Gregory's Game, page 1
Table of Contents
Cover
Recent Titles by Jane A. Adams from Severn House
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Epilogue
Recent Titles by Jane A. Adams from Severn House
The Naomi Blake Mysteries
MOURNING THE LITTLE DEAD
TOUCHING THE DARK
HEATWAVE
KILLING A STRANGER
LEGACY OF LIES
SECRETS
GREGORY’S GAME
The Rina Martin Mysteries
A REASON TO KILL
FRAGILE LIVES
THE POWER OF ONE
RESOLUTIONS
THE DEAD OF WINTER
CAUSE OF DEATH
GREGORY’S GAME
A Naomi Blake Novel
Jane A. Adams
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
First published in Great Britain and the USA 2014 by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of
9–15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.
eBook edition first published in 2014 by Severn House Digital
an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited
Copyright © 2014 by Jane A. Adams.
The right of Jane A. Adams to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
Adams, Jane, 1960- author.
Gregory’s game. – (A Naomi Blake mystery; 9)
1. Blake, Naomi (Fictitious character)–Fiction.
2. Murder–Investigation–Fiction. 3. Kidnapping–
Fiction. 4. Ex-police officers–Fiction. 5. Blind women–
Fiction. 6. Detective and mystery stories.
I. Title II. Series
823.9’2-dc23
ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8366-7 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-512-3 (ePub)
Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
This ebook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited,
Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.
PROLOGUE
They had been waiting for him when he came home from work on the Tuesday evening; grabbed him as soon as he came in through the front door. He was aware of two people; thought there might have been a third. He was also aware, sure as he was of his own name, that he was going to die.
He’d told them he didn’t know the answers to their questions. That he hadn’t been involved – hadn’t even been there. Didn’t recognize the names they threw at him, the accusations. At first they’d refused to believe him. Later, when they’d realized he was telling the truth (and how could he not? The pain … the pain was just too much to bear), he realized that they didn’t really care.
No, even after they had realized he was telling the truth and he had finished begging for his life, knowing it wouldn’t do a damn bit of good, they didn’t let him alone.
In truth, he was already too lost in the agony to know what they were asking him, but he would have told them anything by then, had he known it. Anything. And maybe he did.
Had he understood – had he been able to take anything in – he would have been glad that the pair were so inept. That they couldn’t keep him alive. That their expertise was in inflicting pain, not in keeping their subject conscious and breathing. The end came relatively fast; unconsciousness and then death.
They left him hanging there, blood pooling on the kitchen floor. No one had seen them arrive and no one saw them leave. The quiet road, the silent house, all seemed unchanged and as civilized and suburban as it had ever done.
It would be three long days before anyone found him.
ONE
‘So, think of it as a business deal. A partnership if you like.’
‘Junior or senior?’ Gregory had asked, his tone jocular, as though he thought the whole proposition absurd.
‘Equal,’ Nathan said. ‘I could use your skills.’
Gregory shook his head. ‘I think, if you’re planning for the future, you need another kind of skill set, and younger blood. I’m retiring, remember?’
‘So you keep saying.’ Nathan paused and regarded the older man thoughtfully. ‘Do you think you can?’ he asked and Gregory could hear that he was genuinely curious.
‘I don’t know, but I think I’d like to give it a try. What about Annie? What does she think about this?’
‘Annie is busy being a domestic goddess with that husband of hers.’ Nathan smiled and softened any harshness in his words. ‘I expect she’ll do the odd freelance job for me, but no more wet work; we agreed that. And nothing that takes her away from home for more than a few days.’
Gregory was dubious. ‘You think she’ll keep to that?’
‘I do. You and I were born the way we are. Annie, well, life just dictated to her and I’m glad she’s in a position to dictate back now. I want her to be happy.’
Looking at the younger man, Gregory realized that he had no more idea of what happy domesticity would be like than did Gregory himself. No more notion of how to live what might be termed a normal life. ‘I need time to think,’ he said.
‘Take it. The offer will stay on the table for a while. Get back to me in, say, a month, and tell me what you think.’
And that was how they had left it: Gregory determined to retire and Nathan wise enough to know that now he’d laid his cards on the table there was nothing more he could do. Gregory was not someone you could persuade.
That had been, Gregory recalled, ten days before and he’d actually given Nathan’s offer very little conscious thought, knowing that by the end of the month something or other would have emerged; some thought, some event, some circumstance that would make the decision obvious. Then, three nights ago, Gregory had dreamed a very vivid dream, one of those strange visions in which known reality had been overlaid by something more. The dream had stayed with him on waking; both the dream and the conscious sense that what it told him was important – if only he could figure out what that was.
In his dream he was lying on a ridge, half buried in an undergrowth of bushes and long grass, looking down into a valley. Tall trees filled with the sound of birds, surged upward around him and below, in the narrow valley, was a house, a track, a walled compound.
Vaguely, he recognized that this was not one single place, but an amalgam of several he had encountered in his career. Below him, in the valley, there was little movement, but he was aware of people in the house and others approaching the compound. He could hear the sound of a car engine approaching along the track, the change in pitch as the driver changed gear. There’s a steep hill, Gregory thought, dreaming, a sharp bend and a sudden steep rise, then you can see the compound wall
He shifted fractionally, so he could keep the compound in view and see the car as it came into sight. The sun was hot and the earth dry, even beneath the trees, the scent of pine and wild thyme making him think of Corsica, but it could have been one of many places … or none.
Seeing the car come into view, Gregory lifted a pair of binoculars and peered down, hoping to get a glimpse of the driver as he got out. From where he lay, he could not make out if there was a passenger. Gregory rarely dreamed, but one thing he had discovered way back when he’d been just a boy was the faculty he had to recognize that he was dreaming – to stand almost outside of his own dream. As a child he’d thought this was the natural way of things and it had come as a surprise to realize that others found this kind of lucid dreaming impossible; that most people didn’t even recognize a dream when they encountered it.
Another thing Gregory had discovered very early in life was that his dreams, when they came, usually told him something. Not in any prophetic or mysterious way; more that they represented unravelled or unravelling problems. Resolutions. Answers.
Gregory paid attention to his dream. He was conscious of the soft grass and scent of thyme and hard ground beneath him. Of a bird, some kind of raptor, high up in the very clear, very blue sky. Of the old car’s engine sound, of the way it skidded sideways on the rough and rutted track, the mud baked in high summer heat.
Who is in the house? Gregory asked himself. Who is it in the car? Had they come with a message, a threat, or both?
The car entered the compound. There were no guards on the gate and no one came out to greet them. Yet there was, Gregory thought, a feeling of watchfulness as though no physical guard was required. Those inside the house knew what was coming, and who, and why.
And why? Gregory asked himself. Why are they here and why am I?
Two men got out of the ancient vehicle. One, the passenger, was tall and slender. Lanky, Gregory thought. The passenger stretched himself as though relieved to be out of the cramped vehicle, as though he’d been travelling for some considerable time. The driver was a smaller, darker man with a chunky body that might once have been fit and muscular. From the way he moved, Gregory guessed that the man still thought of himself in younger, fitter terms. He said something to his companion and they both headed for the house.
Unarmed, Gregory thought. At least, as far as he could see.
At the periphery of his vision, he saw a raptor stoop and he took a moment to watch its dive before it disappeared behind the ridge and was lost to him.
He turned his attention fully to the house, annoyed, in that part of his mind that stepped outside of his dream, that he had allowed his attention to waver, even for those few seconds. It was an impulse he would never have indulged in the real world.
He watched as the men disappeared into the house; waited for some sign either that they had been welcomed by those inside or that they were hostile. But there was only silence; just the sounds of the birds and the wind in the trees and nothing more.
Gregory relaxed. Sometimes, he told his dreaming self, a dream is simply a dream. A confluence of random memories, haphazardly amalgamated by the sleeping mind.
Wake up, he told himself. It’s morning and there’s nothing useful to be gained by staying here. And then it happened. A single gunshot. It came from somewhere below him. Somewhere inside the house. One shot, then nothing.
Slowly, in his dream, Gregory rose to his feet. Keeping in the shadow of the trees, he descended the hill and waited at the perimeter of the compound for some sign, some reaction, but there was nothing. Birds continued to sing and the soft breeze brought with it the scent of wild thyme.
Slowly, Gregory moved to the gate and cautiously entered the compound. His almost-waking brain told him it was a bad move; that he was most likely walking into a trap. His dreaming self reminded the nagging thoughts that he was asleep, safe in his bed; there was no danger.
Gregory walked into the house, past the old car and through the open door. His feet sounded far too loud on the tiled floor of the hall. Spanish tiles, he thought, glazed in red and blue. The house was cool, the walls lime-washed in a light blue. Four doors led from the hall; two were closed. Through one he could glimpse the kitchen and it occurred to him that the layout of the house was not what he might have expected. Somehow, a more open-plan space would have felt in keeping with the exterior, with the Spanish tiles, with … with what? With his memory of this place? This place or something very like it.
He moved towards one of the closed doors. A hall cupboard filled with brooms and buckets and general cleaning stuff. The second door led to an empty bedroom. So that left the other open door.
Gregory realized that he was listening intently and also that there was nothing to listen to. Even the birdsong was absent now, shut out when he entered the house. The scents were now of disinfectant, coffee, and something spicy that had been cooking not long before. He moved towards the open door and stepped inside. The room was square and large. The far wall had open glass doors that led out on to a shaded patio. Four men lay upon the tiled floor. The two he had seen getting out of the car and two more. One black, one Asian. The black man lay closest to the door. Gregory bent down. The body was still warm and there was no sign of rigor – though, he reminded himself, the ambient temperature would skew anything he could tell from a quick examination.
The second man was the passenger from the car; he lay facing the window.
The shorter man, the driver, was close beside him, facing into the room. The fourth man, small and slightly built – and, Gregory now decided, probably Japanese – was sprawled, half propped against a chair. A gun lay on the floor, close to his left hand.
One shot, Gregory thought. I heard just the one shot and yet all four men are dead and the gunshot wounds are all too obvious. Four men shot with one gun; fine. Four men shot with the same bullet? That took a little more believing.
Even had the two men been dead before their visitors arrived, that still left two yet to die.
It was possible he had been mistaken, of course. No. Gregory dismissed the thought almost as soon as it arrived.
Waking, Gregory held the dream in his mind, examining and analysing it, trying not to add anything to the detail of what he had seen. He knew just how easy it was to manipulate memories and especially the memories of your own dreams.
He could still not make any sense of it – but he knew he would. It was only a matter of time. That and leaving it alone.
The one question he had was: did this dream have anything to do with Nathan’s proposal and, if so, was the message positive or not?
Leave it alone, he thought for a second time. Go and do something else.
The big problem for Gregory was what he should do. He began to wonder if Nathan was right; that retirement was not an option for the likes of Gregory. He’d spent his life doing; idleness did not come naturally.
Gregory tried to pinpoint the moment when his life had changed, when the idea of actually changing pace had started to coalesce, but the only response his brain made was to remind him of two things. A blind woman, a dog and two children standing on a Welsh beach; and a young man who could draw with a skill Gregory knew was rare.
Maybe, Gregory thought, the answer lay with them, though he didn’t see how. Working on the basis that doing something was better than idleness, Gregory decided that at least this was a starting point, though he was far from sure of the welcome he would receive when he sought them out.
TWO
In the end Naomi and Alec’s decision had been an easy one. After all of the anxiety and stress of trying to find a new place, they had moved back into an old one. A flat that had once belonged to Naomi had come up for rent, and with a little negotiation, rent had become purchase. A couple of weeks with the decorators in, Naomi and Alec camping out in friend Harry’s spare room, and that was it.
Home.
Naomi knew that perhaps she should feel strange, maybe even a little disappointed about this. The flat, small and easily managed, with a single bedroom and a galley kitchen that only just accommodated two people, had been her first proper home. A single-person home. After marrying Alec she had moved to his much larger house and she had loved it for a while. The space, the garden, the stately isolation of it, set so well back from the quiet road. But that was then. It felt like a lifetime ago, not just the few months it had been since circumstances had forced them to leave. Now Alec’s house had been sold and they were back where they had started in a way, but far from feeling disappointed, Naomi found she was actually quite profoundly relieved.
