LUKE DELANEY
Cold Killing
DEDICATION
There are so many people I could dedicate this book to, without whom my writing career would have been over before it even began, but I feel a shared dedication can some how lose much of its power and I didn’t want that as this particular dedication is so personal to me and indeed others who were close to the man.
So I dedicate this first novel to my dad, Mike. For reasons of maintaining the anonymity of my family, friends and myself, I cannot say too much and nor would he want me to. I could talk about his brilliance in his own field and the worldwide respect and admiration he is held in amongst his peers. I could talk about his meteoric rise from very humble beginnings to the very top of his difficult trade, but that’s not really what I remember about him most.
What I remember about him most was his gentleness, kindness, incredible generosity and painful honesty. He was the best moral compass a young man could have had, especially one with ambitions to join the police. I would be lying if I said tempting opportunities didn’t present themselves, but the thought of letting not just myself but my parents down kept me well and truly on the straight and narrow.
My dad taught me one thing above all others – that no matter how much we achieve in our chosen professions, no matter how much wealth and power we obtain – what is really important is to be a good man. Just be a good man. He was a very good man.
Sadly Mike passed away three years ago aged a very young seventy-two. Another victim to the great taker of men – cancer. The world has felt a poorer place ever since. He is much missed and much loved.
For Mike.
Table of Contents
Read on for an extract of The Keeper
1
Saturday. I agreed to come to the park with the wife and children. They’re over there on the grassy hill, just along from the pond. They’ve fed themselves, fed the ducks and now they’re feeding their own belief that we’re one normal happy family. And to be fair, as far as they’re concerned, we are. I won’t let the sight of them spoil my day. The sun is shining and I’m getting a bit of a tan. The memory of the latest visit is still fresh and satisfying. It keeps the smile on my face.
Look at all these people. Happy and relaxed. They’ve no idea I’m watching them. Watching as small children wander away from their mothers too distracted by idle chat to notice. Then they realize their little darling has wandered too far and up goes that shrill shriek of an over-protective parent, followed by a leg slap for the child and more shrieking.
I am satisfied for the time being. The fun I had last week will keep me contented for a while, so everyone is safe today.
I thoroughly enjoyed the time I spent with the little queer. I made it look like a domestic murder. I’ve heard fights between people like him can get nasty, so I had a bit of fun with the idea.
He was easy enough to dispatch. These people live dangerous lives. They make perfect victims. So I hunted amongst them, looking for someone, and I found him.
I had already decided to spend the evening stalking the patrons of a Vauxhall nightclub, Utopia. What a ridiculous name. More like Hell, if you ask me. I told my wife I was out of town on business, packed some spare clothes, toiletries, the usual things for a night away and booked a hotel room in Victoria. I could hardly turn up at home in the early hours.
