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    Accidental North
    Accidental North
    Accidental North
    Ebook192 pages2 hours

    Accidental North

    By S.D. Gripton and Sally Dillon-Snape

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    About this ebook

    #1 of a series of hard-hitting British crime novels of approximately 50,000 words, one day reads, concerning the investigations of Detective Sergeant Andy North, 30 years old, six feet tall and slim. This first investigation is about the abduction of his wife Zoe and follows Andy around the City in which he works as he makes frantic attempts to find her before she is murdered, accompanied by Ellie Tonbridge, his attractive lesbian Detective partner. Andy and Zoe have been together for five years and married for two and live in a house Andy purchased and renovated after being left money by his grandfather. The novel is fast-moving and compact with everything expected from a crime novel, good characterization, exciting action, fast-paced. It is hoped by the author that the series will cover every letter of the western alphabet beginning the title of the book. #2 will be called Broken North and will be available almost immediately. The books are S.D. Gripton at his very best.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherS.D. Gripton
    Release dateSep 11, 2016
    ISBN9781370518746
    Accidental North
    Author

    S.D. Gripton

    S.D. Gripton novels and real crime books are written by Dennis Snape, who is married to Sally who originate from North Wales and Manchester respectively and who met 18 years ago. I work very hard to make a reading experience a good one, with good plots and earthy language. I enjoy writing and hope readers enjoy what I have written. I thank everyone who has ever looked at at one of my books.

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      Book preview

      Accidental North - S.D. Gripton

      Accidental North

      An Andy North Crime Novel

      Book One

      By

      S.D. Gripton & Sally Dillon-Snape

      Copyright © Sally Dillon-Snape & Dennis Snape (2023)

      The moral right of the authors is hereby asserted in accordance with The Copyright Act 1988

      All characters and events in this publication other than those of fact and historical significance available in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons living and dead is purely coincidental

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval systems, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the publisher

      Cover is by Snape

      ***

      Chapter 1

      Sunday

      Andy North was nothing more than a simple cop; he didn’t have a drink or drug problem; he didn’t smoke eighty cigarettes or a dozen Cuban cigars a day; he didn’t mess about with other women or men; he wasn’t corrupt in any way; he didn’t drive like a maniac, have a limp, a bad back, bad eyesight, tinnitus or tooth rot, and he was neither six four tall nor wide of shoulder. Andy North was a slim cop of six feet in height, a quiet cop, one who obeyed orders and followed the rules; he wasn’t violent and he abhorred those officers who felt it necessary to beat suspects, or to show off to women. Andy North liked to go to work, he liked to solve crimes, then he liked to go home and watch television, maybe to enjoy a glass of wine with dinner and some conversation with his lovely wife; the beautiful rose of his life, the fragrant petal who took the stink of his work away with her beautiful aroma of pure life; maybe to enjoy a few giggles with her before some time in bed.

      That was his life.

      He was a good cop who got things done.

      A Detective Sergeant in the City Major Crimes Unit, he was thirty years of age and, as was mentioned, slim of build and smart of raiment. Sometimes cases got to him, they upset him and his wife saw it as her responsibility to hug him and calm his fears and to brush away the nightmares from which he occasionally suffered.

      I love you, she would whisper, it will be all right: I will always be here.

      Andy believed her, he knew of no good reason why she should not be, except as a consequence of his own behaviour, his own nightmares brought on by the things he dealt with on a daily basis.

      A child ripped apart by a dog while its parents snorted drugs with friends; how does a cop get over the horror of something like that?

      A teenage girl gang-raped and stuffed headfirst into a metal barrel after which it was filled with water; the girl still alive when they stuffed her in, so Pathology confirmed. How do investigating officers get over it? Do they ever get over it?

      The boyfriend who cuts out his girlfriend’s tongue and slices off her ears just because she spoke to someone he didn’t like and listened to what was said. Having begun, the boyfriend couldn’t stop until he’d cut his girl up into lots of bits. Imagine being stood in a room looking down on those bits, strewed around like so much dross, the boyfriend sitting on his couch drinking a beer, not giving a fuck. How much would you want to rip his head off? How much do you think Andy North wanted to rip his head off?

      Nightmares mounted up one behind the other, sweeping in like waves, more comfort required, more hugs, more statements of love, more tears shed.

      And tomorrow, following a sleep during which he would be dreamily tucked up with his wife, Andy North would rise and shower and dress and eat and return to work just the same as everyone else; just like the office worker, the Railway Signalman and the swimming pool attendant. He would return as every working person did, but he would have to solve crimes all over again.

      That was his job, the one he volunteered to do every working day, a job he loved even if it did give him nightmares. Andy North thought that even office workers had bad days; the office worker who stapled their fingers together or something; the Railway Signalmen running through points or misdirecting trains or, even worse, causing a collision; and swimming pool attendants, he believed, lived in fear of finding a child lying prone and unmoving on the bottom of their swimming pool. Every job had the possibility of nightmares; his was no different.

      But today was different, today he was relaxed and joyously happy; today, this evening, he was as happy as he had ever been. He was sharing an Italian meal with his lovely wife of three years, Zoé, exactly one year younger than him at twenty-nine, born on the same date at the same hospital and exactly the same height, six feet, so that she fitted into him as if she’d been machine designed, him fitting her equally well, coincidences that made them laugh even after three years of marriage. Andy North thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world, with her large brown eyes and her short dark hair, with her fine high cheekbones and her slim shape, no breasts to speak of but he didn’t care. He’d always been a leg man and Zoé; a child Nursery carer who’d been part of a team that Andy was asked to speak to about security of property after the Nursery at which she worked was broken into and trashed, all the kids’ toys smashed and broken, all their little finger paintings ripped from the wall, piled up and set alight, the dirty bastards defecating all over the place; had legs to die for. She knew it; he knew it, too.

      Andy North had got them, the three teenage boys, bored by games on their computers, walking the streets and having a thought; let’s trash a Nursery; let’s shit all over the place; let’s ruin thirty little children’s lives and upset their parents, many of whom never returning with their children, even after the Nursery was cleaned up, redecorated and re-opened; the teenagers getting Community service, a waste of time hunting them down. That was when Andy turned up to give a little talk to the Carers about security.

      That’s when he met Zoé Parish, one year younger than him, born on the same date one year earlier, something they discovered when they went on their very first date, an early meal, drinking a glass of red wine; Andy falling in love that early; on the first date; no doubt in his mind, madly in love by the time he made it back to his own home, lying in bed thinking about her, not knowing that she was lying in her own bed thinking about him.

      Five years ago, that’s when the Nursery had been broken into, two years of courtship, three of marriage, very happy, her leading a life of relatively little stress, loving the children she looked after with the five other women, three older, two younger; loving all the little ones, once the Nursery had recovered and was re-stocked with children. Zoé a naturally relaxed person, university educated, her parents thinking she was working beneath her qualifications but Zoé enjoying her life. Andy North never had that luxury, never having it, always being a worrier; during school exams, during early relationships, not having many friends, mostly a lonely type of character, enjoying the camaraderie of the police force, the laughs, the jokes, the pranks, feeling like one of the family, part of the club; his own parents cold, having him late in life, never able to come to terms with it, not knowing how to advise him or speak to him, Andy quickly moving out, being lucky enough to purchase his own little house at a very young age, grandfather leaving him some money when he died, the only grandchild, only nineteen, buying at Auction, buying cheap and spending six months doing the property up, making it nice, his parents very proud of him and Zoé loving the place the very first time she ever stepped into it, the first time she was invited back. Loving it still, putting her female stamp on it, warming it, making it a place all their friends liked to visit, her having more friends than him, the result of attending university, something he never did, lots of friends from there, one or two of them sleeping in a spare bedroom now and again, Andy watching the male ones, making sure they did nothing to harm his marriage, ready to fight for his wife if he had to. His friends, what there were of them, coming exclusively from the police force, none from his school days; Detective Elaine Tonbridge; Ellie; tall, and elfin-shaped, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, long-legged, tough as steel; being his best friend on the force, though one day they would be parted, she would be promoted and move on, he would be promoted with similar results; and her girlfriend, older Jennie, motherly, a great comforter to both Ellie and to him, a Traffic Policewoman who could drive a car like nobody Andy knew; speed and narrow spaces holding no fear for her. Being in a car with Jennie at the wheel was about the scariest thing Andy was ever likely to do; worse than the bungee jump he’d done for the benefit of the Nursery, made some funds to keep it going, proud of that, or the parachute jump for the same cause, Zoé doing that with him; neither of those experiences being as scary as riding in a car with Jennie at the wheel.

      And the meal they were eating was part of a date, a last-day-of-a-holiday date, the end of two weeks of bliss, two weeks of swimming in the Mediterranean off the coast of Malta, an island they’d fallen in love with; strolling through the silent City; swimming off Melieha and Golden and Paradise beaches; exploring the capital, the shops, buying trinkets, riding the buses, laughing, holding hands, eating at restaurants; one night at the casino losing little, winning nothing; Sliema, the marina, the joyful people, some being anti-British because of history, having farms taken away for military reasons, being moved around like a herd of sheep; being constantly bombed but never surrendering during the Second Great War, the island being awarded the George Cross for its efforts; but it had already endured one Great Siege in 1565 when upwards of 40,000 Ottoman soldiers invaded and were held off by 2000 soldiers of the Knights Hospitallar and Maltese men, women and children, who not only held the invaders at bay but defeated them, causing up to 30,000 casualties; a history Andy and Zoé only discovered during their holiday: as they discovered more recent history during their visit to the underground ex-military communications centre, a place from where war was fought. They loved it all, though there wasn’t an enormous amount of green around, not like home, not like the green and pleasant land of both their births.

      Their last night before returning to work, Andy to his crime, Zoé to her children and her friends, her phone already pinging with messages, nothing on his, no communication at all, silence, the way he liked it. No news was good news as far as he was concerned; bad news could wait until he arrived back at the station. They took their time over the meal; Antipasti for both of them; Salmone Affumicato e Rucola for Zoé; Gameroni Piccanti for Andy; Zoé mildly complaining about the garlic with the Tiger prawns he was eating, saying she wasn’t going to kiss him for two days at least, the two of them laughing; a main course of Romano Pizza between them followed by three scoops of ice cream each, requesting different flavours and sharing, laughing, touching hands, knowing how wonderful their love was for each other.

      That’s when they began to talk about babies, about having some, of being parents, taking on that responsibility, being accountable for another human being. They didn’t make a cast-in-stone decision one way or the other, it was the first time they’d ever discussed it, but Zoé knew, she knew her husband had fathering in his eyes, in his heart and in his soul. She knew; he wasn’t so sure at that time but he did suggest that they practised some more and that led to more laughter, a paying of a bill, a short drive home, one coffee, no TV, a kiss, a hug and to bed where the holiday ended with something of a bang, no pun intended.

      ***

      Monday

      Andy North was first out of bed, before 5am, a quick half-asleep kiss with Zoé, showering in the family bathroom instead of the en-suite, dressing in his dark blue suit and white shirt in the second bedroom, a slice of toast, a cup of coffee, slipping on his clean shoes at the door and he was gone, at work before 6am, welcomed back into the arms of his compadres, back into the hug of friendship and male chatter, being brought up to date on current cases by Detective Inspector Thomas Cruise, Andy North’s immediate boss, sitting in his office with another cup of coffee; the office walls decorated with pale yellow paint, a three-quarter window overlooking a car park, a large desk, several chairs, filing cabinets, two phones on the desk; computer monitor, being told he looked very well, rested, ready for work, Andy confirming, smiling, telling Cruise that he was glad to be back, holiday was great, now it was over, time to get back.

      He immediately inherited a possible murder investigation, a farmer shot at his farm; miles from anywhere, out in the wilds, up in the mountains, part of the patch; during the night, farmer’s wife calling it in at 3am, a team despatched, Ellie out there waiting for him, Andy nodding, picking up a new file, shaking hands with Cruise, carrying the file to his car, dropping it on the passenger seat, climbing in, driving off, at least a thirty-two minute drive up into the hills, along the narrow roads, passing all the one acre fields encased by dry-stone walls, sheep and cows all around, no room for wheat or maize or barley in these hardy fields, subsistence farming at its worst, nothing like the giant farms of Norfolk and Lincoln, working their huge machines with wheels as high as Andy’s bedroom window. He called Ellie on his phone while he was driving; against the law he knew; but she brought him up to date, the farmer believed to have been shot with his own shotgun after being disturbed in his sleep, dressing, pulling on clothes over his pj’s, going to see what

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