The Eyes of the Accused: A dark disturbing mystery thriller (The Ben Whittle Investigation Series Book 2) by Mark Tilbury Page B
Authors: Mark Tilbury
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out the window at the black, inky darkness. He would need to be extra careful. Vigilant. Not allow himself to get carried away with thoughts of the main prize. The Target was dangerous. Mother was dangerous. And Ronnie was double dangerous. A rat wrapped up in snakeskin. Truth was, he couldn’t trust anyone right now.
What about Maddie?
Frank thought long and hard. It wasn’t easy to figure things out when you had half a gallon of Special Brew sloshing around inside you. ‘She’s gorgeous.’
Maybe so. But what if the Target has sent her to spy on you? A mole in the hole!
Frank shook his head. ‘No way.’
Are you thinking with your brain or your bollocks?
Frank staggered to the fridge and fetched another can. Fosters this time. The last thing he needed was a thumping head in the morning to lay siege to his plans. He popped the tab, took a few sips, and shivered. The mobile home was bloody freezing. He only had a paraffin heater, and it was way too risky lighting it at night when he’d been on the piss. He was prone to passing out. He didn’t want to go to Heaven on a cloud of paraffin fumes.
Or set the place on fire.
No, sir. He didn’t fancy being barbequed by carelessness. He sat back down at the table and lit a fresh cigarette.
You’d do well to double up security at Mother’s.
Frank nodded. Good advice. He’d fit a better lock first thing in the morning after he’d quit his job. He’d also tell Mother not to open the door to anyone she didn’t know.
She’s gonna want a valid reason for your sudden show of concern.
Frank rummaged in his ransacked head for a valid reason why she shouldn’t open the door to strangers. She wasn’t known for cowering behind locked doors.
You could tell her there’s a conman going around the neighbourhood robbing old folk.
Frank liked that. He was willing to bet she had some money stashed away somewhere. Planting the idea of a conman in her head might just scare her enough.
She’s a stubborn old bird.
Wasn’t that the truth? Perhaps he needed more radical action. Like breaking in when she was at bingo on a Tuesday evening. Smash the glass in the back door. She always left the key on the inside. Nick one or two things off the mantelpiece and scarper. That ought to put the frighteners on her.
Frank toasted this plan with a good, long draught of beer. He banged the can down on the table. ‘Just enough to ruffle her feathers.’
He made sure that his cigarette was extinguished before retiring to the bedroom. He crawled into bed without undressing. It was too cold to strip off. The bed stank of a vile concoction of damp and piss. He had plans to buy a beautiful king-sized waterbed when he had the money. Somewhere he could stretch out and relax properly. He imagined a fifty-inch screen fixed to the ceiling, playing endless reruns of his films. The thought of owning a guesthouse where he could make more and more movies of unsuspecting guests going about their private business made Frank forget his troubles.
‘I am Quentin Tarantino,’ he told the empty bedroom. The words drifted out of his mouth on a plume of vapour. Frank closed his eyes and allowed his imagination to wander into territories that might get a man locked up in prison. He drifted off to sleep with a smile on his lips and a hand on his crotch.
Chapter Fourteen
‘So what’s your first impression of Crowley?’ Geoff asked Maddie.
‘The guy creeps me out.’
Ben sighed. ‘So stay away from him.’
‘If you’ve got nothing positive to say, go and make a pot of tea,’ Geoff snapped. ‘Maddie’s been out all night putting her neck on the line while you were sitting in a nice warm car.’
Ben massaged the back of his neck. ‘Hardly. The heater’s broken.’
‘Mine’s white, two sugars.’
‘I’m well aware how you take your—’
‘I’ll make the tea,’ Maddie said. She walked out of the office before anyone objected.
Ben didn’t want tea. He wanted Maddie and his
What about Maddie?
Frank thought long and hard. It wasn’t easy to figure things out when you had half a gallon of Special Brew sloshing around inside you. ‘She’s gorgeous.’
Maybe so. But what if the Target has sent her to spy on you? A mole in the hole!
Frank shook his head. ‘No way.’
Are you thinking with your brain or your bollocks?
Frank staggered to the fridge and fetched another can. Fosters this time. The last thing he needed was a thumping head in the morning to lay siege to his plans. He popped the tab, took a few sips, and shivered. The mobile home was bloody freezing. He only had a paraffin heater, and it was way too risky lighting it at night when he’d been on the piss. He was prone to passing out. He didn’t want to go to Heaven on a cloud of paraffin fumes.
Or set the place on fire.
No, sir. He didn’t fancy being barbequed by carelessness. He sat back down at the table and lit a fresh cigarette.
You’d do well to double up security at Mother’s.
Frank nodded. Good advice. He’d fit a better lock first thing in the morning after he’d quit his job. He’d also tell Mother not to open the door to anyone she didn’t know.
She’s gonna want a valid reason for your sudden show of concern.
Frank rummaged in his ransacked head for a valid reason why she shouldn’t open the door to strangers. She wasn’t known for cowering behind locked doors.
You could tell her there’s a conman going around the neighbourhood robbing old folk.
Frank liked that. He was willing to bet she had some money stashed away somewhere. Planting the idea of a conman in her head might just scare her enough.
She’s a stubborn old bird.
Wasn’t that the truth? Perhaps he needed more radical action. Like breaking in when she was at bingo on a Tuesday evening. Smash the glass in the back door. She always left the key on the inside. Nick one or two things off the mantelpiece and scarper. That ought to put the frighteners on her.
Frank toasted this plan with a good, long draught of beer. He banged the can down on the table. ‘Just enough to ruffle her feathers.’
He made sure that his cigarette was extinguished before retiring to the bedroom. He crawled into bed without undressing. It was too cold to strip off. The bed stank of a vile concoction of damp and piss. He had plans to buy a beautiful king-sized waterbed when he had the money. Somewhere he could stretch out and relax properly. He imagined a fifty-inch screen fixed to the ceiling, playing endless reruns of his films. The thought of owning a guesthouse where he could make more and more movies of unsuspecting guests going about their private business made Frank forget his troubles.
‘I am Quentin Tarantino,’ he told the empty bedroom. The words drifted out of his mouth on a plume of vapour. Frank closed his eyes and allowed his imagination to wander into territories that might get a man locked up in prison. He drifted off to sleep with a smile on his lips and a hand on his crotch.
Chapter Fourteen
‘So what’s your first impression of Crowley?’ Geoff asked Maddie.
‘The guy creeps me out.’
Ben sighed. ‘So stay away from him.’
‘If you’ve got nothing positive to say, go and make a pot of tea,’ Geoff snapped. ‘Maddie’s been out all night putting her neck on the line while you were sitting in a nice warm car.’
Ben massaged the back of his neck. ‘Hardly. The heater’s broken.’
‘Mine’s white, two sugars.’
‘I’m well aware how you take your—’
‘I’ll make the tea,’ Maddie said. She walked out of the office before anyone objected.
Ben didn’t want tea. He wanted Maddie and his
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