A Deadly Affair

A DEADLY AFFAIR A DETECTIVE JACK BRODY NOVEL J.M. O’ROURKE Published by Inkubator Books www.inkubatorbooks.com Copyright © 2023 by J.M. O’Rourke J.M. O’Rourke has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work. ISBN (eBook): 978-1-83756-129-2 ISBN (Paperback): 978-1-83756-130-8 ISBN (Hardback): 978-1-83756-131-5 A DEADLY AFFAIR is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher. CONTENTS Inkubator Books Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Epilogue Inkubator Newsletter We hope you enjoyed this book About the Author Also by J.M. O’Rourke JOIN THE INKUBATOR MAILING LIST You will be the first to learn about new releases plus the many FREE and discounted Kindle books we offer! bit.ly/3fPBwVA PROLOGUE Marie Kennedy opened her eyes and looked around the darkened room, the paint peeling from its walls and smelling of mould. For a moment she forgot where she was, and then it all came back to her. This had all been a mistake, a BIG mistake. Please, she thought to herself, just let me get back to my warm bed in Dublin. Why the hell did I agree to come here? Her heavy eyes slid to the edges of their sockets, taking in her watch and the torch, still switched on, lying atop the bedside locker where she’d left them. She noted the time and blinked… what? She reached for the timepiece and brought it close to her face, squinting. And blinked again. This couldn’t be right… could it? The watch told her it was one o’clock in the morning, which meant that three hours had passed. Three hours! Three hours since he’d said it’d take him only a few minutes to go and work out whether or not he could fix the bloody boiler… oh, and the fuse board too, because the electricity wasn’t working either in this godforsaken place. What a shithole it had turned out to be. Nothing worked. Relax, he’d told her, there was no problem, he’d go and sort it out. Like Donagh Hughes was a plumber now too? As well as an electrician? But the man’s unfathomable self-belief and boundless confidence was, she had to admit, a turn-on in a way. The man really believed he could do anything. It was why he was so successful, she supposed. It was why she had decided to start an affair with him. It was why she was lying here waiting for him. She sat bolt upright and turned her head to take in the other half of the bed. He might have slipped in, and maybe she hadn’t noticed. But no. His side of the bed was completely undisturbed. So where the hell was he? She felt a sensation like cold water trickling down the back of her neck. The last time she remembered feeling that sensation was when she had gone to interview Walter Kelly as a cub reporter. The man who’d hacked his parents to death had been released on licence and was living quietly somewhere in the wilds of west county Galway. She had driven all the way from Dublin on spec, hoping to find him and get him to agree to an interview. She’d spent the entire day driving around as she chased up yet another lead, and as darkness began to fall, her car got a puncture. She’d ended up walking for an hour in the driving rain. By the time she’d finally arrived at the house where she thought he lived, a full-blown storm was raging. She banged on the door, soaked to the skin, forgetting who it was that might be living here, thinking only that she wanted to find somewhere dry and out of the storm. When the hall light flickered on, she remembered who it was… and stopped banging. But too late. She heard the door latch slide back, and with it the details of the case came flooding back. Of how Walter Kelly had stabbed his dear mummy and his dear daddy over eighty-six times – each. Of how he had then taken a chainsaw to their bodies and cut them up, again and again, until they were literally tiny pieces. And there she was, knocking on this crazed killer’s door. What if he wanted to do the same to her? Well, what then? He hadn’t much to lose? Not now, now that he was an old man. And, she imagined, from first appearances of this place, prison would be considered the lap of luxury in comparison to this hovel. No, there’d be no loss on him if he were to go back inside. And arriving at his door the way she had, if this was indeed where he lived, maybe she’d given him the perfect opportunity. Fast-forward to the present day, she thought of all this now, lying here in bed in this hovel, waiting for Donagh to come back. It was the same feeling. As it turned out, the bearded and bespectacled Walter Kelly had been an absolute gentleman. He’d repeated what he’d said in court, that his actions were those of revenge, but for what he’d never mentioned. Also, he’d