Guilty Parties Read online

  HEY JUDE © 2014 BY FRANCES BRODY

  DEADLINE © 2014 BY N.J. COOPER

  THE DEATH OF SPIDERS © 2014 BERNIE CROSTHWAITE

  MOMENTS MUSICAUX © 2014 JUDITH CUTLER

  A LIBERATING AFFAIR © 2014 CAROL ANNE DAVIS

  A GLIMPSE OF HELL © 2014 MARTIN EDWARDS

  THE CONFESSIONS OF EDWARD PRIME © 2014 KATE ELLIS

  TELL IT TO THE BEES © 2014 JANE FINNIS

  PACIFIED © 2014 CHRISTOPHER FOWLER

  THE FRANKLIN’S SECOND TALE © 2014 PAUL FREEMAN

  SECOND CHANCE © 2014 JOHN HARVEY

  ALL YESTERDAY’S PARTIES © 2014 PAUL JOHNSTON

  PARTY OF TWO © 2014 RAGNAR JONASSON

  READER, I BURIED THEM © 2014 PETER LOVESEY

  THE LAST GUILTY PARTY © 2014 PHIL LOVESEY

  WHAT’S THE TIME, MR WOLF? © 2014 CHRISTINE POULSON

  THE WIDE OPEN SKY © 2014 KATE RHODES

  SKELETON CREW © 2014 CHRIS SIMMS

  FLATMATE WANTED: SMOKERS WELCOME © 2014 C.L. TAYLOR

  DIRECTOR’S CUT © 2014 ALINE TEMPLETON

  LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON © 2014 RICKI THOMAS

  GIVING SOMETHING BACK © 2014 L.C. TYLER

  THE ART OF OLD AGE © 2014 YVONNE EVE WALUS

  THE MAN IN THE NEXT BED © 2014 LAURA WILSON

  GUILTY PARTIES

  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 is was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicably 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 2014 by SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  19 Cedar Road, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM2 5DA.

  eBook edition first published in 2014 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Collection Copyright © 2014 by Crime Writers’ Association

  Foreword Copyright © 2014 by Alison Joseph

  Introduction Copyright © 2014 by Martin Edwards

  For Copyright in the individual stories please consult the list here.

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

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Guilty parties : a Crime Writers’ Association anthology.

  1. Detective and mystery stories, English.

  I. Edwards, Martin, 1955- editor of compilation.

  823’.087208092-dc23

  ISBN-13: 978-07278-8387-2 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-516-2 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-534-5 (ePub)

  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

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Foreword – Alison Joseph

  Introduction – Martin Edwards

  Hey Jude – Frances Brody

  Deadline – N.J. Cooper

  The Death of Spiders – Bernie Crosthwaite

  Moments Musicaux – Judith Cutler

  A Liberating Affair – Carol Anne Davis

  A Glimpse of Hell – Martin Edwards

  The Confessions of Edward Prime – Kate Ellis

  Tell it to the Bees – Jane Finnis

  Pacified – Christopher Fowler

  The Franklin’s Second Tale – Paul Freeman

  Second Chance – John Harvey

  All Yesterday’s Parties – Paul Johnston

  Party of Two – Ragnar Jónasson

  Reader, I Buried Them – Peter Lovesey

  The Last Guilty Party – Phil Lovesey

  What’s the Time, Mr Wolf? – Christine Poulson

  The Wide Open Sky – Kate Rhodes

  Skeleton Crew – Chris Simms

  Flatmate Wanted: Smokers Welcome – C.L. Taylor

  Director’s Cut – Aline Templeton

  Like Father, Like Son – Ricki Thomas

  Giving Something Back – L.C. Tyler

  The Art of Old Age – Yvonne Eve Walus

  The Man in the Next Bed – Laura Wilson

  FOREWORD

  Rather like letter writing, or music on vinyl, the death of the short story seems to be constantly anticipated. ‘Oh, people don’t read short stories,’ it is said, in publishing circles, or by magazine editors. ‘The days of the short story are numbered.’ Well, if this volume is anything to go by, the short story, on the contrary, has a very healthy future.

  The short story is in the DNA of crime fiction. One only has to glance at the eminent history of the genre to see that short stories were absolutely central to the work of some of our greatest crime writers. There is the work of Conan Doyle, of course, but also the likes of Allingham, Christie, Chesterton and Simenon all knew that some tales demand the brevity and elegance that only a short story can give.

  This CWA Anthology continues that proud tradition. Since our foundation in 1953, the nature of crime writing has evolved and broadened, the characterization ever richer, the story-telling more exploratory, experimental, surprising. The genre continues to be popular because people love being told a proper story. A reader reaching for a crime story knows that they will be given a page-turning narrative and a real resolution.

  And the popularity of the short form of our genre reflects that. A crime short story can be writ large or small. It can describe the culmination of a lifetime in one moment of change; or, it can be a little tale of neat resolution. It can chart unimaginable evil, or quiet homicide, or just a dull day in a copper’s life. It can talk of death, of love, of vengeance. It can describe psychological torment, or the orderly processes of a detective’s puzzle-solving. Sometimes it doesn’t even need to have a crime.

  The CWA Anthology is always an opportunity to showcase the huge range of talent within the genre and the writers represented here are no exception. Some are familiar names, some are people who have never contributed before; some British, some from overseas. As a collection of work it proves the continued importance of short stories, an importance which I am sure will continue to grow, not only in print form, but also within the proliferations of web-based and electronic forms, so that a bite-sized chunk of narrative is just the thing for a short train journey, or a moment between meetings.

  I am delighted to introduce this collection and to celebrate the work of the featured authors. I also wish to thank, once again, our publishers, Severn House, and our wonderful editor, Martin Edwards. And as even a cursory dipping-in will demonstrate, the crime short story is in robust form, and all set to continue the rich tradition of the genre.

  Alison Joseph

  CWA Chair

  INTRODUCTION

  The number of members of the Crime Writers’ Association, which celebrated its Diamond Jubilee last year, is now higher than ever, and this reflects the relentless (and very welcome) rise in interest in crime fiction across the world. The CWA may be primarily a British organisation, but its members come from many different countries. An Icelandic chapter was formed not long ago, and there are plans fo
r a chapter based in France. This international dimension is reflected in the fact that two contributors to this book hail from Iceland and New Zealand, while others live in Greece and Abu Dhabi.

  In putting this book together, I was keen to offer a flavour of the remarkable and fascinating diversity of the crime genre, as well as of the people who write it. Only four of those authors who featured in last year’s anthology, Deadly Pleasures, return this time, but I am confident that readers will find that the quality of the stories is as high as ever. Several contributors have never previously featured in a CWA anthology, and they range from relative newcomers such as Ricki Thomas to very well-established authors like Aline Templeton and Paul Johnston. From the many submissions I received, I have chosen a few very short, but I think highly effective, stories, and even a contribution in verse.

  I am optimistic about the future of the short story, an optimism fired in part by the quality of the submissions, in part by broader trends. Markets in print magazines may be in short supply, but the opportunities for online and digital publication seem to be encouraging more and more writers to try their hand at the form, and sometimes in daring fashion – at least one CWA member has produced a short story via Twitter. As for the CWA Anthology, it has a long and proud history of showcasing splendid work by writers both famous and new to the genre, and I am confident that, changes in the publishing world notwithstanding, it will continue to go from strength to strength.

  As usual, I must express my thanks to all the contributors, the publishers, and my colleagues on the CWA committee who have given this project their support. And now, without any more ado, on with the stories!

  Martin Edwards

  HEY JUDE

  Frances Brody

  Frances Brody writes the 1920s Yorkshire-based mystery series featuring war widow turned sleuth, Kate Shackleton. Before turning to crime, Frances wrote radio and theatre plays, TV scripts and sagas, winning the HarperCollins Elizabeth Elgin debut award for the most regionally evocative family saga of the millennium.

  Why does a police car look so much like a police car, like it couldn’t be anything else? It couldn’t be any more noticeable if it came onto the estate sirens blazing.

  ‘It’s there,’ I said, ‘past the lamppost.’ She stopped the car. She got out, I got out. Our house is the corner one in this squared off bit of street so you have to walk across the stretch of grass where you’re not supposed to play football or cricket, and everyone does. I’d heard them as we came round the corner. The Patel kids and our Anthony. They play cricket like World War Three. When the car stopped and I got out it went quiet. Desperately, impressively quiet, like someone had said, ‘Freeze!’

  We went through the gate and she was going to knock on the front door.

  ‘Back way,’ I said and we walked round.

  Just for a second it crossed my mind that I could run for it. But where could I go? Besides, she was dead close. Breathing down my neck. I went in. As usual, Mum and Dad were at the table, drinking tea. Smoking. They looked across – and then they saw her. Miss Bluebottle.

  ‘Hi,’ I said. And my voice was real normal, as if I wasn’t being brought home by the busies.

  She said, ‘Hello, Mrs Markham, Mr Markham.’

  They just sat there. Looking. Like they were seeing a scene on telly and waiting for it to change. They’re not exactly action packers at the best of times.

  ‘Are you going to tell them, Rachel, or shall I?’

  Mum and Dad just sat there. Like, What’s this? What’s going on?

  ‘I got picked up for shoplifting,’ I said.

  ‘What?’ said Mum.

  Dad didn’t say anything. He forgot to smoke. His mouth kind of opened, like it was waiting for his cig. Then he closed it, and his head kind of nodded, as if it didn’t have anything to do with him.

  ‘Can I sit down?’ the copper asked.

  ‘You better come in the front room,’ said Mum.

  ‘Hang on a minute.’ Dad looked at me. ‘Did you do it? Were you shoplifting?’

  And I knew if I said no, he would shove her out the door, copper or no copper.

  ‘Yeah.’

  We went in the front room.

  We all sat down. Somehow the copper ended up sitting next to me on the settee. Mum and Dad in the chairs, looking … separate.

  ‘A colleague and I responded to a call from Meredith’s Bookshop at four thirty,’ said the copper, like she’d learned the lines. ‘There were several girls together, seen behaving suspiciously, and suspected of shoplifting. The manager had apprehended Rachel.’

  Mum said, ‘What were you doing in Meredith’s?’

  Dad said, ‘Who were you with?’

  ‘That’s what I’d like to know,’ said the copper. ‘The other girls got away.’

  I said nothing.

  ‘Meredith’s?’ said Mum. ‘What did you take?’

  ‘Jude the Obscure.’

  ‘Who?’

  I really appreciated Dad making one of his stupid jokes. It was almost like he couldn’t help it, even when I was on the point of being hung, drawn and quartered. Then I realised, he wasn’t joking. He’d gone senile. I always knew he would. He always said I’d send him round the twist one of these days.

  The copper said, ‘Rachel had four copies of Jude the Obscure in her bag. We have reason to believe one of her friends took multiple copies of Twelfth Night and another girl took … some poetry.’

  I nearly said the set anthology, but that would have given the game away.

  ‘Is this true?’ said Mum.

  I wished I could think of some way of denying it. Like claiming Jude had just kind of made a rush at me and leapt into my bag, like someone was after him, Tess of the d’Ubervilles or The Mayor of Casterbridge.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Why?’ said Mum.

  ‘Because they’re on my book list.’

  ‘Why four?’ said Mum.

  That was when I decided to shut up altogether.

  ‘Were you taking them to re-sell at school?’ the copper asked. As if she hadn’t asked me before.

  Dad was looking at his feet. I expect he was remembering how when I was little and looking through his books he’d told me which ones he’d liberated and when I asked him what liberated meant Mum had nearly started to beat him up.

  I wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t even my idea. I said nothing.

  ‘So what happens now?’ said Mum.

  ‘I have to write a report. The inspector needs to see it. Then it’s up to the inspector. And Meredith’s.’

  ‘Is she going to be prosecuted?’ said Mum.

  ‘You’re an idiot,’ said Dad. ‘What are you?’

  I didn’t think I needed to answer.

  ‘Possibly,’ said the copper to Mum. ‘It would help if she’d give a full account.’

  Shop my mates, she meant.

  ‘Can you leave us to talk to her?’ said Mum, thinking she could get it out of me.

  ‘I’d prefer it if we could have a statement now,’ said the copper.

  I said nothing. Why was I so slow? By the time I’d got to the door at Meredith’s, everyone else had gone and they’d done this clever blocking me thing so I couldn’t get out. I mean, four copies of Jude the Obscure. I wouldn’t have minded getting nicked if I’d gone for a big one. Post Office job. I wished I didn’t feel sick.

  ‘Well?’ said Mum. ‘Who was with you? Whose idea was it? Have you done this kind of thing before?’

  Say nothing.

  ‘What was wrong with the library?’

  ‘I told you. I told you I needed the books.’

  Dad leapt off his chair and came yelling and screeching towards me like he was king of the apes.

  ‘I was gettin’ ’em. I was gettin’ ’em for you. I gave you one. I gave you Jude the bloody Obscure.’

  Mum glared at him and I could hear her thoughts saying, Sit down, you. Stop making a show!

  He sat down, but like he co
uldn’t keep still. He was bashing his hands up and down on the chair arm.

  ‘They were captured on camera,’ said the copper. ‘We will identify them. It would be simpler for us and easier for you if you’d make a full statement.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Dad to me. ‘Come in the kitchen.’

  I got up and followed him in.

  He put the kettle on. Tea and cigarettes. That’s what he lives on. Cigarettes and tea.

  ‘Why? Why? Why bring one of them in the house? We can do without the law. Isn’t it bad enough?’

  ‘Yes, it’s bad enough.’

  He sent me back in, to ask if the policewoman took sugar.

  In the kitchen, he said, ‘Jude the Obscure, Jude the Obscure. What was wrong with my copy of Jude the Obscure?’

  ‘It was scribbled in.’

  ‘Annotated. The word is annotated.’

  It was like he was dragging the word from somewhere a long way off.

  ‘You’re an idiot? What are you?’

  There are always three choices when you get a remark like that. You can say, All right. So I’m an idiot. You can say nothing, maybe include a sigh. Usually a good option. Or you can say something else. I said, ‘Property is theft.’

  He banged his hand on the table and at the same moment looked out of the window and saw the police car. He said, ‘And theft is a criminal record. For the rest of your life. We don’t do that. We pay for what we want or we go without, all right?’

  ‘I’m sick of going without.’

  ‘And do you think I’m not?’

  He put teabags in three cups. I poured myself an orangeade.

  ‘Before this tea mashes, I want to know.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Everything.’

  I closed my lips.

  ‘Not her. Me. I want to know. Why four copies of Jude the Obscure?’

  ‘Me and my mates.’

  ‘Most kids don’t care. Most kids play truant. Couldn’t you just have played truant during English?’

  ‘We like English.’

  I shouldn’t have said that. It narrowed it down. He pretended I hadn’t given anything away. He said, ‘Good. You can study for a degree in jail.’