THE BEEKEEPER
A gripping crime mystery with a dark twist
STEWART GILES
First published 2017
Joffe Books, London
www.joffebooks.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The spelling used is British English except where fidelity to the author’s rendering of accent or dialect supersedes this.
We hate typos too but sometimes they slip through. Please send any errors you find to corrections@joffebooks.com
We’ll get them fixed ASAP. We’re very grateful to eagle-eyed readers who take the time to contact us.
©Stewart Giles
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THERE IS A GLOSSARY OF ENGLISH SLANG IN THE BACK OF THIS BOOK FOR US READERS.
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"What if your mother was a serial killer?"
A BLOODY KILLER SEEMS TO HAVE RETURNED TO THE LINCOLNSHIRE FENS
Twenty years ago: a farmer and his wife are cut to pieces by a ruthless serial killer.
Now: a woman is viciously stabbed to death in the upmarket kitchen of her beautiful house on the edge of the marshes.
Then a man called Daniel Kinder walks into Saltern police station and confesses to the murder.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
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Glossary of English Slang for US readers
DEDICATION
For Ann & Keira.
‘Remove the bee from the earth and at the same time you remove at least one hundred thousand plants that will not survive.’ Attributed to Albert Einstein
CHAPTER ONE
“There’s something wrong with the honey,” Alice Green told her pet jackdaw.
The honey was sticky and golden brown as always. But after thirty years of beekeeping, Alice knew honey. She wasn’t sure what had caused the change. The roses, peonies and hollyhocks had blossomed at the same time as last year and the bees had performed remarkably well. Yet this batch was off, somehow. She was sure of it.
Maybe I’m coming down with a cold or something, Alice thought. Her best friend Milly had just got over one. Maybe I’ve caught something and it’s affecting my taste buds.
She looked at the jars on the huge oak table in the kitchen. Eighty-six jars of prized honey were ready to be taken to the Saturday market in Berryton. She wondered if anybody would be able to taste the difference.
Probably not. Cornwall was full of tourists at this time of year, and most of them probably never even opened the jars they bought. It was worth taking the risk. She wasn’t going to throw away eighty-six jars at £7 each.
Alice jumped as the jackdaw let out a loud shriek. She had rescued the bird from the old railway line close to St Agnes a few years earlier. It would never fly again because its wings had been damaged beyond repair but it didn’t seem to mind living in a cage. She fed it three times a day and its cage had a view over the back garden, with the Atlantic far in the distance. She liked the jackdaw’s company. Her husband Stanley had left on one of his soul-searching adventures ten years ago and had never returned.
She opened the cage door and the jackdaw immediately hopped to the bottom.
“Clever boy.” Alice scraped the remaining chunks from a tin of dog food onto the floor of the cage. The jackdaw eyed the food suspiciously, as it always did, and started to eat. “You don’t trust anybody do you, boy?” Alice said. “Probably for the best.” Funnily enough, she had never given him a name, she just thought of him as “the jackdaw,” and that seemed fine.
The kitchen door opened and Milly Lancaster came in carrying a tray of eggs. Feathers were still stuck to the shells.
“Looks like I’m just in time.” Milly eyed the jars of honey on the table.
“How’s the cold?” Alice asked.
“Much better.”
“Sit down and taste this.” Alice spread some honey on a piece of bread. “Well?” she asked as Milly chewed.
“It’s fine,” Milly said eventually. “Really.”
“No, there’s something different. It’s got an aftertaste I can’t quite put my finger on.”
“Have the bees strayed at all?”
“Not that I know of.” Alice handed Milly a mug of tea. “My bees are Italian. They’re lazy. They don’t do anything unless they really have to.”
“It’s fine, honestly.”
Alice was sure she was just being polite. “Maybe the next batch will be better. I’m taking it to Berryton tomorrow, all the same. The tourists won’t know the difference. I doubt they even eat it anyway. It’ll probably sit on the shelves in their fancy London kitchens, gathering dust.”