The Cold Road (Book 1)

Chapter Three

Breathing heavily, his heart thumping wildly inside his chest, James left the house. He stopped next to one of the supporting pillars of stone outside the front door and closed his eyes. His stomach churned and he forced himself to focus on not throwing up. His skin prickled with a cold sweat. It threatened to swallow him whole. He breathed deeply and exhaled, willing himself to calm down. After his heart had settled, he crossed the short path towards his waiting squad car.

A shower of dust appeared at the bottom of the drive, chasing after a low sports car that sped up the driveway. It spun to a fast stop a couple of metres from James. Coughing and squinting in the dust, James looked at the car as it sat in the descending cloud. The door opened and an old, sharp-eyed man rose from the driver's seat and grinned broadly at James.

'Well, well, Inspector Holland,' he rasped, his blue eyes dancing delightedly as he gazed upon James. 'Well, well. I never thought that I would see you as an inspector, my boy,' he drawled in a thick Texas dialect.

'Mr Belberra,' replied James, fiddling with the keys in his hand. 'You're still alive, I see. How is life treating you?' So, not drunk in a ditch and hopefully dying.

'Oh, fine, fine, boy, never better. And how do I find your young self? Eager to impress the on watching crowd of officials eyeing your new inspectorhood back home in the big N Y?'

'Hmph,' snorted James, crossing his arms defensively. 'What are you doing here, Mr Belberra?'

'Why, I came all the way over from home to be with my step-daughter and my strong young lad. They lost their daughter, I heard. Taken in the night,' he grinned widely, his yellowed, cracked teeth showing as he peeled back his lips.

'You son?' James choked, his eyes widening. 'I didn't know you had a son.'

'Hah, well, boy, there is a lot about me you don't know. I suppose you've finished traumatising them with all your delightful questions? I still have fond memories of our time together, short though it was.'

'I didn't traumatise them, losing their daughter did,' threw back James, trying hard to ignore the punch about their short time together. Belberra had been the lead suspect in a run of robberies that had taken place. James had found sufficient evidence to arrest Belberra and keep him in custody, but he could never get a confession out of the man. When it came close to approaching a trial, all the evidence collected was claimed faulty and the case thrown out the window. Belberra walked, and kept walking with his twisted smile on his face.

'Hah, yes. Well I'm sure that's what they'll say. I'm surprised you don't already have Paul down as the he-done-it-man and are taking him down to the station now.' He grinned.

'Do you want me to?' asked James, grimly. 'If his father is a crooked son of a bitch, and apples having a habit of not falling far from the tree, then maybe Paul Perette did kidnap his own daughter. If so, I'll find out.'

'A fine threat, Inspector Holland, a fine threat indeed and I respect that. Though I would, tactically, remind you that if the apple don't fall far from the tree, then you are a prime example of how close it really lands, my boy. Well, I am most certain that I'll see you again. Ta ta, Inspector.'

Rico Belberra sauntered away and James watched him go, his mind too stung by his words to realise what was going on around him. No one had ever mentioned his father before, except his mother, and it had never occurred to him how much alike he might be to his dad. So how the fuck did Rico Belberra know?

He was about to climb into his car when the front door of the Perette's house opened and Franks walked down the stairs. 'Was that who I thought it was?' asked Franks, glancing back over his shoulder.