The Edge of Truth

THE EDGE OF TRUTH A YORKSHIRE COAST CRIME THRILLER MICHAEL BRADY BOOK 5 MARK RICHARDS Copyright © Mark Richards 2023 The moral right of Mark Richards to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. This book – both e-book and paperback – is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher of this book. Created with Vellum CONTENTS Author’s Note 1. Runswick Bay: 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 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Chapter 60 Chapter 61 Chapter 62 Chapter 63 Chapter 64 Chapter 65 Chapter 66 Chapter 67 Chapter 68 Chapter 69 Chapter 70 Chapter 71 Chapter 72 Chapter 73 Chapter 74 Chapter 75 Chapter 76 Chapter 77 Chapter 78 Chapter 79 Chapter 80 Chapter 81 Chapter 82 Chapter 83 Chapter 84 Chapter 85 Chapter 86 Reviews & Future Writing Plans Salt in the Wounds (Michael Brady: Book 1) The River Runs Deep (Michael Brady: Book 2) The Echo of Bones (Michael Brady: Book 3) Choke Back the Tears (Michael Brady: Book 4) Join the team Acknowledgments AUTHOR’S NOTE Like all the Michael Brady books, The Edge of Truth is set in and around Whitby, on the North Yorkshire Coast. As I’m British and the book is set in the UK, I’ve used British English. The dialogue is realistic for the characters, which means they occasionally swear. As this is a work of fiction names, characters, organisations, some places, events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictionally. All the characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. www.markrichards.co.uk RUNSWICK BAY: SUNDAY NIGHT, SEPTEMBER 2016 The push that sent Diane Macdonald over the cliff edge was surprisingly gentle. Almost apologetic… “Come on, Reggie. Let’s go home. It’s getting cold.” She pulled the zip of her jacket up, thought for the thousandth time that a holiday home in France would have been a far better idea and waited for the cocker spaniel to catch up. “There, that wasn’t so difficult was it?” The dog looked at her expectantly. “Have a word with yourself, Reggie. You don’t get a biscuit just for turning up. Maybe when we’re home. And come on, the wind’s getting stronger. And it’s starting to rain.” She glanced to her left. The sea a long way out. “The first spring tide of the autumn, Reggie. Only in England would that make any sense. And it’ll be a proper high tide at two in the morning.” She looked up. A retired couple walking towards her. The man shook his head. “Every time,” he said. “It always starts to rain when you’re furthest from the van.” Diane smiled. Didn’t have time to reply before they were past her. Started to walk more quickly. “Is this it for the cliff top, Reggie? A week of rain and it’ll be a sea of mud. Back to the beach next time we come over. Rolling in a dead fish. Your favourite.” Someone else coming towards her now. A man. Mid-forties? Younger? It was hard to tell with his collar turned up. His woollen hat pulled down low… “Good evening,” she said, determined to speak first this time. He looked up. Squinted at her despite the fading light. Spoke in an accent that was halfway between Newcastle and the Scottish lowlands. “Let’s hope so, love.” A hot shower when she got home. A glass of wine. Turn the fire on. Finish watching The Night Manager. The house to herself. Charlotte safely dropped off at the airport. Graham in Poland for another three days. Or was it Hungary? She’d stopped caring. “And one job to do tomorrow morning, Reggie. Just the one job.” ‘He was brilliant, Diane. Bloody brilliant. And ruthless. Two-thirds of the fat bastard’s pension. The house in Tuscany. One mention of the Sunday Mirror and Roger came to heel like a whipped dog.’ The number was on her desk. First thing tomorrow. Coffee, slice of toast. And phone the solicitor. ‘Make the appointment, Diane. Start the ball rolling.’ “One fucking ‘researcher’ too many, my love,” she said out loud. “At least as far as the judge is concerned.” She heard a noise. Looked up. A jogger now. “It’s like Piccadilly bloody Circus, Reggie. In the rain as well.” Maybe she should call this one a runner. Going quickly for someone on the cliff top and two feet from the edge. One of those fell runners? Away for one last summer weekend with his family? Suddenly he stopped. Twenty yards away. Bent over. Is there something wrong with him? Don’t say he’s having a heart attack. What can I remember from that first-aid course? Fifteen years