Edinburgh Cuckoos - Book three in the Bill Reyner Mystery Series

Plot

Summoned to England by his ex-girlfriend, Bill Reyner and his associate North try to kill two birds with one stone—a short holiday and very quick investigation. A simple missing person case couldn’t possibly turn out nasty—or could it? Whilst retracing the steps of a missing woman, Bill accidentally uncovers an incredibly diabolical organisation that has existed for years. It soon becomes evident that while he is searching for the long dead and dear departed; someone behind the scene is manipulating his every move. What could wax figures, picturesque castles and alluring Scottish damsels possibly have to do with missing people? Bill has found another dangerous and multi million-dollar puzzle of murder and mayhem that extends way back into the dark and dismal past.

REVIEW for Edinburgh Cuckoos in Policemag.com

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Excerpt from Edinburgh Cuckoos

‘It’s the cellar, sir. I do believe you Americans call it a basement. If you’d follow me.’

We did, an’ man he was surely right. The entire bottom of the house had been turned into a large playroom. With a full sized pool table, even a five-pin bowling alley. I should have thought of something like this when we had our house rebuilt. The balls on the pool table were odd though. ‘Look at this,’ I said showing one to Newf.

‘So?’

‘Well they’re useless.’

Newf shook is head. ‘Ain’t yah ever ’erd of snooker.’

‘Yeah.’

‘’Ave yous ever played?’

‘No.’

‘Thought not. Them’s snooker balls. I’ll teach yah ’ow to play.’

I guess it was a bit of a cheek, imposing on Mr. Critton like that, but I figured after what his daughter put me through. Well, it felt right. I offered to pay for the inconvenience, though he wouldn’t hear of it. Funny thing, never saw hide nor hair of any relatives. Only Herb, and Geeves occupied the house while we were there. A manservant is a great thing, I figured maybe I’d train Newf, though we’d have to find him an appropriate name.

The following morning and after an excellent repast, we were ready to return to London and look at one more missing person before going home. ‘You wanna drive, Newf?’

‘Where to?’

‘Priscilla’s house, I guess. Then we’ll find some digs.’

‘Sure, but I ain’t doin’ no drivin’ in London.’

‘No problem.’

We bid our host ado and set out on the long drive. Down the drive and onto the street. I suggested taking the southern route, but Newf wanted to cross the Clifton Bridge once more. It’s slightly uphill to the huge iron structure. On the other side there’s, three choices of direction, two downhill and one still uphill. The lights were with us and Newf made a right turn down the steep hill into the town.

‘I fink we’s got trouble Bill,’ he said.

‘There ain’t no brakes.’

‘Oh! Christ.’

Quickly the car built up speed, Newf leaned on the horn to alert other road users. Fortunately there’s not too much pedestrian or vehicular traffic at the early hour. ‘I fink we’s in real trouble, Bill.’

‘Use the gears. Look there’s an empty space brush up against the building.’

Holy mackerel, we leapt into the air as the wheels struck the sidewalk. With a fearful crash the side of the car collided with the solid stone building. Sparks and flames lit up the entire left side, then I think we must have slipped into a doorway and struck solid stone. The vehicle spun round and cartwheeled, then smashed into a parked car on the opposite side of the street.

The stupid airbags deployed, dam near knocking my head off. I think that’s why Newf lost her. It’s difficult to drive when the cab’s full of dusty face-stinging safety gear. It’s amazing how silent the world seems immediately after a smash-up. For a moment I just sat there, sort of dazed.

‘Newf, you alright?’

Next book in the series Damp_Graves

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From Bill Reyner's Photo Gallery

Cromlet Castle Pitcalver Scotland.
 

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