Authors: Steve Robinson
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Historical, #Mystery & Crime
In the Blood
Copyright © 2011 Steve Robinson
The right of Steve Robinson to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.
The characters in this publication are fictitious.
Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Kindle Edition
Release 1.10
Table Of Contents
For Karen
1803.
Helford Passage, south-west England.
M
awgan Hendry was dying.
If he’d seen it coming then he might have had some chance to prevent it.
As it was, all hope against such sudden and decisive brutality faded into the night with his first laboured breath.
On the river’s inky swell, Cornish fishing boats continued to chatter and creak uneasily, though Mawgan could no longer hear them over the blood pressure drumming in his ears.
He clawed desperately at his neck, drawing skin under his nails, tearing and ripping until his raw flesh burned.
But he could not free himself.
His fists lashed wildly to no effect.
His feet became suddenly weightless, kicking and thrashing in frenzied panic like a crazed marionette until laboured breath became no breath at all and he was still.
A strengthening easterly wind cut into the throat of the Helford River, lashing rain at Mawgan’s startled face, blueing and congested under the dim glow of the jetty lantern.
His eyes grew dark as the empty night, bulging in their sockets as he dropped forcefully to his knees, thumping hard onto wet pontoon boards.
He sensed unconsciousness was moments away and for all his brawn he could not fight it.
Between thumb and forefinger he grasped a silver crucifix that hung loosely from his neck and prayed for deliverance.
But deliver us from evil!
Then a voice whispered in his ear, cold and threatening.
“You know what I’ve come for.”
Mawgan shook his head, jerking his neck in quick, erratic spasms.
At first he couldn’t think, and then he knew.
The box...
Lowenna...
He shook his head again - defiant.
He tried to glimpse the figure bearing down on him, his head uncomfortably close, but the man’s strength restricted him - denied him.
For thine is the kingdom!
“No matter,” the man said.
Mawgan caught the flash of a wry smile teasing at the edge of his assailant’s mouth.
He felt an ear press close to his neck, like the man was listening for something.
Waiting.
Then it came.
As the pressure increased and Mawgan’s hyoid bone fractured, he saw his assailant fully at last as the man forced their faces together.
He saw his eyes narrow, his jaw relax, slowly parting his lips in a moment that seemed akin to some exquisite pleasure, like he was savouring the intimacy, absorbing the delicacy.
And the power, and the glory!
As Mawgan’s heart beat for the last time, he could think only of Lowenna, his love.
The love that was now lost to him.
For ever and ever.
His body went limp, arms dropping heavily to his sides, hands like dead weights.
Amen.
A
ir horns screamed!
The air inside the car resonated, buzzing the dash, forcing Jefferson Tayte’s eyes wide open.
In that same instant he watched his knuckles turn white on the wheel as a rush of adrenalin surged through him - tingling, pulsating; a burst of energy that began at his core and raged violently across his entire body.
He’d never felt more awake than he did right now.
He swerved just in time, narrowly avoiding the eighteen-wheeler that blocked his view - dazzled.
The piercing lights quickly passed.
Behind him, the drone of air horns faded at last with the uncomfortable pounding in his chest.
He took a deep breath and forced it out again, still bolt upright in his seat, still clenching the wheel.
He glanced down at himself; to the straining buttons on his white shirt and the heavy thighs that were tight inside his loose-fit tan linen trousers.
“Gotta shape up, JT,” he told himself.
He reached across to the passenger seat and scooped up an almost empty bag of Hershey miniatures.
Goodbye Mr Goodbar!
he thought as he popped the glovebox and slammed the chocolates inside.
The dim beam of his own antiquated headlights shed a soft glow on the quiet road ahead.
He squinted into the night and ran a clammy hand through the sweat on his brow, pushing his fingers back through a dense crop of dark, unkempt hair.
An approaching road-sign told him he was still heading the right way at least: Boston, Massachusetts - his destination for a meeting he’d hoped to avoid because he knew his bear of a client was not going to be happy with what he had to tell him.