from taxi driving—shitty weather’s bad enough, but shitty weather and whinging punters would tip the balance the wrong way. By late afternoon, it became obvious the dull grey clouds had no intention of moving on, so grabbing my keys and my old Parka, I headed downstairs.

Once I hit the A1, the traffic thinned out—sensible people were staying indoors. By the time I turned onto the last stretch of road that led to my destination, the sky had taken on a nice shade of murky with a touch of gloom. The narrow lane and overhanging trees made it difficult to see the entrance to the old airfield, forcing me to slow right down so as not to miss it completely.

Swinging into the entryway, I parked next to a wide metal gate. With my hood up, I climbed out of the car and splashed across to the fastening that held the gate shut, but a loop of chain and a hefty padlock told me I wouldn’t be getting through this way anytime soon.

I’d no option but to walk, so locked the car and checked up and down the lane. No-one around. Not that it mattered—wasn’t as if I intended doing anything illegal. My phone confirmed it had just gone four o’clock, though from the state of the sky, it could easily have been the middle of the night.

The five-bar gate blocked the road but left enough room on either side for a medium-sized amateur sleuth to slide through. On the other side, I stood gazing down the cracked track. Years ago, one of the smaller sites—further up the road—had been the domain of bikers every weekend, as they raced each other down a quarter-mile stretch before the track veered off to the right. Before the bikers found it, the place had been used to train air gunners during World War Two. More recently, this main airfield had come into use as a site for car boot sales, the long runways perfect for lines of cars and hopeful sellers with their displays of household goods, second-hand clothes, and other shite.

Tranwell Woods bordered the airfield on one side, encroaching over the handful of old wartime buildings that still nestled here and there among the trees and along the fringes of the runways. Trees and shrubs had also spung up between the runways, giving the impression it had always been that way. From the entrance track I couldn’t see anything resembling what Lennie had described, but according to the map he’d given me, it ought to be about a hundred yards down and over to the left, close to the trees.

The rain finally let up a little. Pushing my hood back, I started towards the x-marks-the-spot point Lennie had marked on the map.

Reaching the fork in the weed-infested road, I stood for a moment staring up and down the runways and the areas closest to the trees, searching the ground for any sign of a man-made structure. Fifty or so yards over to the left, I could make out the outline of a long-forgotten shed, its remaining walls overgrown with weeds and ivy. According to Lennie, the hatch had been near the ruins of one of the old sheds. But he’d been adamant it lay on the fringes of the woods, on the edge of the old concrete road. And anyway, no-one in their right mind would consider digging tunnels or anything else in the dense undergrowth. No. It had to be out on the track. Turning slowly around in a full circle, I surveyed the remains of the airfield stretching away to the south and east.

I walked along the left-hand road as it curved around to the right, but there were no signs of anything other than occasional piles of household rubbish dumped by people who couldn’t be bothered to traipse along to the Council tip. Gazing around, I wondered if Lennie had got it wrong. He wasn’t the brightest spark, but I’d taken him at his word. Even knowing what I did about the BMW, I couldn’t imagine the whole story would be a lie.

Facing the woods again, I forced my way through the brush, hands stretched out, pushing away spindly snake-like creepers. Ducking down to avoid an overhanging branch, I straightened up again. And that’s when something fist-shaped came out of left field and collided with the side of my head.

As I fell backwards, a patch of blue sky appeared high above me. The sight of it might’ve brought a smile to my face if the owner of the fist hadn’t chosen that moment to deliver a hefty kick to my ribs. A grunt from behind made me twist round as I hit the earth. The hooded figure of a man loomed over me, muttering words that made no sense. As I opened my mouth to say something, the boot zoomed in for another go and everything went black.

A Few Days Earlier…

To taxi drivers, Tuesday is the day to stay at home, the day you really don’t want to be working, the day you won’t be making any money. Of course, it doesn’t only apply to cabbies—any business dependent on actual people to turn an honest buck, recognises that Tuesday is a waste of time. Which is why my boss wasn’t put out when I told him I wouldn’t be coming in the next day.

Ken didn't bother to look up. ‘Oh aye? Off solvin another murder, are ye?’

I watched him tapping one-fingeredly at his keyboard, glaring at each letter as if it were about to leap out at him.

‘No, just have to go to a meetin with our Jessie. Could be a long haul.’

Ken sniffed, hit ‘enter’ and swivelled round to look at me. ‘She’s back, then?’

My sister had performed a disappearing act for several months, following the carry-on with her husband’s dodgy dealings. Building-site backhanders had dropped him in the brown stuff along with Big Ronnie and his people-smuggler pals, prompting the police to insist David help them with their enquiries. The last I heard, he’d done the decent thing and moved to Wales. Jessie’s own arrest for ‘assault with an empty bottle of Pinot Grigio’, had fizzled out and she’d escaped with a caution. Given my own involvement in bringing about the end of her marriage, it came as no surprise when she stopped speaking to me.

‘She’s selling the business.’ I shrugged. ‘Not sure why she needs to involve me.’

‘Keeping it in the family, I expect.’ His mouth took a downward turn. ‘At least ye’ve still got family…’

Here we go again. ‘Ken…’ I started.

But he’d lost interest. ‘So long as ye’re back on Wednesday.’ He swivelled back to the keyboard and resumed tapping.

Backing out of the office, I closed the door and sidled over to Carol’s desk. She grinned at me and stuck a finger on the mic button.

‘Car three. Are you clearin at the North Sea? Got a pick-up for you.’

A burst of static came over the airwaves, followed by a mumbling in the affirmative.

‘Call me when you’re free.’ She leaned back and folded her arms. ‘Well?’

‘Got tomorrow off. I’m seein our Jess in the mornin, so if ye’re still okay to knock off early, we could…’ I made a little jiggy-jiggy movement with my hips.

Carol slid her tongue along her lower lip. ‘If you’ve got the time, pet, I’ve got the inclination.’

I left the office with several springs in my steps. I did a couple more jobs from the town rank, then dropped back at the office to pick up Carol. Ten minutes later we were home, a pizza in the oven, wine in the fridge and a re-run of The Bridge on telly, before retiring to bed for some extra-curricular activities.

Perfect.

The next day, I lay in bed propped up on one elbow, watching Carol getting ready for work. Even in her faded jeans and an old tee-shirt, she looked fantastic. I reached over to give her bum a squeeze, but she slapped my hand away.

‘Naughty. Better get a shave and that before seein your Jessie. You know what she’s like.’

‘Yes, Mother.’

She sat on the bed and kissed me. ‘And don’t let her walk all over you. And don’t agree to anythin ye don’t want to do. And don’t—’

‘Aye, man. I know.’

After she’d gone, I grabbed the paperback from the floor where I’d left it and read another couple of chapters. Why is it that so many good guys in crime novels are flawed to the point of absurdity?

An hour later, I deemed myself presentable and headed off to see my sister.

Jessie's house lay on the nicer side of town, where the accountants and wankmanagers lived. A gated community, Tudor Grange boasted spotless driveways and manicured hedges. Parking my Nissan Crappy round the side of the house, I noted the garden had retained its Capability Brown image. Not being given to the intricacies of horticulture herself, Jessie must’ve hired a gardener to look after things while she’d been away.

The door flew open as I reached for the bell.

'About time.'

My sister never said hello.

I followed her into the kitchen—the room Jessie favoured whenever I came to visit.

‘You’ll want coffee?’

‘Please.’

She spent a minute or two fiddling with the machine, fingers twitching in a way that suggested she might be agitated. To be fair, there weren’t many times when Jessie wasn’t agitated.

Finally, she switched it on and turned to face me. ‘Right.’

‘Right.’

She studied the floor tiles, twitchy fingers tapping on the workbench. ‘So, what it is…’

I tried to look interested.

‘What it is… I’ve had an offer for the business.’

‘David’s agreed to sell, then?’

She snorted. ‘Isn’t fuckin his to sell, is it? He only ran the thing, and didn’t make a very fuckin good job of that.’

I couldn’t help noticing she'd slipped out of her 'posh Geordie' voice and into the working class version. Maybe she’d finally realised it made her sound stupid.

‘No, the business is mine. Always has been.’

‘That’s good.’

‘So, I’ve had an offer for everythin—the yard, the lorries, tools, everythin.’

‘Great.’

She sighed. ‘Aye, it would be, but I can’t get hold of the bloke. They’re not answerin the phone or anythin.’ She paused. ‘One of David’s old workmates told me they’d had some sort of crisis in the family.’

I nodded. ‘Course. You don’t want to hassle them.’

‘No. But I need to know what’s happenin. If they’re still interested, then…’

The coffee machine chugged and the aroma began to permeate around the room.

‘If they are still interested…’

I should’ve seen it coming, but as usual, I didn’t.

‘I thought you might…’

‘Might what?’

‘Thought you might pop round there. You know, have a word, and that.’

‘Oh, Jess. I don’t think I’m the right person to be talkin to a total stranger about a business deal.’

‘No, but…’ She chewed her lip. ‘You’re better at that sort of thing than me. You’re tactful. ‘

Wow. This had to be a first—Jessie handing out compliments.

‘I can give you the emails.’ She started rummaging around in one of the kitchen drawers, pulling out a wad of papers. ‘See, it’s all here. The