|
|
 |
Fiction |
|
 |
|
|
Brogan still wanted his wife out of the picture, and I was going to take the fall for him. I pick the glass up and place it in my coat pocket. Although I underestimated Brogan, I always suspected that he had an ulterior motive for inviting me here. I carefully remove the evidence bag from my pocket and place it on the desk.
Using the scissors I've brought with me, I cut the plastic bag away and expose the glass that Brogan had drunk from in my office. I'm not proud of what I'm doing, but it pays to be forensically aware in this game, as well as to also anticipate the worse case scenario.
|
I feel pleased, in a professional sense, as I put Brogan back in the frame and neatly sidestep his plan to implicate me. I carefully leave the office and consider my next move.
I retake my seat at the poker game. Brogan smiles at me, and pours me another Southern Comfort.
'Cheers,' he says. 'To the future.'
'The future,' I reply. 'May it bring you what you deserve.'
'You too.'
|
I sit back in my seat and listen to the wailing of police sirens get louder and closer. It solves my dilemma. I was going to make my excuses and discretely ring for the police. It's a sad and unpleasant way for Mrs. Brogan to die. As I sit there, looking at my cards, I'm also upset for another reason, and I can't quite put my finger on it at first.
Although Brogan and I have never been great friends, we've got a shared history, despite the way that our career paths have diverged. I'm shocked by the depths that he's willing to plunge in a bid to frame me for his wife's murder. I'm shocked by the level of his hatred of me.
|
|
Maybe he thinks I'm still the quiet, unassuming individual that he walked all over when we first met twenty years ago. Not anymore. I can't afford to be like that now that I'm a Private Investigator.
'Shall we raise the stakes?' Brogan says, staring directly at me.
I nod. Let's see how you think you've played your cards, I want to say, but I bite my tongue. The sirens get louder and closer...
For more of Nick Quantrill's fiction go to :
www.hullcrimefiction.co.uk
www.myspace.com/hullcrimefiction
|
|
Fiction - Welcome To Hellville - Part 7 By Rich Mills
|
|
I've pulled more stuff from the box-o-stuff. I now know that it belonged to someone called
Alan Miro. It seems he was a student in Hellville over the end of last century.
I've found diary entries, half finished essays, random rantings, emails, and all
manner of fragmented files and documents that give me
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - Second Chances by Nick Quantrill
|
|
Available now, Second Chances is a crime fiction novella set in Hull that is
already attracting praise from readers.
Influenced by crime fiction heavyweights Ian Rankin and Hull's Robert Edric,
Second Chances is set to be a great success.
For a taster, see the extract reproduced below, only available
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - Off To See The Wild West Show Part 5 (1886: Hull, Yorkshire) By Frank Beill
|
|
Maybe I'm making things sound as though my new life was intolerable - especially when Jolly
Rodgers was around - but the Hull Sailors' Children's Orphanage was not a prison.
There were some good times too, especially when our school day was over and our duties were done.
In the main we were required to keep the buildings
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - Off To See The Wild West Show Part 4 (1886: Hull, Yorkshire) By Frank Beill
|
|
My first morning in the orphanage was also the first at my new school and I was in for more surprises. Unfortunately, they were not all pleasant ones.
George led me into our classroom, which was just like the one at my old school.
The schoolmaster's high-legged desk dominated the front of the room while behind
on the wall
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - Off To See The Wild West Show Part 3 (1886: Hull, Yorkshire) By Frank Beill
|
|
'Master Smyle! You have to take off all your clothes to have a bath!'
The thick Scots accent of Mr Rodgers boomed in my ear. This man became the bane of my life.
'Jolly Rodgers' we children called him but the nickname came from the pirate flag - not from his sense of humour,
if indeed he possessed one.
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - Off To See The Wild West Show Part 2 (1886: Hull, Yorkshire) By Frank Beill
|
|
'Let's have a look at you, boy.' Old Stoney stared down at me through the wire spectacles perched on the end of his nose.
We were alone in his office on the other side of the little window.
I was still the block of wood and he was still deciding what to make from it.
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - Invasion By Bob Spence
|
|
Moody just couldn't stop scratching. His shirt was far too stiff at the edge of the collar
and the coarse material was driving him to distraction.
You could also say that Moody was distracted anyway. He was waiting for a letter from his fiancee
and there was none.
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - Welcome To Hellville - Part 6 By Rich Mills
|
|
Alan relaxed back from the machine and letting his head flop backwards, closed his eyes, and
stared into the void at the back of his eyelids.
Opening his eyes and raising his head back up to its correct position, he panned the room.
Two demijohns
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - Off To See The Wild West Show Part 1 (1886: Hull, Yorkshire) By Frank Beill
|
|
Six steps up. All I could see was an entrance and no way back out again. I was only ten years old when Grandmother dragged me up the stone steps into the orphanage.
'They'll take good care of you, Sammy,' she said.
I wanted to believe there was a tear
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - Welcome To Hellville - Part 5 By Rich Mills
|
|
I slept the long sleep, dead to the world; I lost a day in there somewhere.
Now refreshed I'm ready to start transcribing what I've found.
The two VHS video tapes seem to contain a variety of TV programmes.
I'm going to get Keith down to give these the
Read more...
|
|
Fiction - The Death and Birth and Death of a Legend By Bob Spence
|
|
Goober liked to be busy. Some people could handle doing nothing, not Goober Walton.
Running the tidy but ancient gasoline concession suited. Suited well.
It was orderly and everything clearly had its place.
Some would say it looked almost military in its order and for that it
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - Feller's in Cut By Maurice Fairfield
|
|
Well that's her gone. You don't remember me do you?
I'll have a pint while you're thinking about it.
It's me Jack, Harry Fergus's son. Here for the funeral.
Thought I'd see her get put under. Not sure why.
It's always a laugh though, watching a parson doing a
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - Kat Out of the Bag Chapter Nine By Steve Rudd
|
|
Life is a race against time, didn't you know? Sometimes I'm worn out by my own energy, but as we four
walked first towards Langtang, right on through the cosy cluster of weather-beaten buildings and
then so far past the village that even the strangely surreal
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - Kat Out of the Bag Chapter Eight By Steve Rudd
|
|
As I was led back towards the village, my mind frantically raced with thoughts and feelings,
snapshots of murky memories and monstrous fears of what might now transpire.
A foreigner amongst strangers, I guess I was more vulnerable than even I dared
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - Welcome To Hellville - Part 4 By Rich Mills
|
|
Addict vaccine, social behaviour training, helicopter strafes overhead, government propaganda
drenched lo-fi media docu-slice-of-life info-mercial broadcast, fed straight to your hole.
(Written on a Planet Coffee branded paper napkin.)
The napkin referred to above was
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - Fishheads By Michelle Dee
|
|
Monstrous silver and blue -green severed fish heads emerged at the forefront of her mind.
Open, close, open, close the gaping mouths. She fancied there were others behind it.
Each time the razor sharp teeth were bared she looked into the blacker than
Read more...
|
|
|
|
|
| What's Happening? |
|
|
|
| Chill Out |
|
|
|
| About Us |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|