Three Monkeys by Len Maynard
English | 2020 | Mystery/Thriller| ePUB | 2.5 MB
1958.A girl’s body is found in Hertfordshire.
Her eyes and mouth have been sewn shut. Candle wax has been poured into her ears to seal them.
DCI Jack Callum, policeman and dedicated family man, who cut his teeth walking the beat on the violent streets of London, before moving his family away from the city, to a safer, more restful life in the country, leads the investigation into this gruesome crime that shatters the peace of the sleepy English town.
Images of three monkeys are sent to the police to taunt them: see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. Something more sinister than a mere isolated murder seems to be going on as more victims come to light.
Who is doing this and why?
At the insistence of the first victim’s father, a local dignitary, officers from Scotland Yard are brought in to bring about a speedy conclusion to the case, side-lining Jack’s own investigation.
Once she had settled behind him on the pillion, and wrapped her arms around his waist, he kick-started the scooter and eased it forward off its stand. Moments later they were heading down the street.
“Not too fast,” she called above the engine’s noise.
“Just relax,” he called back, “and when I lean into a bend, follow my lead and lean the same way.”
Within minutes they had left the leafy streets behind and were heading into a part of town she didn’t recognise. The neat houses with their tidy gardens were replaced by warehouses and factories guarded by yards of chain-link fencing.
“Where are we going?” she called.
“Away from traffic,” he called back. “I want to show you what this beauty can do.” He twisted the accelerator. The engine rose in pitch and she felt herself pushed back by the sudden turn of speed. She held onto his waist even tighter.
The scent of his hair oil was strong, almost overpowering, and she turned her face away from his neck to take a lungful of fresh air.
“I think I’ve had enough now.”
He didn’t answer. They had entered a long straight stretch of road and he increased their speed still further.
“I’d like to go home,” she said, but her words were whipped away on the air buffeting her face.
Still he was ignoring her.
Seconds later they were leaving the chain-link behind and entering more streets with houses.
“I want to go back, now,” she called.
Finally he acknowledged her. “Yes, of course.” They were slowing down to a more sedate speed. “I just have to make a stop and then I’ll take you straight home.”
“Thank you,” she said with relief.
He steered them along a tree-lined avenue and then took a left turn, into a drive belonging to a large Victorian house that stood alone from its neighbours, surrounded by high privet hedges. He drew up outside the house and switched off the engine.
“I just have a call to make,’ he said, pulling the scooter up on its stand and dismounting.
“Should I come with you?” she said.
“No, you wait here. I’ll only be a moment.”
She watched him as he trotted up the steps to the front door of the house and inserted a key in the lock.
The door swung inwards and he disappeared inside.
She sat there on the pillion of the scooter and looked at her watch again. It had only been twenty minutes since he had offered her a ride, but to her it seemed much longer, and she was starting to wish she had never accepted his offer. She wanted to be at home, enjoying breakfast with her mother and sister, and building bridges with her father. Being a rebel didn’t sit comfortably with her.