City of Dreadful Night issue 1 by Peter Guttridge

By Peter Guttridge

First gripping secret within the Brighton Trilogy - July 1934.  A woman’s torso is located in a trunk at Brighton railway station’s left baggage place of work. Her identification isn't verified, her killer by no means stuck. yet a person is conserving a diary . . . July 2009. bold radio journalist Kate Simpson hopes to unravel the infamous Brighton Trunk homicide, and she or he enlists assistance from ex-Chief Constable Robert Watts, whose function within the fresh botched armed-police operation in Milldean, Brighton’s infamous no-go region, rate him his task. yet it’s just a subject of time sooner than prior and current collide . . .

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Gilchrist edged past him. A second door was open to her right. A bathroom. The toilet faced the door. A man was sitting on it, hunched forward, his head over his bony knees, his trousers and a widening pool of blood eddying around his ankles. Most of the policemen were crowded in the doorway of the front bedroom, looking in, guns dangling. She could hear a television blaring somewhere in the room. She was tall enough to see over the shoulders of the two who were blocking her way. She saw the double bed, saw the man sitting up in it.

I phoned Molly to warn her I would be home late, if at all. She didn’t answer. I left a message on the voicemail. I don’t need much sleep. I can get by for weeks at a time on four hours a night. I dislike the fact that I share a common trait with Margaret Thatcher and Winston Churchill, but there it is. I don’t know about them, but my body tells me when I do need more rest – I crash for a couple of days, then, revitalized, start all over again. m. The rioting had calmed down by then so I used the sofa in my office to get a couple of hours’ rest.

She’d grimaced when she entered the room, walked to the window and opened it as wide as it would go. Foster wasn’t the only one who was giving off an odour. Hewitt looked round the table from one officer to the next. Nobody was saying much, which is why it was a joke and why Hewitt was irate. The unit had closed ranks. Nobody admitted to firing the first shot although several officers admitted to joining in after that. Their weapons had been tagged and ammunition counted. However, since no record was usually kept in the armoury of who took which weapon and how much ammunition was taken out, that wasn’t going to be very useful.

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