Deadly Pleasures Read online

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Copyright Information

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Foreword – Peter James

  Introduction – Martin Edwards

  The Frame – Simon Brett

  The Pirate – Ann Cleeves

  Day or Night – Liza Cody

  Zounds! – Lindsey Davis

  Mr Halkett’s Hobby – Martin Edwards

  Killing the Swans – Ruth Dudley Edwards

  Bryant and May in the Field – Christopher Fowler

  Fedora – John Harvey

  Last Exit to Fuengirola – David Hewson

  Click – Alison Joseph

  Angela’s Alterations – Peter Lovesey

  The Last Resort – Claire McGowan

  The Polar Bear Killing – Michael Ridpath

  Enchantress – Peter Robinson

  Night Nurse – Cath Staincliffe

  Catch-13 – Andrew Taylor

  The Wrong Man – Charles Todd

  Threescore and Ten – Margaret Yorke

  Copyright Information

  THE FRAME © 2013 BY SIMON BRETT

  THE PIRATE © 2013 BY ANN CLEEVES

  DAY OR NIGHT © 2013 BY LIZA CODY

  ZOUNDS! © 2013 BY LINDSEY DAVIS

  MR HALKETT’S HOBBY © 2013 BY MARTIN EDWARDS

  KILLING THE SWANS © 2013 BY RUTH DUDLEY EDWARDS

  BRYANT AND MAY IN THE FIELD © 2013 BY CHRISTOPHER FOWLER

  FEDORA © 2013 BY JOHN HARVEY

  LAST EXIT TO FUENGIROLA © 2013 BY DAVID HEWSON

  CLICK © 2013 BY ALISON JOSEPH

  ANGELA’S ALTERATIONS © 2013 BY PETER LOVESEY

  THE LAST RESORT © 2013 BY CLAIRE McGOWAN

  THE POLAR BEAR KILLING © 2013 BY MICHAEL RIDPATH

  ENCHANTRESS © 2013 BY PETER ROBINSON

  NIGHT NURSE © 2013 BY CATH STAINCLIFFE

  CATCH-13 © 2013 BY ANDREW TAYLOR

  THE WRONG MAN © 2013 BY CHARLES TODD

  THREESCORE AND TEN © 1980 ESTATE OF MARGARET YORKE

  First published under the title ‘The Reckoning’ in Woman.

  DEADLY PLEASURES

  A Crime Writers’ Association Anthology

  Edited by

  Martin Edwards

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  First published in Great Britain and the USA 2013 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  9–15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.

  ebook edition first published in 2013 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited.

  Collection copyright © 2013 by Crime Writers’ Association

  Foreword copyright © 2013 by Peter James

  Introduction copyright © 2013 by Martin Edwards

  For copyright in the individual stories please consult

  the list see here.

  The right of Martin Edwards to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Deadly pleasures: an anthology of original stories from members of the Crime Writers’ Association.

  1. Detective and mystery stories, English.

  2. Short stories, English.

  I. Edwards, Martin, 1955- editor of compilation II. Crime Writers’ Association (Great Britain)

  823’.087208092-dc23

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-447-8 (ePub)

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8317-9 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-488-2 (trade paper)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This eBook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland

  FOREWORD

  I have always loved short stories, ever since I first discovered the genre in my teens, when I was studying French literature, and came across the brilliant and often shocking tales by Guy de Maupassant. I did not realize at the time, but he had carved a reputation as one of the fathers of the modern short story. It is years since I last read his work, but I can still remember them as vividly as if I had read them yesterday. All of them were beautifully written, exquisitely crafted, and left a lasting resonance.

  That to me is one of the great powers of a good short story. The sting in the tail of the tale that stays with you long after you have finished. And some, like Maupassant’s, remain with you, and prick you, for all of your life.

  There has been discussion over the years about the word count that separates a short story from a novella, and a novella from a novel. Very curiously, this has changed in the thirty-two years (gulp!) that I have been a published author. Back in 1980, when, with almost delirious happiness I signed my first ever publishing contract – for my spy thriller, Dead Letter Drop, with the then publishing house, WH Allen – I noted that the contract specified my novel should be a minimum of fifty thousand words. But for at least the past twenty years, my publishing contracts now specify a minimum of eighty thousand, and anything less is considered a novella. But how much less than that to be a short story?

  According to the Guinness Book of Records, the shortest ever recorded correspondence was between Victor Hugo and his publisher. He had just submitted the first draft of his manuscript of The Hunchback Of Notre Dame, and his accompanying letter was one digit long: It was simply a question mark: ‘?’.

  The reply he received, a week or so later, from his editor, was equally short and succinct: ‘!’.

  The shortest known short story, consisting of just six words, is attributed to Ernest Hemingway, although the provenance has never been conclusively substantiated.

  ‘For sale: Baby shoes. Never worn.’

  It is brilliant, because, like all great short stories, and indeed all great writing, it fires the imagination of the reader. So many questions, and no answers, except the ones we invent.

  This latest collection by CWA members is a wonderful assortment of fine, inventive writing, and extremely ably edited by Martin Edwards. Every story in this collection is a gem, every story will make you pause to reflect at the end. And I guarantee there are some here that we will all remember in thirty years’ time. You are in for a treat, I promise you!

  Peter James

  CWA Chair

  2011–2013

  INTRODUCTION

  This year sees the Crime Writers’ Association reach its Diamond Jubilee, and this anthology celebrates that notable anniversary in a suitably murderous way. From humble beginnings, when John Creasey convened a meeting of fellow mystery writers, and a dozen people who attended at the National Liberal Club on Guy Fawkes’ Night in 1953 agreed to form the Association, the CWA has grown in size and reputation, so much so that today, it numbers in its ranks many of the world’s leading authors of popular fiction. And it’s good to know that John’s son Richard is now himself a member of the CWA.

  The distinguished list of contributors to this anthology includes a host of award-winners. Many are writers whose novels have been turned into highly successful TV series, such as DCI Banks, Vera, Blue Murder, Cribb, R
esnick, Anna Lee, Fallen Angel and Shetland, while David Hewson has reversed the process by writing novels based on the Danish TV series The Killing. The generosity of these very busy people, who have taken the time to write original stories for the book despite their countless other commitments, speaks volumes for the affection and loyalty that the CWA inspires.

  As usual with CWA anthologies, I’ve been keen to include stories by a number of authors who have not previously contributed to the series. And they have come up with some wonderful stories, as well as offering readers a chance to catch up with several of their favourite characters. Fans of Bryant and May, Jack Kiley, Inspector Rutledge and Michael Ridpath’s Icelandic books are in for a real treat. Those, like me, who mourn the long-time absence from the bookshelves of that terrific character Anna Lee will find a clue to her fate – or perhaps it is a red herring? – in Liza Cody’s contribution. There is a story from a talented newcomer to the genre, Claire McGowan, and as well as that Rutledge mystery from one (or rather two!) of the CWA’s overseas members, the American mother and son partnership who write together as Charles Todd.

  John Harvey’s story is a fascinating take on a highly topical and difficult criminal subject, while Lindsey Davis has written a story which is a sort of companion piece to her contribution to the CWA’s Golden Jubilee anthology, Mysterious Pleasures. Peter Robinson’s story began life in a different form, as a piece for performance by Peter, alongside the legendary Martin Carthy, at the Beverley Folk Festival last year. The collection as a whole demonstrates the wide and exciting range of modern crime writing. The book offers police detectives and private eyes, humour and history, poignancy and psychological suspense. And … well, as you will see, there are plenty of tales of the unexpected.

  My original plan for this anthology was that, in reflecting the vibrancy of the current crime fiction scene, and of the CWA, it should contain nothing but brand new stories. Whilst the book was in the course of preparation, however, the CWA lost one of its most senior and distinguished members, and a former Chair, Margaret Yorke. Margaret, who died late in 2012, was not only one of the most gifted modern practitioners of psychological suspense in a domestic, but distinctly uncosy, setting, but also a staunch supporter of the CWA. She was an accomplished short story writer and had contributed to CWA anthologies in the past, most recently at the time of our Golden Jubilee. I felt it would be a fitting tribute to include one of her stories, which had previously reached only a limited readership, and I am very glad that her family not only agreed, but took the trouble to read through Margaret’s stories, and choose one which they felt was a suitable example of her gifts.

  It scarcely seems credible that ten years have passed since I edited the CWA’s Golden Jubilee anthology, Mysterious Pleasures. The title of this collection, shared with an excellent American magazine edited by George Easter, again reflects the pleasures that fictional crime can offer. And for me, as editor, being the first person to read the stories written by so many superb writers has proved especially enjoyable.

  My thanks go to all the contributors, and to Margaret’s family, for their kindness in helping to make this book possible. I’m also grateful to Edwin Buckhalter and his colleagues at Severn House for their support for the project, and to Peter James for his foreword. The result is a collection which will, I feel sure, give countless readers pleasure.

  Martin Edwards

  THE FRAME

  Simon Brett

  Simon Brett is the author of crime series featuring the actor Charles Paris and Mrs Pargeter as well as the Fethering Mysteries. His stand-alone novels include A Shock to the System, which was filmed with Michael Caine. As a writer for radio, he has been responsible for No Commitments and After Henry, which transferred to television. He is a former chair of the CWA and current President of the Detection Club.

  Time was running out for Jake Parlane. It had nearly run out many times before, but this was a situation he couldn’t shoot his way out of. Fact was, he was getting old.

  Old and respectable, mind. A respectable citizen of Ruthville, California. He’d heard it said that the United States of America was the ‘Land of Opportunity’ where anyone could reinvent themselves quicker than a rattlesnake’s strike. And anything that was true of the United States was even more true in the Wild West.

  He’d never blamed himself for the crimes committed in the early part of his life. With an upbringing like his, what else could a boy do? Also it had been an escape from the bullying evangelism of his father. All he could remember from his childhood was hard work and biblical quotation. His parents had been part of an early wave of pioneers from the East, trying to make a better living in the newest ‘Land of Opportunity’.

  Jake had been only four when they hit the trail, so he had the haziest recollection of the journey. But from the few things his mother had been allowed to say, it had been tough. She was never allowed to complain, though. In her husband’s eyes complaint amounted to criticism of the Almighty. Though it was he who had made the decision to go West, it was not his plan but God’s they were following. And if God chose to bring hardship their way … well, they must just put up with it.

  God did bring a lot of hardship their way. Only in the disillusionment of his teens, when he ceased to believe in parental infallibility, did Jake realise how his father must have been duped about the quality of the land he’d bought. Nearby them were riverside ranches with lush pasture whose owners stacked up the cash, but to make a living from the Parlanes’ few acres of dust and scrub was virtually impossible. The earth was too shallow to produce anything but stunted crops, the greenery too sparse to support the family’s emaciated cattle. ‘Subsistence farming’ was too good a description of what went on at the Parlanes’. When he bought the property, Jake’s father had been shaken down like a country hick in a city casino.

  Not that he would ever accept that unalterable fact. For him crop failure after crop failure just meant that the family was not working hard enough to realise the plan that God had so generously devised for them. Setbacks only gave out one message: they had to work harder.

  And that meant everyone. The day after they arrived on their plot four-year-old Jake was set to work on the endless task of picking stones out of the areas designated for cultivation. And the same fate of back-breaking toil awaited the sequence of brothers and sisters who sprang with such regularity from the womb of his exhausted mother. They all worked all the time.

  Their day of rest was Sunday. And that was a rest only from physical labour. Jake’s father, by continued Bible readings and prayers, turned the day into one long church service. But not in church. Though there was a mission a mere two miles away, the Parlane family never went there. The patriarch preferred his own version of Christianity to any existing form. And he preferred the company of his own family to seeing people he didn’t know. No one ever came to visit the Parlane farm. It was only later in life that Jake realised his father had been completely mad.

  It was ironical that, in the vast empty spaces of California, the dominant feeling of the teenage Jake was one of claustrophobia. He was locked as firmly into the routines dictated by his father as he ever would be in a prison cell. And it was in hopes of escaping his incarceration that, at the age of eighteen, he stole his first horse.

  A horse represented freedom. From his home he could see the buckaroos roaming unfettered, rounding up cattle on the distant plains. He watched the Wells Fargo stagecoaches, raising clouds of dust as they charged past the drooping locked gates of the Parlane farm. Everyone else was going somewhere. If he had a horse he could go somewhere too.

  Of course Jake had no skills as a horse thief. No skills as a horse rider either. That was what was really pathetic about his theft. He tried plenty of times, but he never even managed to get up on the horse’s back before the local sheriff was out calling at the Parlane farm.

  And then all hell broke loose. Jake’s father was not only furious that his son had been guilty of a crime; what seemed to i
rk him more was that this criminal behaviour had brought outsiders into their private compound. He disowned his son on the spot, telling Jake he’d never be welcome in the family home again (which was not without its irony, because he’d never felt welcome there in the first place).

  Maybe with parental support at his trial Jake Parlane would not have got such a stiff sentence. Maybe not. Horses were what kept the local economy going back then and stealing one was regarded as a pretty serious crime. The owner of the horse Jake stole reckoned the five years the boy got handed down was too lenient.

  Jails back then weren’t fancy places. Men were there to be punished and a lot of the punishment came from other prisoners. Much of what happened during those five years Jake just blanked out. One thing for sure, though, prison was a brutalising experience. The experience that led to his life of crime. You came out of prison hating the world and wanting revenge on it. So he didn’t feel guilty about any of what came after.

  Jake Parlane sat back in his leather armchair and sipped at the fine bourbon in its cut glass tumbler. The matching decanter stood on the table at his side, just where Aaron had left it. Jake looked across the veranda and beyond his garden to the neat little town of Ruthville, where the evening lights were beginning to come on. And he thought back to the past.

  Back to the whisky they all drank then. God, it was rough. Didn’t do to ask too much detail about how it was made. Not like this smooth, oh so smooth, bourbon that was as delicate as a breeze on a cornfield.

  And he thought of Ruthville back then. It was a joke. Not just the place, the clumsy dusty assemblage of unfinished wooden huts, but the name, that was a joke. Ruthville. Named after Ruth, the broad-limbed – and broad-minded – Irish madam who supplied the girls in a shed that couldn’t aspire to the title of a brothel. The place was named for her as a joke. The joke was forgotten, but as the town became respectable the name stuck. Jake Parlane chuckled. He wondered how the new pastor who’d just taken up his post in the gleaming just-completed Ruthville Episcopal Church would react if he knew where the name came from. (He also enjoyed the irony of the pastor not knowing the provenance of the large contribution to the church building fund made by respectable parishioner Jake Parlane.)