A Place of Execution by Val McDermid EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Val McDermid
- Publish Date: October 27, 2009
- Language: English
- Genre: Fiction, Tragedy, Crime, Thrill
- Format: PDF
- Size: 2 MB
- Pages: 416
- Price: Free
- ISBN:0312644531
Wednesday, 11
th December 1963. 7.53 p.m.
‘Help me. You’ve got to help me.’ The woman’s voice
quavered on the edge of tears. The duty constable who
had picked up the phone heard a hiccuping gulp, as if
the caller was struggling to speak.
‘That’s what we’re here for, madam,’ PC Ron Swindells
said stolidly. He’d worked in Buxton man and boy for the
best part of fifteen years and for the last five, he’d found
it hard to shake off a sense that he was reliving the first
ten. There was, he reckoned, nothing new under the
sun. It was a view that would be irrevocably shattered by
the events that were about to unfold around him, but for
the moment, he was content to trot out the formula that
had served him well until now. ‘What seems to be the
problem?’ he asked, his rich bass voice gently
impersonal.
‘Alison,’ the woman gasped. ‘My Alison’s not come
home.’
‘Alison’s your lass, is she?’ PC Swindells asked, his
voice deliberately calm, attempting to reassure the
woman.
‘She went straight out with the dog when she came in
after school. And she’s not come home.’ The sharp edge
of hysteria forced the woman’s voice higher.
Swindells glanced automatically at the clock. Seven
minutes before eight. The woman was right to be
worried. The girl must have been out of the house near
on four hours, and that was no joke at this time of year.
‘Could she have gone to visit friends, on the spur of the
moment, like?’ he asked, knowing already that would
have been her first port of call before she lifted the
telephone.
‘I’ve knocked every door in the village. She’s missing, I’m
telling you. Something’s happened to my Alison.’ Now
the woman was breaking down, her words choking out in
the intervals between sobs. Swindells thought he heard
the rumble of another voice in the background.
Village, the woman had said. ‘Where exactly are you
calling from, madam?’ he asked.
There was the sound of muffled conversation, then a
clear masculine voice came on the line, the
unmistakable southern accent brisk with authority. ‘This
is Philip Hawkin from the manor house in Scardale,’ he
said.
‘I see, sir,’ Swindells said cautiously. While the
information didn’t exactly change anything, it did make
the policeman slightly wary, conscious that Scardale was
off his beat in more ways than the obvious. Scardale
wasn’t just a different world from the bustling market
town where Swindells lived and worked; it had the
reputation of being a law unto itself. For such a call to
come from Scardale, something well out of the ordinary
must have happened.
The caller’s voice dropped in pitch, giving the impression
that he was talking man to man with Swindells. ‘You
must excuse my wife. She’s rather upset. So emotional,
women, don’t you find? Look, Officer, I’m sure no harm
has come to Alison, but my wife insisted on giving you a
call. I’m sure she’ll turn up any minute now, and the last
thing I want is to waste your time.’
‘If you’ll just give me some details, sir,’ the stolid
Swindells said, pulling his pad closer to him.
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