A Carriage of Misjustice #5
Summary:Murder doesn't care if you're a newlywed.
Detective Chief Inspector Robin Bright and Deputy Headteacher Adam Matthews have just tied the knot, and all they want to do is sink into blissful domesticity. Unfortunately, thereâs no chance of that when a chilling murder at a rugby ground takes Robin miles away to help his old boss solve it.
The mystery seems impossible to crack. Everyone with a motive has an alibi, and those without alibis donât have a motive. Robinâs determined that this wonât be the case heâs unable to unravel. Not when heâs got his old boss to impress and a new team to lick into shape.
Back at home, Adam joins a fundraising choir to keep himself occupied. Surely a case thatâs so far away wonât draw him in this time? Fate has other ideas, though, and danger turns upâquite literallyâon his doorstep. Heâll need Campbell the Newfoundland for both company and protection this time around.
Lock, Stock, and Peril #6
Summary:They may be locked down but this case isnât.
Lockdown is stressful enough for Chief Inspector Robin Bright. Then a murder makes this strange time even stranger. In one of Kinechesterâs most upmarket areas, the body of Ellen, a brilliant but enigmatic recluse, has lain undiscovered for days. Pinning down the timeâand dateâof death will be difficult, but finding a killer during unprecedented times could prove impossible.
Adam Matthewâs focus on his pupils is shaken when a teaching assistant reveals his godmother has been murdered. Keen to avoid involvement, Adam does his best to maintain a distance from his husband, Robinâs, case, but when it keeps creeping up, Adam lends his incisive mind to the clues again.
Between Robin trying to understand the complex victim and picking his way through a mess of facts, half truths, and downright lies from witnesses desperate to cover up their own rule-breaking, he realises this could be the cold case that stains his career and forever haunts a community. And when it looks like the virus has struck Adam, Robinâs torn between duty and love.
A Carriage of Misjustice #5
Original Review June 2021:
It has been over a year since A Carriage of Misjustice was released and I'm sorry to say I just got around to reading it. 2020 really screwed with my reading mojo and 2021 hasn't fared much better but I do appear to possibly be coming out of the haze. Now, I'm the first one to admit, Robin, Adam, and the Lindenshaw Mysteries may not quite reach the level of "OMG!" that the author's Cambridge Fellows Mysteries does but it's a pretty close second. This newest installment is no less brilliant than the previous entries in the series.
Robin and Adam are still just as amazing together, even though truth be told their togetherness is less as Robin is called to take over the lead in a case in another town. Don't think that means Adam doesn't find a way(or perhaps more accurately the way finds him) to be on the fringes at least of his husband's latest case. Whether physically together or not, these newlyweds are just as fun as they've always been. Campbell the dog seems to enjoy his new role as protector now that his other dad is away, even joining in on choir practice occasionallyđ.
As for the case, well you know I won't divulge anything here but I will mention how some might think the mystery is a bit overloaded on the suspect list but I like it that way. Sure some might call it convoluted at times with so many suspects but you know what? That just kept me on my toes more and kind of put me more into the story right along with Robin and his fellow coppers trying to weave their way around all the leads. Simply put: sometimes less can be more but this time more is perfect.
Charlie Cochrane has once again proven to me that UK mysteries in all forms are just a little more entertaining with the well balanced levels of mayhem, drama, AND humor. Brilliant on every page. Can't wait to see what shenanigans show up on Robin and Adams' doorstep next.
Original Review August Book of the Month 2022:
Once again we find the cop and teacher duo of Robin and Adam in the middle of yet another crime, this time in the middle of pandemic restrictions. And you know what? Once again Charlie Cochrane has proven she is a queen of mystery that puts her right up there with Agatha Christie, Caroline Graham, and PD James(to list a few) in my opinion.
What makes me say that? Her talent to weave a mystery with drama, humor, romance, and of course an incredible cast of characters that makes it nearly impossible to guess who did it right up to the reveal. Some may not like having so many possibilities, I'll admit it can be hard to always keep each potential suspect straight but for me that can actually get my adrenaline pumping even more.
As for the particulars of Lock, Stock, and Peril?. I think most of you know what's coming: I refuse to put out any spoilers and as this newest entry in the author's Lindenshaw Mysteries series is in fact a mystery with a laundry list of whos, whats, and whys every little snippet can possibly spoil the reveal. So for the 3 W's I won't say anything. What I will say is that Robin and Adam are more in love and more in sync with each installment and their contribution to the romance tag of the story is a lovely balance of "aren't they just adorably sweet" and "thank goodness their couple time doesn't overshadow the crime solving".
And once again, Adam may not go looking for ways to insert himself into his husband's case but those ways just have a habit of finding him. I love how the author handles that insertion: helpful but not sneaking around trying to assist in secret and eventually causing more chaos the husband has to get him out of. And of course, their beloved furbaby, Campbell the Newfoundland offers his ever loving and undying support.
I want to mention one thing about Lock, Stock, and Peril: Robin and Adam are dealing with the latest case in the midst of Covid. Personally, I think the author handled it beautifully. Lockdown barriers that can throw more than one monkey wrench into their case but it just adds another level of realism to the story, as does a personal infection risk for the couple. I'm pointing this out because I know some who have clearly stated that they just aren't ready to read about Covid in fiction yet, it's too real, it's too current, it's too fresh in their minds. I understand that and respect that but for me when the author handles is so well as Charlie Cochrane has I not only welcomed it's inclusion but enjoyed it, kind of gave me a new respect for what law enforcement has dealt with the past two years.
I've said this before and I'm sure I'll say it many times in the future so I might as well say it again here too. As much as I enjoy a good American mystery, there is just something extra special about a British mystery, both in print and on the screen. One of my absolute favorite mystery series is Midsomer Murders(and the author even mentions the show in passing later in the book-a lovely Easter Egg find for me) and Robin and Adam have reminded me of that show from the very beginning. As I say that, I don't mean the author has copied the formula or anything but the adrenaline rush I get from reading this series is the same I get from watching Midsomer. I love the whole concept of seemingly throw away comments or "minor" characters(good or bad) that can actually completely turn the case on it's axel.
I got a little wordy in this review(it happens when I get talking about my passion for reading) so I'll say it simply: Lock, Stock, and Peril is a jigsaw for the mind, some parts are easy to put together and others may stump you for a bit and then you finally find that one piece that makes it all fit. Likeable(and some not so likeable but love to hate) characters, amazing plot, well balanced humor, drama, and romance for an altogether brilliant storytelling experience.
A Carriage of Misjustice #5
Chapter 1
Adam Matthews turned his left hand so that his ring caught the light. It was an elegant piece of metalwork, Welsh gold in a chunky, slightly squared-off design, exactly the same as the ring on Robin Brightâs hand. Theyâd not deliberately chosen an identical pattern for romantic reasons: that was simply how it had worked out. Theyâd both studied the jewellerâs brochure, both written a list of three favourite choices in order of preference, put the lists into sealed envelopes . . . and opened them to find theyâd picked the same one in pole position, with remarkably similar ones in second and third place.
Great minds think alike and all that.
âAre you still admiring your wedding ring?â Robin said, from over the other side of the lounge, where he and Campbell the Newfoundland were having some bonding time. Nothing better than watching the Sunday lunchtime game on the telly, especially when it featured Liverpool against Spurs. Campbell in particular seemed besotted with Harry Kane.
âIâll never stop admiring it. Even the kids in my class think itâs cool, and theyâre hard to please.â Adam took another glance at the ring, then picked up the Sunday paper to flick through the sports pages. He wasnât really reading, thoughâit was more of a prop to cover the inane grin that was about to break out all over his face and for which Robin would take the micky out of him. A grin he couldnât help producing every time he thought about it. The fact that theyâd gone and tied the knot at last.
What a day it had been: a small civil ceremony out at a local upmarket pub, the Sporting Chance, with only close family and friends, their mothers wearing enormous hats and looking stunning. But the star of the day had been Campbell, outdoing everyone in terms of style with a white bow tie around his neck and stealing the show as he trotted up the aisle with the rings in a bagâwaterproof to avoid the slobberâin his canine jaws. Heâd dropped them at Adamâs feet, then returned to sit on a blanket at the back of the room with nonchalant ease, as though this were the sort of thing he did every day. His presence had proved to be a bonus, because when the guests were fussing over the dog, theyâd been leaving the groom and groom in peace.
The newlyweds hadnât gone off on honeymoon, given that Adam couldnât have got away during term time, so they were saving their leave for a proper holiday later in the year. So just a celebration that weekend, then straight back to school for Adam and the nick for Robin, on Monday morning.
That had caused comment at both workplacesâas had the fact theyâd opted for a small, restrained ceremony rather than the big lavish do some people had expected. Theyâd made it clear that theyâd been making a stand against the commercialisation of weddings, believing that so long as there was a ceremony, a photographer, a good meal, and a bit of a knees-up, all boxes had been ticked. Anybody whoâd suggested they were being tight wads had got subtly reminded that theyâd made sizeable charity donations in the names of those who hadnât been invited.
Now, theyâd been an officially linked couple for all of a week and the sensation still felt as shiny and new as it had the previous weekend.
âI could do with a few weeks to recover from all the excitement. Wha-at?â Robin paused, frowning. âWhy are you making that stop it gesture? Whatâs the problem?â
âDonât say anything about time to recover. Donât tempt fate into arranging a surprise Ofsted inspection for me or a cold-case murder that rears its head again and means weeks of you working all hours God sends.â Adam touched the wooden table. He wasnât really superstitious, but sometimes you were trying to appease your own conscience as much as some nebulous source of fortune, good or bad. Like wearing lucky socks to play sport: your brain tells you it made no difference but your heart wonât believe it.
âOkay. Do you want me to wish that a horrible case drops in my lap on the principle that itâll ensure lifeâs nice and quiet?â
Adam grinned. âDonât say anything. Put your mind to whether we want to have a religious ceremony to go with the civil one.â
âThatâs trickier than solving a murder case.â
Both were regular if occasional churchgoers, and both would say they had a degree of faith, although they didnât make a big thing of it. And both appreciated that only certain parts of the Christian communion wouldnât turn their noses up at the union between two people of the same gender.
âWould Neil do us a blessing, do you think?â The vicar was pretty broad-minded and heâd never shown any disapproval towards Robin or Adam.
âPrivately, maybe. If we asked for something smallâsmaller than even the wedding wasâand maybe not in the church itself. I donât think heâs got a problem with homosexuals but there are a few folk on the PCC whoâd throw their toys out of their prams if they knew we were standing in front of the altar at St. Crispinâs making vows in the presence of God.â
âAnd the fear of the congregation?â Robin said, which was an old joke if still a relevant one even now.
âSome of them, but thatâs inevitable. You know who Iâm thinking of.â Like any parish, Lindenshaw had its share of people who would prefer it if there were no women priests, the only prayer book used was the one published in 1662, and everyone lived by the parts of the Levitican law that didnât apply to them but stopped everyone else having fun. âI remember a few folk getting the hump on when Neil first arrived here and made them share the peace at the ten oâclock communion. They couldnât have been more outraged if heâd taken the service in drag.â
Robin made the kind of face he produced when he had to clear up after Campbell had relieved himself in the garden. âSounds like theyâre due to be outraged again, then. Shall we make an appointment to see Neil?â
âWorks for me. Although he probably canât do anything till late spring. Lent coming up, and Iâve a feeling the church doesnât do weddings then. I guess a blessing would come under that umbrella.â
âOur mothers would welcome deferring the event for a while. It would mean they can get new summer hats to go with the winter ones they wore last weekend.â The local milliner must have made a small fortune out of the Matthews and Bright womenfolk.
âRight. Before we start planning any of that, we have work to do this afternoon. Our good deed for the day.â
âSo we have.â
The cottage three doors down was owned by a fiercely independent lady in her seventies, whom theyâd told that if she ever needed anything done round the house or garden that didnât need technical skill, just a touch of brawn, she shouldnât hesitate to call on them. It would have to be serious for her to call in that offer, and the loss of three fence panels in a storm two days previously came into that category. Theyâd take CampbellâMrs. Haig doted on himâand the pair could supervise Adam and Robin while they repaired the old panels and shifted them back into place. The fact that Mrs. Haigâs boiled fruit cake was legendary turned an act of kindness into a positive pleasure.
They got into their working clothes and set off.
An hour, a cup of tea, and a large slab of cake later, the old panels were out and the new ones ready to be installed.
âYouâre doing a grand job, there,â Mrs. Haig said. âI donât know what Iâd do without you.â
âItâs a pleasure. Better than marking books or catching criminals.â Adam gave his husband a wink. âNeither of us take enough exercise.â
âI used to watch you running with Campbell.â She scratched the dogâs ear. âI suppose youâre too busy for that these days.â
âYouâre right. We tend to take him for a walk together, donât we?â
âYes,â Robin replied. âIt makes sure we spend time together too.â They had no need to hide their relationship from their hostess. Her brother was gay, a stalwart of musical chorus lines in London.
âYou could join the church choir,â she suggested. âThey always need tenors.â
âIâd love to, but Iâd always be ringing Martin up to say I couldnât make the practices. Armed robbery to sort out or whatever.â
Adam hid his grin in his teacup. The choirmaster fancied Robin and barely hid it.
âYes, I suppose so.â Mrs. Haig frowned. âYou work too hard, the pair of you. And hereâs me eating into your weekend.â
Adam shook his head. âThis isnât work, itâs play.â And the sight of Robin in an old T-shirt, muscles rippling and working up a sweat was a sight to enjoy. Adam gave him an affectionate glance, which was immediately returned.
âThese panels wonât install themselves,â Robin said hastily, perhaps with half a mind on some less strenuous but highly enjoyable activity that could go on later, assuming they werenât too tired.
An hour later, they were home, tired but happy. Adam cleaned himself up while Robin brushed residual crumbs off the dog, then he could head into the shower while Adam had a well-earned sit-down. As he was getting dressed, Adam thought he heard Robin talking on the phone. Please God it was only Mrs. Bright touching base rather than work calling the bloke in. The fact that Robin wasnât leaping up the stairs apologising and changing out of his old clothes so he could report for duty had to be a good sign, surely?
âWhatâs up?â Adam called over the banister, heart sinking when Robin entered the hallway. âAnyone would think youâd lost a tenner and found five pence.â
âNot quite. Not an ideal situation, though.â Robin weighed the phone in his hand like it was a piece of ordnance heâd like to chuck as far away as possible.
âThatâs what Brits say when itâs the end of the world.â
Robin grinned. âItâs not as bad as that. I have to go off on secondment, as of tomorrow. Hopefully itâll be a short one, but you canât tell with murder. Or with peritonitis.â
Adam made a thatâs gone right over my head gesture. âIâm sure thatâs supposed to make sense, but youâve lost me. Secondment to where?â
âHartwood. Itâs a town between Oxford and Birmingham, east of the M40. There was a murder there about ten days ago. Donât know if you saw the storyâbloke found dead in the loos at a rugby club.â
âI was a bit preoccupied last week, if you remember, but yes, I did see the story on the BBC site. Why canât the local police handle it? Test Valley or East Midlands or whoever covers the area?â
âThatâs a long story. Can I come and clean myself up and then Iâll tell you everything?â
âMight be an idea. Youâre slightly fragrant.â Adam forced a smile. Going on a secondment? They really shouldnât have tempted fate.
While Robin showered, Adam pottered about in the kitchen. He always found that a calming place, somewhere he could think clearly. No doubt that was associated with the house having originally been owned by his grandparents: many happy hours heâd spent there as a child, helping his granny to make the Christmas pudding on stir-up Sunday or learning firsthand the way to make a perfect Yorkshire pudding.
As he transferred from fridge to oven a defrosted casseroleâcourtesy of their domestic help, Sandra, whoâd insisted on stocking the freezer when theyâd been knee-deep in wedding preparationsâAdam cast his mind back to the news story, but nothing much had registered about it. Still, it was easy enough to refresh his memory by researching the story on his phone. By the time heâd followed a few links, heâd built up a reasonable picture. Hartwood Wasps Rugby Club had used to be exclusively for gay and bi guys, but had decided to welcome everyone, initially because theyâd had a bit of a crisis in terms of player numbers. Theyâd been so successful that theyâd carried on with the strategy and were now heading up the leagues, making a tongue-in-cheek thing about their equality policy ensuring that straight players didnât get given a hard time.
The Wednesday before last, a bloke called Nick Osment had been found dead in the changing room in the clubhouse, and so far the police had shown no signs of making an arrest. Plenty of appeals for help, though, and some noncommittal statements about following a number of leads.
Had they hit a brick wall so early in the investigation and needed a fresh pair of eyes? Robin had built up his experience of murder cases over the last few years, and heâd been a hundred percent successful on leading his team to finding the culprit, but surely he wasnât the most experienced officer they could call on if a case had stalled? Or was there another reason, given the history of the club, that the local force had picked on this particular officer?
âThis secondment,â Adam asked, as soon as Robin appeared, âtheyâve not called you in because youâre gay? Rainbow rugby and all that.â
Robin shrugged. âOn the surface, no. They needed to call somebody in, thoughâright bloody mess up at the local stationâand I used to work with the detective superintendent there when I was a snotty sergeant and she was my inspector. Rukshana Betteridge. Iâve mentioned her.â
âYou have.â Theyâd also discussed the fact that some people muttered behind her back that sheâd only been fast-tracked because she was a woman, and mixed race to boot, but Robin wasnât having that. She was simply a better copper than most of the blokes she worked alongside, and heâd learned a hell of a lot from her. âI particularly remember a story about you, her, and the nuclear-strength chicken vindaloo. Three hours on and off the loo, was it?â
âI was hoping youâd have forgotten that.â Robin gave Campbell a pat. âYour dads canât get away with any misdemeanours, can they? Cowdrey rang me, and he says Detective Superintendent BetteridgeâIâll never be able to call her Rukshana to her faceâgot in touch and pleaded to have me help out. Iâm hoping itâs my skills as a copper and my track record with solving murders that was the key thing, rather than who I bed.â
Adam nodded. Heâd already got out and opened a couple of bottles of beer: Robin looked as though he could do with one. âSo, whatâs this right bloody mess youâve got lumped with sorting out?â
âThe detective inspector who reports to her, Robertson. His appendix went haywire back end of last week, and heâs developed peritonitis on top of appendicitis. Theyâve operated successfully, but he wonât return to work anytime soon, no matter how much he wants to be. This bloke was running the investigation, and thereâs nobody local to take his place. Even his sergeantâs been working nonstop on an abuse case.â
âBloody mess is no exaggeration, then.â
âYep.â Robin scratched Campbellâs head distractedly. âCowdrey says itâll be great for my career, but he also understands it wonât be easy, hard on the heels of last weekend.â
âI should have applied to the school for unpaid leave. We could have headed off to the back of beyond, in which case they couldnât have got hold of us.â Adam put his arm around Robinâs shoulders and held him close. âItâll work. Weâll make it work.â
Robin nuzzled into Adamâs chest. âYeah, I know. I really wish I didnât have to, but Betteridge was a good friend to me, and I feel I owe her. And thereâs some poor dead sod who deserves justice.â
âDonât apologise. Just catch the bloody killer quickly so you can get back here. This is not the sort of honeymoon I imagined having.â Adam chuckled, gave him a kiss, then had to pretend to give Campbell one too, as the dog was clearly feeling left out.
âI could tell Cowdrey to stick it. Politely, of course, because Iâm neither that brave nor that stupid. He told me to take an hour to think it over.â Robin glanced at his watch. âIâve still time to decide.â
âHey, I was only kidding about the honeymoon. You go. Itâs not like Iâm some blushing bride and we only had our first night together once youâd put a ring on it. As far as Iâm concerned, the honeymoon started ages ago and itâs never stopped.â Adam gave him a lingering kiss. âIt would be worse if Iâd fallen for a soldier.â
âYou soft bugger. Iâll get onto Cowdrey right now, and put him out of his misery. Heâll be grateful, as will Betteridge.â
âAnything I can do to help, let me know. When does he want you to travel?â
âTomorrow, preferably.â Robin grimaced. âIâm glad Sandra got all the washing and ironing up-to-date. I need to get rummaging in the airing cupboard and get a suitcase packed. There are other phone calls I should make too.â
âMake one to your mum and another to Pru. Subcontract all other communication to them.â Mrs. Bright and Robinâs favourite sergeant would be able to handle any task set. In fact, the maternal information network would ensure the news would be halfway across the county within thirty minutes of Mrs. Bright being told. Adam wondered if she stood on her roof using semaphore flags or an Aldis lamp, depending on the time of day.
âThe first would work, but Pruâs likely to be too busy. Cowdrey said heâd like her to go with me. DS Betteridge wants me to have an officer Iâm used to working with on my team, and itâll be good experience for her.â Robin was clearly warming to the positive aspects of this assignment. âIâm sure that if I give young Ben a call instead, he can pass on the news to the team. He always hints he wants extra responsibility.â
âWill you still be calling him young Ben in twenty years' time, when heâs in his forties and losing his hair?â Adam snorted. âMaybe then heâll regard you like you regard Betteridge.â
âIf he does, Iâll be pleased.â Robin returned the kiss, grabbed his phone, and went to call Cowdrey.
The casserole wouldnât be ready for a while, so Adam nipped upstairs to get Robinâs clothes out of the airing cupboard; he laid them out on the bed, trying to be helpful and also gathering his thoughts.
It had to be a good opportunity for both Robin and Pru in terms of career development. Showing their willingness to help out even if it meant personal inconvenience, the chance of working with a new team and a new area, and maybe learning things they could bring back and apply in Abbotston. Adam felt a swell of pride at the confidence Robinâs old boss clearly felt in her protĂ©gĂ©, whatever other considerations might have come into play. Adam wasnât going to get sidetracked into thinking about whether this might herald a move to Hartwood itself, with Betteridge taking Robin back under her wing in a police variation on the January football transfer window. Robin would certainly enjoy working with her again. Heâd never expressed anything but praise for her and the way sheâd fought her corner firmly but politely at so many turns.
Adam would have loved to have been a fly on the wall the day when sheâd charmingly pulled up a young sergeant whoâd referred to her having had an attack of feminine intuition with the words, âIf a bloke made a leap of reasoning like that, youâd call it a hunch, so thatâs what weâll call it in my case, eh?â
Heavy pawsteps on the stairs, accompanied by snuffling, heralded the arrival of Campbell, who wasnât usually allowed upstairs except on special occasions, of which this had to be one.
âCome to make sure Iâm laying out everything your other dad needs? He doesnât want that, thank you.â Adam wrested a small stuffed toyâalbeit not horribly slobberyâout of the Newfoundlandâs jaws. âIâll get him to FaceTime you every day so youâll know heâs safe.â
What would his colleagues say if they saw him having an earnest conversation with a dog? The children wouldnât bat an eyelid, naturally. Theyâd understand such things were important.
âWeâll both miss him, only donât let on too much, eh? I donât want him giving up the chance simply to stop us being upset.â
Campbell glanced up, big brown eyes full of what might be interpreted as understanding, then nuzzled his nose into Adamâs hand. It was going to be just the two of them again for the next few weeks, and theyâd need to take care of each other. Although there was a plus side to the situation: the murder having taken place so far away, the investigation of it really couldnât draw him or Campbell in this time. Could it?
Adam stretched over to touch the wooden bedside table, aware theyâd tempted fate already that afternoon.
Lock, Stock, and Peril #6
Chapter One
âNo murders allowed, right?â
Robin Bright glanced up from doom-scrolling the news to view the pleasing sight of his husband, Adam Matthews, whoâd broken the silence. Hair tousled from where heâd been snuggled up on the sofa having forty winksâwith Campbell their Newfoundland providing a useful blanket for his feetâAdam gave the impression of only being half-awake. Perhaps heâd not known what he was saying, still partly in a dream world.
âEh? No murders allowed when?â Robin asked.
âNow. Anytime, really. I was saying that if we do get away for a holiday this summer, we donât want it being spoiled by you getting called in to a murder case three days before we go.â Adam grinned, in a way that could still turn Robinâs knees to water. âYou werenât listening, were you?â
Robin held up his phone. âExhibit A. I was trying to keep abreast of the news. If itâs possible to keep abreast of it.â
What a year 2020 had been, and the start of 2021 wasnât shaping up that great, either. Some activities that had been allowable the previous January were nowâin his opinion quite rightlyâan offence, and the patterns of crimes had changed. One thing hadnât altered, although it had been emphasized: you were most at risk from those people you knew, friends and family, rather than a homicidal stranger.
âKeeping abreast? We believe him, donât we, boy?â Adam patted the dogâs head, getting a yawn in response.
âPfft. Tell you what, Iâll get in contact with all the villains on the patch to ask them to keep their hands to themselves when itâs coming up to the school holidays. Maybe a leaflet drop round all the houses would work for the ones who arenât on the radar yet.â If only such a thing were possible and, if possible, effective. During every run up to an important family event, like a holiday or their wedding, Robin found himself worrying whether mayhem would break out in Abbotston or any of the local towns. As a result of which, all leave would get cancelled until the culprits were safely locked up.
âWeâll help you distribute them.â Adam patted the dog again. âI keep thinking that itâs been a while since youâve had a complicated murder case to deal with and that our luck canât keep going forever.â
âYouâre tempting fate.â The last such occasion Robin had dealt with had been off their patch, when heâd been called in by his old boss to cover a team that was short-handed. This part of the world rarely saw killings that werenât easily solved. All in line with his proven belief that you were most likely to be hurt by your nearest and dearest. âMay I remind you what has a habit of happening when one of us says something like that?â
âDonât remind me. Youâre too good an officer, so I keep worrying that youâll get whisked away to the other end of the country because the local police canât cope or have all come down with it. Maybe when youâre handing out these flyers, can you print on them that any crimes that happen have to be within a thirty-mile radius?â
âShall I start a blog and put my diary on it so the crooks know when they have to behave themselves? Maybe you want to put in a time frame where it would be acceptable for them to commit crimes?â Did other coppers have this kind of conversation with their partners or did his and Adamâs quirky sense of humour mean they were unique?
âThatâs a great idea. Not sure your chief constable would approve, though. Campbellâs giving me a look of disapproval. Very law-abiding, this dog.â Adam tickled the Newfoundland behind his ear. âIs it wicked to hope that if you do have a major case to deal with soon, then it happens during this lockdown period, where it canât get in the way of anything else?â
Not wicked so much as pragmatic. However . . . Robin addressed the dog. âCampbell, is your other dad hinting that heâs likely to get fed up of having me under his feet again?â
The question didnât need a reply: banter like that had eased them through the previous lockdowns and any other occasions where theyâd had no other company but their own. Being lovey-dovey all the time, with no jibes or jokes at your partnerâs expense wasnât in their repertoire.
The Newfoundland slipped away from his comfy perch on Adamâs legs, crossed the room, and rubbed his head against Robinâs hand, wagging his tail contentedly.
âHe must have heard the magic word lockdown.â Adam shook his head. âClearly looking forward to weeks of people being confined to barracks again. He loves it.â
Campbell had never been so fit and healthy as over the past year. Theyâd walked miles with him, singly or together, and when theyâd been able to form a bubble with Adamâs mum, sheâd volunteered to take him out. Ostensibly, this was so the lads could have a break from doggy parental duties and get on with the odds and ends they needed to do on their new home in Cranshaw, but Adam was in little doubt that it was really about being able to spoil the dog rotten. He also suspected the dog formed a useful excuse for her to stop and chat to people, getting the sort of contact that was proving difficult otherwise. Everybody wanted to ask about such a handsome hound, despite the fact they couldnât get close enough to be favoured with his slobbery chops in their hands.
To bubble or not had caused some of their colleagues a lot of angst, but Adam and Robin had escaped lightly on that front. Despite Robinâs mum being widowed, they hadnât needed to feel guilty about not choosing her, given that sheâd already formed a bubble of her own with his aunt Clare. A more formidable duo than those two women was unimaginable; woe betide anyone who didnât wear a mask or keep their distance when they got on the case. The government had no doubt missed a trick by not employing an army of retired women to make sure that everyone was obeying the rules.
Aunt Clare had a flat over at Kingâs Ashley, which reminded Robin . . . âHave you had any further thoughts about that headship at Kingâs Ashley Primary?â
âYes. And no, I donât think Iâll go for it.â Adam was still on the young side for taking over a school, and he reckoned the one heâd seen advertised there was going to be a poisoned chalice. It had gone through four headteachers in ten years, a stuck school that needed a big kick up the backside: anybody taking that over would either make their name as the genius who turned it round or be listed as yet another failure.
âI think thatâs the right answer.â Robin hadnât wanted to force the issue, given that he believed Adam would make a bloody great headteacher, even in such a challenging situation, and the school concerned was within easy travelling distance of their new home. But it hadnât felt right, for whatever reason. Maybe his copperâs brain had filed away something heâd heard or read about the place, perhaps from Aunt Clare herself, which had left a definite donât touch this with a bargepole impression.
âOh, really? Is that why youâve been so noticeably neutral about it?â Adam knew him too well. âAnything you want to share? A murderer on the board?â
âNothing so concrete. If there had been, Iâd have told you. Just a feeling that Iâve come across the place in the past, like the feeling I had about Aunt Clareâs Jeff.â
âThat sounds ominous, given what your rozzerâs nose turned up then.â
Jeff had come on the scene the previous summer, his name ringing a worrying bell. It turned out heâd been a suspect in a peculiar burglary case back when Robin was a constable, and the months before Christmas had seen Abbotstonâs finestâboth Robin and his exceptionally efficient sergeant, Pru Davisâsolving the cold case and clearing Jeff of suspicion in the process. Satisfying all round and further evidence that if Robinâs instinct was that something was worth investigating, it should be done.
âYou know whatâll happen now, donât you?â Adam continued. âYouâll get a case come up at Kingâs Ashley, and itâll turn out to be centred on the school. Some ex-colleague of mine whoâs the prime suspect, and Iâll have to sweet-talk him into giving me the golden nugget of a clue.â
Robin rubbed Campbellâs ears. âTell your other dad that I donât deliberately set it up for him to be involved in my cases. They seem to want to draw him in.â Too often to be healthy. âHe shouldnât have so many useful connections.â
âAll my useful connections have dwindled to a handful of people with whom I have the occasional Zoom chat. Most of which end up being extremely awkward.â Adam stretched out his arms, yawned, then snuggled down.
âAre you having another nap?â
âNo. Iâm assuming my thinking position. Those Zoom chats had me wondering whether you can murder somebody over the internet. Itâs been tempting at times.â
âSounds like perfect fodder for one of these noir television series. From Norway or somewhere else on the Baltic.â Interesting concept, though. The internet had proved a breeding ground for old crimes in new variantsâa con artistâs paradiseâbut Robin had yet to see that taken to its ultimate variation. Except in the hideous case of people being egged into taking their own lives. âPerhaps you should use the new lockdown to start writing a murder mystery. You have plenty of ideas.â
âI have my own tame technical advisor too.â Adam shook his head. âNah. I know too much about what cases are really like to put down a made-up version. Too mundane, no good cop, bad cop anymore, not as much reliance on forensics as the fictional varieties portray. I could write a light-hearted version, though. A super-intelligent Newfoundland who solves mysteries that leave his ownersâa sassy detective and a super-sexy teacherâtotally baffled. Campbell the Clever Canine. Dougal the Dog Detective.â
âHamilton the Holmesian Hound. Write it. Youâll make a fortune.â
Adam gave a contemptuous snort. âOh yes? In what world do the majority of writers make a fortune? I used to know one through Lindenshaw church, and he always told people who wanted to write a book not to plan on giving up the day job.â
âSee, you have all the connections. If I end up with a murder case that needs specialist publishing input, I know who to come to.â
Adam had provided specialist educational input in the past, along with tales of what it was like serving on a jury. Linking up with old pals, snitching on choir colleaguesâAdamâs input to solving cases had gone above and beyond on occasions, including the time heâd joined an archaeology club simply to get Robin the information he needed. The bloke was a diamond.
Robinâs mobile rang, jolting him out his thoughts, bringing the unpleasant suspicion that theyâd tempted fate again and this was indeed the station calling him in for a case that would interrupt the normal running of the Matthews-Bright household.
He suspected wrongly. It was work related but nothing worse than his ex-sergeant, Stuart Anderson, picking his brains about a series of armed robberies he was investigating. Now based at Hartwood, some two hoursâ drive north, he still sought help from his old andâhe professedâfavourite boss.
âHowâs he doing on his new patch?â Adam asked, when the call ended.
âHe sounds happier than ever. Taken to Hartwood and environs like a duck to water, loving fatherhood, and full of praise for Rukshana Betteridge.â If Anderson had a soft spot for Robin, the man himself had a softer one for his former superior officer, the woman who had helped form the policeman heâd become.
âSheâd have been happier if youâd relocated up there, but I guess sheâll find him a chip off the old block. As long as she doesnât have to live with himâI wouldnât wish that on anybody.â Theyâd accommodated Anderson temporarily when heâd had a domestic falling out, and it wasnât an experience theyâd hurry to repeat. âI was sure that phone call was the duty officer wanting you to come in and deal with some incident or other. It usually happens when weâve been talking about it. Perhaps we should ban the subject.â
âLike weâve banned Covid clichĂ©s? What would there be left to talk about?â A cushion striking Robinâs head showed what Adam thought of that.
*****
By the time January was nearing its end, the dreaded major case still hadnât reared its ugly head. Irrespective of them tempting fate. Adam had settled into his new work routine and had started to keep an eye on the primary headships that were being advertised. There were still vacancies around, in this county and over the border into Hampshire, so all heâd need was one within a reasonable travelling distance of their home. If the right one came up, it wouldnât hurt to give it a whirl, despite his not having many years as a deputy under his belt. Good interview practice if he got short-listed, if nothing else, and his experiences when theyâd recruited a new headteacher at Lindenshaw would help. Poacher turned gamekeeper and all that. His existing boss, Jim Rashford, would give him a glowing reference, despite the fact heâd told Adam he didnât want to lose him and would do everything he could to give him further responsibility and wider experience while still retaining his services.
Theyâd had a conversation that very Thursday morning about whether an acting headship for a term might be a good way to tick all the boxes. And if it was within the Culdover cluster of schools, Rashford would still have Adamâs brains available to pick. The headteacher had promised heâd get on to the county education department to register Adamâs interest, as they were always desperate for good people they could parachute into empty seats. Quite a pleasant prospect to consider as Adam drove home, ready for an evening of cottage pie and football on the telly with the two people he loved most in the world.
Robinâs car wasnât there when Adam got home, which wasnât unusual, given that the bloke didnât necessarily keep regular hours, but seeing his usual parking space empty produced a hollow feeling in Adamâs stomach. Maybe Robinâs copperâs nose had rubbed off on him, and now he was sniffing something wrong. He pulled out his phone, saw that heâd forgotten to put the sound back on, so had missed Robin messaging him half an hour earlier. Adam decided to go into the house before he read the message. He could pretend it was because Campbell would have heard the car and would be straining to make a fuss over him or be made a fuss of; however, the truth was that he was a touch scared that this would be notification of another case. Worse still, a case that would take Robin halfway across the country again.
Adam got out of his coat, put down the stuff heâd brought home, fussed over the dog, and then gave himself a talking to. Fine bloody headteacher heâd make, not being able to read a text in case it carried bad news. He swallowed hard.
Iâll be late home. Have tea without me. Weâve got word of a murder in Kinechester. Not really our patch but guess whatâbloody Covid has hit the team there so weâre taking over the case. Iâll tell you about it when I do get home.
Kinechester? That was a relief. The main county townâtechnically a city because of the cathedral, though neither of them were that largeâwas within easy travelling distance of their house, so Robin wouldnât need to stay away. Thereâd been nothing about the murder on the local radio news, however, and when Adam checked the BBC site on his phone, the story only appeared as a report of a police incident in the Ramparts ward of the city.
Kinechester was an odd place. As the name suggested, it had been founded by the Romans, although the large Iron Age hill fort a couple of miles south of the city indicated the area had been occupied long before the legions came stomping in. The city centre still based itself on the great east-west and north-south roads, although very little of the original walls and gates now remained.
âYour average Roman would have recognised whatâs for sale in the local shops,â Adam told Campbell, who seemed incredibly interested in his history lesson. Perhaps he was thinking of food, although olive oil, spelt flour, fish sauce and Italian wine were hardly his cup of tea. âA deli-worshipperâs paradise. Youâd have had to develop a taste for falafels if weâd moved there.â The phone ringing interrupted their mutual love fest. âHi, Mum. Howâs life?â
âBusy busy. You wait until youâre retired. Never a moment to call my own, lockdown or not. Whatâs this I heard on the traffic news about avoiding the Ramparts because of a police incident? Houses prices there are so astronomical you wouldnât have thought theyâd have such things.â
âNow, why do you think Iâd know what this is about?â Adam chuckled. âOr that Iâd tell you if I did. Anyway, Kinechester has its rough areas. One of my pupils used to live on the council estate there, although his parents had plenty to say about the prices in the cafĂ©s. Arm and a leg for a coffee near the Ramparts. Poshest of the postcodes.â
It was an area of Victorian and Edwardian housing taking its name from a much-used, much-loved and much-envied open space that was riddled with humps and bumps. At some point in the pastâallegedly during the civil war although nobody was quite sureâearthworks had been set up there and cannon stationed behind them to protect the city.
âItâs as well you didnât move there, then.â
âExactly.â Adam and Robin had strolled around the area in the run-up to the Christmas before last, when Robin had recently completed investigating a gruelling assault case and needed some fresh air. Somewhere far away from anywhere heâd visited for work. âNice place to visit, especially the Christmas market and the restaurants, but beyond our means.â That had put paid to any idea theyâd entertained of moving to the area. âAnyway, your maternal telepathy is spot on. Robinâs got the investigation, and thatâs all Iâm saying.â
âIsnât that off his patch?â
Adam snorted, always amused when his mum broke into police slang. âItâs the bloody ârona.â Hit the local team so heâs got to cover for them.â A sudden silence down the line. âHello? Are you still there?â
âSorry, dear. I was thinking about Robin. Kinechesterâs a Covid hotspot, you know. Numbers off the scale. I . . . I hope he takes care of himself.â
Ah, so that was what the call was really about. his mum was obsessed with the latest data, able to tell you exactly which local areas had the highest infection rates. Less worried for herself or Aunt Clare than for her son and son-in-law, she said, especially with Culdover usually being another hotspot.
âHeâll be fine. The king of hands, face, and space.â
After the normal goodbyes, Adam ended the call to find Campbell staring up at him. He rubbed the dogâs ear. âDonât you go worrying yourself, as well. Anyway, your other dadâs going to be late in, mate. Maybe past your bedtime. Maybe past mine.â
However, his partner would be snug at his side in bed in the wee small hours of the morning, alive and well. Which was more than could be said for the poor victim, whoever they were. Naturally, Adam could never help worrying whether Robin would make it through a case intactâhell, the man had been threatened at gunpoint in their old kitchen. But, despite that and other incidents, theyâd all three managed to get through unharmed. So far.
His mumâs phone call had left Adam feeling strangely uneasy, though. A gun or a knife were visible dangers; you couldnât see this bloody bug. Weâll have to dodge that viral bullet too.
Adam Matthews's life changed when Inspector Robin Bright walked into his classroom to investigate a murder.
Now it seems like all the television series are right: the leafy villages of England do indeed conceal a hotbed of crime, murder, and intrigue. Lindenshaw is proving the point.
Detective work might be Robin's job, but Adam somehow keeps getting involvedâeven though being a teacher is hardly the best training for solving crimes. Then again, Campbell, Adam's irrepressible Newfoundland dog, seems to have a nose for figuring things out, so how hard can it be?
Charlie Cochrane
As Charlie Cochrane couldn't be trusted to do any of her jobs of choice - like managing a rugby team - she writes. Her favourite genre is gay fiction, predominantly historical romances/mysteries, but she's making an increasing number of forays into the modern day. She's even been known to write about gay werewolves - albeit highly respectable ones.
Her Cambridge Fellows series of Edwardian romantic mysteries were instrumental in seeing her named Speak Its Name Author of the Year 2009. Sheâs a member of both the Romantic Novelistsâ Association and International Thriller Writers Inc.
Happily married, with a house full of daughters, Charlie tries to juggle writing with the rest of a busy life. She loves reading, theatre, good food and watching sport. Her ideal day would be a morning walking along a beach, an afternoon spent watching rugby and a church service in the evening.
A Carriage of Misjustice #5
Lock, Stock, and Peril #6
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