Forgotten Graves: Whitby's Forgotten Victims Book 4, page 1
Forgotten Graves
Wes Markin
David Lynch
Artist, Dreamer, Storyteller
My Inspiration
Thank You
1946–2025
Contents
About the Author
By Wes Markin
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
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Two Days Later
Christmas Eve
Christmas Day
Three Months Later…
The Funeral
Free and Exclusive read
JOIN DCI EMMA GARDNER AS SHE RELOCATES TO KNARESBOROUGH, HARROGATE IN THE NORTH YORKSHIRE MURDERS …
Also by Wes Markin
Acknowledgments
Review
About the Author
Wes Markin is the bestselling author of The Yorkshire Murders, which stars the compassionate and relentless DCI Emma Gardner. He is also the author of Whitby's Forgotten Victims, the DCI Michael Yorke Thrillers set in Salisbury, and the Jake Pettman Thrillers set in New England. Wes lives in Harrogate with his wife, two children, and his cheeky cockapoo, Rosie, close to the crime scenes in The Yorkshire Murders and Whitby's Forgotten Victims.
You can find out more at:
www.wesmarkinauthor.com
By Wes Markin
DCI Yorke Thrillers
One Last Prayer
The Repenting Serpent
The Silence of Severance
Rise of the Rays
Dance with the Reaper
Christmas with the Conduit
Better the Devil
The Secret Diary of Lacey Ray
A Lesson in Crime
Jake Pettman Thrillers
The Killing Pit
Fire in Bone
Blue Falls
The Rotten Core
Rock and a Hard Place
The Yorkshire Murders
The Viaduct Killings
The Lonely Lake Killings
The Crying Cave Killings
The Graveyard Killings
The Winter Killings
The Black Rock Killings
Whitby's Forgotten Victims
Forgotten Bones
Forgotten Lives
Forgotten Souls
Forgotten Graves
Forgotten Shadows
Forgotten Depths
Details of how to claim your FREE DCI Michael Yorke quick read, A lesson in Crime, can be found at the end of this book.
This story is a work of fiction. All names, characters, organizations, places, events and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any persons, alive or dead, events or locals is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2025 Wes Markin
First published 2025
ISBN: 9798311165471
Edited by: Candida Bradford
Published by: WFM Publishing Ltd
All rights reserved.
No part of this book should be reproduced in any way without the express permission of the author.
Chapter One
Fog lights cut through the December night.
Kyle Russell clung to the Audi’s supple leather steering wheel, whooping with every sharp turn. In the passenger seat, Jason Cleaves was riding a cocaine high, thumping the roof, urging him to push the car faster. However, Kyle had deliberately taken a touch less of the drug and, though his reactions were sharper, he didn’t feel invincible.
Ahead, the next bend loomed. A treacherous curve bordered by snow-laden moorland stretching endlessly on either side of the A169.
The view transported Kyle back a decade, to when he was nine years old – wandering the snowy fields of the North York Moors with his father, finding peace and clarity in the pleasant openness. His father’s steady presence had been more than guidance through the wilds – it was an education in understanding their place in the world. He so missed tracing those familiar paths with him.
The intensity of the turn brought him back to now. And the sobering reality that those days were gone, buried forever with his father’s body.
Kyle glanced over to see Jason tapping cocaine on the back of his hand.
‘No sudden moves now, boyo,’ Jason insisted. ‘Another bump incoming.’
A sharp snort, followed by more pounding on the roof. ‘Bump… bump… bump!’
Headlights blazed toward them. Kyle moved further to the side. A car streaked past, horn blaring in protest at their fog lights.
Kyle couldn’t resist joining Jason in his laughter, manic though it was. He’d completely embraced the chaos his friend had brought into his life these last six months.
His mother didn’t approve, obviously.
But at nineteen, Kyle was done with other people’s expectations.
‘Another bump, son?’ Jason asked.
‘In a bit. Let’s get into Ruswarp first. Find somewhere quiet. Pull over for a bit.’
‘Can’t promise there’ll be any left.’ Jason snorted another line and grinned.
Kyle glanced at him again.
Jason’s pupils were blown wide. ‘After all, you’re in the car with the Bumpa Loompa!’ He launched into a mangled version of the Oompa Loompa song, replacing the words with his new lyrics.
Kyle laughed, turned his attention back to the road, and thundered past the turnoff to Goathland, the engine’s roar momentarily drowning Jason’s off-key singing. He noticed fresh flakes of snow dancing in his fog lights.
Over the fields, Kyle caught glimpses of sheep huddled against dry stone walls, their wool collecting snow.
Beyond the valley, he could see the lights of Ruswarp.
Then he went back four years – to afternoons at the Bridge Inn, stealing sips of bitter while his dad pretended not to notice—
The Audi’s back end kicked out on black ice.
Kyle yanked the wheel, over-correcting.
Jason’s singing immediately transformed into a scream.
He could hear his father’s voice – telling him not to hit the brakes, but when fog lights illuminated a weathered-wooden fence, he wished he had.
Splintered posts bounced over the bonnet. Wire mesh shrieked as it tore into the metal.
Then they were airborne, suspended in a moment of terrible weightlessness.
Kyle’s stomach lurched.
The Audi’s nose dipped, and an impact rattled his bones. Snow sprayed up around them. The steering wheel bucked in his hands. He’d no control, but he could still hear his father’s advice, so still he resisted the pedal, not wanting to go into an uncontrollable spin.
Jason continued screaming.
Kyle’s eyes widened as a dark shape emerged from the gloom. ‘Shit… shit…’
He knew it from his walks.
An old grain silo.
Not massive, but solid enough to kill them both.
Left with no choice, Kyle stamped on the brakes. The car fishtailed, sliding sideways across the frozen ground.
The impact when they hit the silo’s base was deafening. With a shudder, the car stopped, its driver’s side slamming into the old wood.
Kyle blinked, straining to see through the spider-webbed windscreen.
Jason groaned, shifting in his seat.
An ominous creak echoed from ab
Jason’s voice trembled. ‘What’s that?’
‘I don’t…’ Understanding hit him. It was coming down. ‘Get out!’
Kyle barely unfastened his seat belt before a tremendous crash shook the roof.
Heart thrashing, he lunged for the passenger side as Jason pounced from the vehicle, rolling clear.
Another loud crash on the bonnet made him think he was too late.
But then he dived clear too, also rolling over the ice-cold ground.
Up on their feet, they staggered through deep snow, turning and watching as they did so, as the silo collapsed onto the Audi. Wood and dust rained down, pounding and burying the car.
When the destruction finally ceased, they looked back.
‘Fuck… did you see that?’ Jason asked.
Kyle didn’t grace his stupid question with an answer; instead, he watched the dust settle.
To his surprise, the mangled Audi, with steam hissing from the bonnet, was still visible.
Unbelievably, the fog lights continued to function, beacons amidst the destruction.
‘Fuck,’ Jason said. ‘Now what?’
Kyle forced himself to focus. He brushed snow from his sodden clothes. He was shivering, either from adrenaline or the cold. ‘Now, we get out of here.’
Jason stared wild-eyed at the chaos. ‘Yes… but…’ He was shivering. He grabbed Kyle’s arm.
Kyle looked him in his wide, wired eyes.
‘What about fingerprints and DNA?’ Jason said.
Kyle shook his head. Jason wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. ‘Why would they bother with DNA and fingerprints? No one’s dead! Besides, are your DNA or fingerprints even in the bloody system?’
He looked as if he was about to throw up. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, have you ever been arrested?’ Kyle asked.
‘No.’
‘Then, it’s unlikely.’
‘Okay… head’s buggered, you know?’ Jason turned away, shivering, cursing the deep snow.
‘We need to move quick. It’s fucking freezing,’ Kyle said, really shivering now. The cold was seeping into his bones. He wondered if hypothermia was a possibility. He’d seen it in movies before. It didn’t look pretty.
As they moved away from the wreck and the Audi fog lights, darkness closed in. Kyle activated his mobile torch to avoid hidden obstacles and suggested Jason do the same.
His friend stopped dead.
Shit, Kyle thought, suspecting what was coming.
Jason frantically patted his pockets before spinning around. ‘My phone. My fucking phone!’
‘For fuck’s sake, Jason.’
Jason turned and pointed back toward the wreckage. ‘It was in the glove compartment.’
Kyle suppressed his rising anger. ‘And you were worried about DNA?’
‘Fuck… I’m sorry… What now?’
‘Stay here,’ Kyle hissed. ‘You’re off your head. No point in us both getting buried alive.’
‘Let me help.’
‘No.’ He raised his voice. ‘Stay the fuck here.’
Kyle tried to jog back toward the wreck, but it was hard with such deep snow. It was more like a quick trudge. Increasing his heart rate was probably a good idea, though. He still shivered, but it wasn’t quite as bad. As he drew closer to the chaos, he looked up at the damaged silo. It was about five metres high. Half its wooden exterior had now given way, lying on or around the vehicle. Inside, he could see a metal ladder leading up to an exposed, narrower floor. Miraculously, the rectangular silo still stood, though its ramshackle roof sagged dangerously and wouldn’t hold for long. Bags and debris hung over the edge of the second floor.
Praying nothing else would fall, he reached through the open door of the Audi, his heart hammering as the wood creaked overhead.
Almost there…
The glove compartment opened with a thud.
Jason’s phone was there, the screen glowing.
As Kyle’s fingers closed around it, there was another thud onto the roof above. Not as loud as last time, but certainly enough to nearly stop his heart dead. ‘Bollocks!’
He backed out, his eyes regarding the covered roof.
‘Fuck… no…’
It couldn’t be.
He turned his torch onto it.
It was.
A curved spine.
‘God!’ He choked back a scream, staggering backwards.
‘What is it?’ Jason’s voice came from behind him.
‘Stay back,’ Kyle warned, hand raised. ‘It’s a body.’
But the warning only drew Jason closer.
They stood together, torch beams playing over the skeleton curled in a foetal position.
Hollow eye sockets stared up from a grinning skull.
‘Fucking hell,’ Jason gagged. ‘That’s messed up. Now what?’
Kyle had no answer. He took several steps back, light still shining on the skeleton.
Distant sirens wailed.
‘We need to go!’ Jason said.
Kyle thought of his father again – how that loss had changed him forever, his mother’s constant reminders that he’d never been the same.
Now here he was, staring at a decomposed body lying on a stolen, demolished car in the ice-cold, gloomy arsehole of nowhere.
He wondered if this night would mark another point of no return – another moment from which he’d never recover.
‘I’m staying,’ Kyle said. ‘It’s the right thing to do.’
Chapter Two
DCI Frank Black was adjusting his tie in his bathroom mirror for the fourth time. Bloody hell, he thought, you can’t polish a turd.
He heard the chime of his doorbell, flinched, and his fingers fumbled the knot. ‘Balls.’
Frank took off the tie and crammed it into his pocket before undoing his top button. He regarded himself as the doorbell sounded again and sighed. Then he headed toward the front door, reassuring himself that it didn’t matter too much. This wasn’t a date, of course, just the coming together of two close friends. The suit, twenty years old and fresh from the dry cleaners, felt like a straitjacket. Still, at least he could fit back into it. Just. A year back, it’d be hanging off him in shreds by now.
Passing the kitchen, he glanced in at the set table, his eyes lingering on the bottle of San Pellegrino centred between the plates.
Bloody hell, right now, the craving for something stronger was something else! These were the moments that tested his resolve – the social niceties, the friendly gatherings.
The not-dates.
Because, no matter what Gerry believed, that’s exactly what it was. The doorbell went for a third time, and this time his stomach lurched. Christ, he thought, I’m keeping her waiting in the cold.
And she wasn’t well!
He checked his breath. Fine. He hadn’t smoked a roll-up in over an hour and had used mouthwash twice.
He yanked the door open.
Janet Wainwright stood on his doorstep, bundled up in a thick coat and earmuffs, hopping from foot to foot.
‘How do? Come in…’ Frank said, stepping back.
Janet shook her head. ‘No, I’m under strict instructions not to stay.’ She stepped aside to reveal her mother, Evelyn, settled in her wheelchair at the foot of the steps. She wore an elegant navy dress under a cream wool coat, a bouquet of yellow daffodils brightening her lap.
‘Even if it is freezing,’ Janet continued. ‘And a cup of tea may be the only thing standing between me and pneumonia.’
‘Always the drama queen,’ Evelyn said. ‘You can’t catch anything from cold weather.’
‘No,’ Janet said. ‘Try telling that to great uncle Paul.’
‘Paul was hit by a car, dear,’ Evelyn said.
‘Yes, after it skidded on the ice. Then he caught that superbug in the hospital. So technically, it counts.’
‘Give over.’ Evelyn’s tone was sharpening.
Frank shifted awkwardly in the doorway, his eyes flicking between mother and daughter, wondering if this was just normal banter, or if there was some real tension between them.
Janet looked at him. ‘Charming, isn’t she?’
He smiled weakly.
‘What time shall I collect her?’
He found the question odd, and it triggered memories of him dropping Maddie at birthday parties when she was a child. ‘About seven?’
‘Three hours?’ Janet raised an eyebrow. ‘You can put up with her for that long?’ She laughed.
‘You see what I have to put up with, Frank?’ Evelyn said.
