The Complete Nightingale Mysteries Box Set
THE COMPLETE NIGHTINGALE MYSTERIES
Five gripping crime thrillers
ROY CHESTER
Includes five complete novels:
Book 1: THE TOYBREAKER
Book 2: ANGER MAN
Book 3: PREY
Book 4: VENGEANCE
Book 5: CAVED IN
TABLE OF CONTENTS FOR ALL BOOKS
Book 1: THE TOYBREAKER
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
EPILOGUE
Glossary of English Slang for US readers
Character List
Book 2: ANGER MAN
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
Glossary of English Slang for US readers
Character List
Book 3: PREY
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Epilogue
Book 4: VENGEANCE
PROLOGUE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
EPILOGUE
Book 5: CAVED-IN
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
EPILOGUE
Glossary of English Slang for US readers
Character List
A SELECTION OF OUR OTHER TITLES YOU MAY ALSO ENJOY
Book 1: THE TOYBREAKER
A gripping serial killer crime thriller
ROY CHESTER
Revised edition published 2016
Joffe Books, London
www.joffebooks.com
First published as The Toy Breaker by Hale Books 2008
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The spelling used is British English except where fidelity to the author’s rendering of accent or dialect supersedes this.
©Roy Chester
Please join our mailing list for free kindle crime thriller, detective, mystery, and romance books and new releases.
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THERE IS A GLOSSARY OF ENGLISH SLANG IN THE BACK OF THIS BOOK FOR US READERS.
To Henry
PROLOGUE
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“A bottle of pop and two packets of cheese and onion crisps, please?”
“What kind of pop?” The woman behind the counter smiled at the man.
He was in his mid-twenties, tall, with black curly hair and bright blue eyes. He looked at the little boy standing next to him. “What do you think, Jason?”
The boy looked about five years old. Unlike the man his hair was blond, but he had the same bright blue eyes. He was dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans.
“Lemonade,” he replied. “A big bottle. And can we have Kit Kats as well?”
“Having a picnic then?” the woman asked as she placed the items together on the glass counter top.
“Yes, Mrs Seeton.” The man nodded. “We thought we’d go into the park while the weather’s nice.”
“That’s one pound thirty-five, please.” She put everything into a plastic bag and handed it to him.
The man slipped a rucksack off his shoulders and put the bag inside. Then he fumbled in his pocket, spread a small pile of coins on the counter and began to count through them laboriously. A crowd of teenagers standing behind started to make fun of him, mimicking his actions and calling out words like ‘divvy’ and ‘mental.’
But they stopped as soon as Mrs Seeton told them to shut up or leave the shop. Then she turned her attention to the man and helped him count the money. “Oh dear. Not quite enough here, I’m afraid.”
“What if we just have one Kit Kat?” the man asked eagerly.
“Yes, that will do.” It wouldn’t, but it was only a few pennies short and she scooped up the coins and put them in the till. “Have a nice time in the park.”
She turned to the teenagers as the man left with the boy. “Now, what do you lot want?”
When she’d served them, the woman who was next in the queue moved forward. “Making fun of him again, were they?”
Mrs Seeton sighed. “Only to be expected, I suppose, really.”
“Yes.” The woman nodded her agreement. “They can be cruel at that age. Still, like you say, it’s to be expected. Not all there, is he?”
“No, there’s something missing, right enough. Bit slow, as you might say. But he’s so marvellous with that little lad of his. And the boy worships the ground his dad walks on. No doubt it’ll be different when he grows up, more’s the pity. But for now it’s a treat just to see them together.”
* * *
Outside the shop, the little boy held the man’s hand and jumped up and down, trying to avoid stepping on the lines of the paving stones as they walked. The man laughed and measured his own strides as he helped the boy evade the crowds. It was Saturday afternoon and the pavement was busy with shoppers, the air filled with a cacophony of noise and traffic fumes.
But when they reached the end of the street and turned a corner they entered another world. A world of Victorian gentility, faded now but still reflected in the crescent of small red brick villas that curved in front of a wide pavement dotted with tall plane trees and ornate lamp standards. Across the street, facing the villas, the land fell away in a grassy slope towards an area of old dock buildings. Beyond them in the distance the silver gleam of the river shimmered in the haze.
The man and the boy crossed the street and moved onto the slope. For a while they followed a path but then struck off to the side and entered a thicket of small tangled shrubs growing against a high brick wall. In the centre, there was a grassy space and they sat down.
It was their place. A sanctuary where they were completely hidden, shut off from the rest of the world.
The man sat down on the grass, slipped the rucksack off his shoulders and opened a large pocket in the front. From inside he took out a faded cloth, which looked as if it might have been an old curtain, and spread it on the ground. The boy knelt down and took the bottle of lemonade, the crisps and the single Kit Kat out of the rucksack. He placed them on the cloth, then rummaged in the rucksack again and pulled out a red plastic box and four small teddy bears. He sat the bears around the edge of the cloth and opened the plastic box. Inside there was a tea set; six tiny cups and saucers, six plates and a teapot. He carefully set a cup and saucer by the side of each of the bears, and put a plate in front of them. Then he put out two more settings.
“Ready.” He turned to the man and smiled.
“So put the food out.”
“Do you want to help?”
The man smiled and shook his head, knowing the boy liked to do this part of the ritual on his own. It made him feel grown up.
The boy opened one of the crisp packets and divided the contents among the plates in front of the bears, before pouring lemonade into the cups. For the next few minutes he pretended that the bears were enjoying the food as he and the man sang the ‘Teddy Bears’ Picnic.’
After that they started on their own picnic. At first the boy divided the remaining packet of crisps between the two empty plates and they ate them, washed down by lemonade. Then they finished off those on the plates in front of the bears.
“Daddy, do you want half of the Kit Kat?” The boy’s voice had an anxious note.
The man touched his stomach. “I don’t think I could eat another thing. I’m too full up after those crisps. You have it all.”
“Well, if you’re sure.” The boy tore the wrapper off the bar and began to eat the biscuit fingers.
When he’d finished he collected the plates and cups from the bears, chatting to the animals as he did so. Then he sat down next to the man, and snuggled up to him.
“I want to tell you something.” He whispered in the man’s ear.
“Oh, and what’s that?”
“My daddy’s my best friend. My bestest friend ever.”
The man ruffled the boy’s hair and held him close, a great flood of love running through him. So much love that he thought his mind might burst.
* * *
For a while the boy slept, cradled in the crook of the man’s arm. When he woke, he wanted to play and the man opened the rucksack again. This time he took out a number of toys, carefully selected by the boy before they left the house, and put them on the grass.
There was a small dumper truck, a lorry and a crane all in die-cast metal, and a model dock and tramp steamer both beautifully made out of brightly painted wood. To the side of the clearing there was a pile of sand on the grass. They’d put it there earlier in the summer and the boy placed the dumper truck and lorry in front of it, then arranged the dock and the ship on the opposite side of the clearing.
> For the next half hour he was content to play, digging out successive loads of sand with the dumper, transferring them to the lorry and moving them to the dock. Once there, he used a crane to transfer the sand to the open hold of the ship which he sailed to an island in the middle of the clearing.
As the boy played the man sat watching him. Despite the heat and the bright sky, the man felt a sense of grim foreboding invade his mind. Like a shadow crossing the sun.
For months he’d lived with the fear. With the threat. But now it had changed. Ever since he’d seen . . .
He forced his mind away from the terror. But it kept coming back. The sight of that room. The terrible knowledge of the threat it held. The threat hanging over the boy. Over the person who was the centre of his life.
He felt the tears behind his eyes as he thought of the danger that lay in wait. The boy knew. Not the nature of the threat, but enough to awaken some primeval sense of apprehension in him. And as if reading the man’s thoughts he looked up.
“Is it time to go yet, Daddy? We mustn’t be late. But we’ve been good, haven’t we? And God won’t be angry with us, will he?”
“No, he won’t be angry.”
“So we won’t have to go to the room?” He started to shake then and tears formed in his eyes.
“No.” The man bent down and took him in his arms. “You won’t have to go to that room again. Not ever. Daddy promises that.”
As he held the boy his own tears ran unchecked down his face.
CHAPTER 1
She could smell it as soon as she walked through the door. The smell of failure. It hung heavy in the air, and it was etched in the faces of the officers at the row of computer terminals set on the long bench that occupied much of the space in the outer open-plan office.
Garton was under siege. A mood of despair that had been caught a few days earlier by a banner headline in the Garton Evening News:
EVIL IS WALKING THE STREETS OF THE CITY, AND IT MUST BE STOPPED.
But it wasn’t being stopped. And day by day the tension increased.
Two men were waiting in an office on a raised dais at the far side of the open-plan section. Most of the floor of the dais was filled with flip charts on easels, and glass screens covered in coloured writing. The wall space was taken up by whiteboards, holding a series of photographs of numbered crime scenes, and large screens displaying digital images. White-coated technicians were moving around, adjusting the images on the screens and updating the information on the whiteboards and the glass screens. All very high-tech, she thought.
Every inch of space was utilised, and the office seemed to have been tacked on as an incidental. Inside, a wooden laminate desk with a computer terminal on the surface filled the centre of the floor, and the wall space was taken up with filing cabinets and rows of steel shelving bulging with cardboard archive boxes. Four red plastic bucket chairs, the only splash of colour in the room, were arranged around a low table under a window which overlooked the main floor of the Operations Centre.