Read Blackwater (DI Nick Lowry) for Free Online

to do.
    Firstly, Lowry troubled him – dicking about with those toerag squaddies: so unnecessary. Though Sparks and Lowry had spent a lot of time together, at work and socially, Sparks could not say he knew his detective inspector. To Sparks’s mind, Lowry was the model CID officer: physically impressive, handsome, polite, hardworking, well turned out. He had it all. But, on the odd occasion, the chief did wonder; he was such a quiet man, Sparks felt he didn’t know what made him tick. The first time this occurred to him was when Lowry was promoted. It was the year Elvis died – seventy-seven, or was it seventy-eight? – and all Nick had said was, ‘Jacqui will be pleased.’ Make DS in CID at thirty-five, you’re the bee’s knees, the business, the face in the town; you get the respect from the underclasses without the weight of bureaucracy that comes with the upper ranks. That was it, though – ‘Jacqui will be pleased’ – not a smile, not a thank you, not a damn thing. Why was the man so remote? What did he have to be so buttoned-up about? Who did he think he was?
    The chief dressed quickly. Maybe he had set too much store by Lowry’s enthusiasm as a boxer. The man’s dedication to the division was admirable – had Sparks, over the years, allowed that to shape his opinion of Lowry? Boxing. Boxing was also very much on his mind, for tomorrow was the first fight of the year. Overzealous or not, he could at least depend on Lowry in the ring.

-6-
    9.35 a.m., Saturday, Colchester Road, West Mersea
    A deep blue winter sky stretched above the marshland, out of which a blinding low sun burned off the remainder of the mist and gave definition to the filling estuary.
    ‘Bright one, eh, Jace? Could do with some shades!’ Felix remarked, flicking down the sun visor as the Land Rover trundled down the East Mersea Road to hook up with the main island artery that would take them on to the Strood and across to Colchester.
    Boyd filtered into the road they’d been unable to use the night before, behind a dingy trailer. The mudflats glistened in the early-morning light like cooling chocolate. ‘Wonder what that’s all about?’ he said to himself as they passed a man in a trench coat, surrounded by several uniformed police, examining the wooden guardrail.
    Whatever it was it had pushed them back further. Boyd wouldn’t admit it to Felix, but this delay worried him. Last night, when they’d picked up the Landy from the barn where they’d left it, he’d shrugged off his concerns, especially after the ordeal of bobbing around on the Blackwater for hours. All he’d wanted was to get on dry land. Even getting turned back by the police seemed a blessed relief at the time. Now, in the cold light of day, things took on a different perspective. They were late. New Year’s Eve had been and gone without the bang many had expected them to deliver, and Jason Boyd was feeling decidedly edgy.
    9.45 a.m., Castle Park, Colchester
    The castle was a two-minute walk up from Queen Street police station into the centre of town. Colchester town centre, like all old settlements, sat on a rise, and the castle to the east commanded an unbroken view of the northern suburbs beyond its grounds. On the plateau surrounding the keep itself were elegant Victorian gardens, shaped within ornate ironwork and with careful topography. The northern edge boasted a large bandstand that was still used throughout the summer. Lowry jumped up on to it for a better view. The sharp sunlight caused the light dusting of frost on the manicured grass to sparkle. The grounds below sloped dramatically down to reach the border of the north wall, which was a Roman construction, part of the original settlement, which was shallow on this side but masked a treacherous twenty-foot drop on the other. Anyone who chose to run headlong down this steep incline on a dark icy night must’ve been pretty determined. Your average pub brawl could get nasty, reflected Lowry, but it