Chapter One
Wednesday, 11th December 1963. 7.53 p.m.
`Help me. You've got to help me.' The woman's voice quavered on the
edge of tears. The duty constable who had picked up the phone heard a
hiccuping gulp, as if the caller was struggling to speak.
`That's what we're here for, madam,' PC Ron Swindells said stolidly.
He'd worked in Buxton man and boy for the best part of fifteen years
and for the last five, he'd found it hard to shake off a sense that he was
reliving the first ten. There was, he reckoned, nothing new under the sun.
It was a view that would be irrevocably shattered by the events that were
about to unfold around him, but for the moment, he was content to trot
out the formula that had served him well until now. `What seems to be
the problem?' he asked, his rich bass voice gently impersonal.
`Alison,' the woman gasped. `My Alison's not come home.'
`Alison's your lass, is she?' PC Swindells asked, his voice deliberately
calm, attempting to reassure the woman.
`She went straight out with the dog when she came in after school. And
she's not come home.' The sharp edge of hysteria forced the wom ... read full excerpt from A Place of Execution ebook
