Paul Gitsham - DCI Warren Jones

PAUL GITSHAMstarted his career as a biologist, working in such exotic locales as Manchester and Toronto. After stints as the world’s most over-qualified receptionist and a spell making sure that international terrorists and other ne’er do wells hadn’t opened a Junior Savings Account at a major UK bank (a job even less exciting than being a receptionist) he retrained as a Science teacher. He now spends his time passing on his bad habits and sloppy lab-skills to the next generation of enquiring minds.

Paul has always wanted to be a writer and his final report on leaving primary school predicted he’d be the next Roald Dahl! For the sake of balance it should be pointed out that it also said ‘he’ll never get anywhere in life if his handwriting doesn’t improve’. Over twenty-five years later and his handwriting is worse than ever but millions of children around the world love him. *

You can learn more about Paul’s writing at www.paulgitsham.comor www.facebook.com/dcijones

*This is a lie, just ask any of the pupils he has taught.

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019

Copyright © Paul Gitsham

Paul Gitsham asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2019 ISBN: 9780008314385

Version: 2019-05-16

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Saturday 21 stFebruary

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Sunday 22 ndFebruary

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Monday 23 rdFebruary

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Tuesday 24 thFebruary

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Wednesday 25 thFebruary

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Thursday 26 thFebruary

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Friday 27 thFebruary

Chapter 25

Saturday 28 thFebruary

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Sunday 1 stMarch

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Monday 2 ndMarch

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Tuesday 3 rdMarch

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Wednesday 4 thMarch

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Thursday 5 thMarch

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Friday 6 thMarch

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Saturday 7 thMarch

Chapter 45

Sunday 8 thMarch

Chapter 46

Monday 9 thMarch

Chapter 47

Tuesday 10 thMarch

Chapter 48

Wednesday 11 thMarch

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Thursday 12 thMarch

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Friday 13 thMarch

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Saturday 14 thMarch

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Sunday 15 thMarch

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Monday 16 thMarch

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Tuesday 17 thMarch

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Wednesday 18 thMarch

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Thursday 19 thMarch

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Friday 20th March

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Saturday 21 stMarch

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Wednesday 25 thMarch

Chapter 91

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Extract

Dear Reader …

Keep Reading …

About the Publisher

For those who weren’t believed.

Scaling the ancient stone wall wasn’t difficult. The metal spikes that lined the crumbling edifice were over three hundred years old and those that hadn’t been lost were rusting to nothingness. The whole wall needed major repair work, but the cost of restoring the medieval brickwork to its former glory would run into hundreds of thousands and the fundraising had barely started. Besides, who would want to break into the ruins of a deserted abbey?

Nathan Adams gallantly laid his coat over the top of the wall in the gap created by two missing spikes, then cupped his hands. The wall was about five feet tall and his companion, Rebecca Hill, easily pushed herself up. Nathan enjoyed the view as her short black skirt briefly rode up, exposing more of the snow-white flesh already tantalisingly revealed by the strategically placed rips in her black tights.

Nathan passed up the plastic carrier bag of cheap cider, before attempting to pull himself over as well. It was harder than it looked, and he wondered if he was going to have to drop back down and take a run-up, when his scrabbling feet found purchase. Rebecca grabbed the handle on the top of his backpack and with her help he finally flopped onto the wall, the rough stone scraping his stomach where his jacket had opened. The drop to the grass on the other side was slightly less, and he rolled clumsily over the wall, landing in an untidy heap.

‘Are you OK?’ hissed Rebecca.

‘Fine.’ he said, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. The weed in his pocket and the booze would take the edge off it, and if all went to plan, he might even get a shoulder rub later. He put that thought quickly to one side, lest he embarrass himself.

Raising his arms and suppressing a wince, he helped her down to the ground – for a brief instant, their faces were bare millimetres apart. He froze. Should he kiss her or should he wait until they were a bit more mellow? His indecision lasted just seconds and then the moment was gone. Was that a flash of disappointment in her eyes?

Rebecca had been here before and she took charge, taking his hand and leading him further into the abbey grounds.

An evening in the graveyard of a ruined abbey, in winter, wouldn’t be Nathan’s first choice for a romantic date, but he was happy to let Rebecca call the shots; he’d spent most of the previous week persuading her to give him a chance tonight and he wasn’t going to ruin it with a bit of squeamishness. An afternoon spent trawling through her Facebook and Instagram posts had revealed her favourite music – death metal bands, all of which sounded the same to him when he’d streamed their albums on Spotify. The T-shirt he’d ordered online had arrived that morning – all shiny and smelling of plastic packaging. He hoped it wasn’t obvious that a week ago he’d never even heard of Flesh Kitchen.