Blog Tour: Excerpt from Ross Greenwood's newest book 'Abel's Revenge

Available here

Ross is one of those writers that weaves a story so compellingly that even the most reluctant reader is drawn in hook, line and sinker.  Believe me, his newest book Abel's Revenge is no exception and The Crime Warp is lucky enough to, not only be part of the blog tour, but to have a sneaky little excerpt for you.  I defy you not to go out and read the book after reading this.  Now over to Ross...

Abel

The streets are empty as I look for victims. Do mothers now use my name as a threat? The day has been mild but the temperature plummets and every home hides in despair. Yet, there’s a bay window on the corner with open curtains. Yellow light spills onto the street. Do they know no fear? I stand outside and stare in. At the table, bent over a book, is a tired man in a worn, woollen suit. I crack a smile. Sometimes they make it too easy.

I pull over my hood, raise my scarf, and knock. Not too hard, I’d hate to disturb the neighbours. He takes his time coming to the door, but when he arrives he swings it wide, lighting me up like a hero on stage. I must resemble a presence from the pits of his memory.

‘Evening, can I help you?’

He’s looking at me through rheumy eyes with no emotion. His antipathy throws me.

‘I’m lost. Erm, is Turpin Street near here?’

‘Turpin Street? As in Dick Turpin? Yes, it is. Now, it might be two roads along, on the left. Or is that right? You forget everything important at my age. Come in. I have an A-Z street map. Don’t mind the mess, I get few visitors nowadays.’

He lets me enter as easily and enthusiastically as welcoming in the new year. Even up close his tired face shows no recognition. The house smells old. Dust frosts the surfaces. He shuffles along, and I imagine it collecting at his feet like a sorry snowplough. I place my hand on the cosh in my pocket. It feels heavy and warm.

He edges past a large table covered in books in the centre of the room. There’s a war theme to them and the television has a loud black and white film playing. He opens a sideboard and roots among the drawers.

‘Forgive me, I’ll try to be quick. My eyesight is terrible these days, but I’m sure it was here.’

I loom behind him and notice the movie blaring out is recent, it’s just the set that is ancient. My own functioning vision picks up photos of sailors and ships on the walls, many with a proud young man forefront. I spot a medal inside a small display case on a stand.

‘Here you are. This is it. I recognise it from the binder around the edge. You’ll have to read it. My magnifying glass helps but I’ve used it too much today and I’ve a splitting headache.’

‘Thank you.’ I flick through the pages, pausing to turn the television off before I get a migraine. ‘Were you in the Second World War?’

His laugh is a wheeze. ‘How old do you think I am? I served all over. The Middle East mostly. I loved the Navy.’

‘You live here alone?’

There’s a small pause and a shrug. ‘Yes, I was too busy for a family. Too much fun to be had, and I wanted to see the sights. My memories are my comfort. I do have a daughter from a brief liaison many decades ago. Nice girl. She rings every year and I receive a card on my birthday most years.’

‘Do you let anyone in at this time of night? I could be a burglar, or worse?’

‘When you get to my age, things don’t matter much. Besides, I say drink with the devil. Come on, let’s have a rum.’

He moves through the door with more haste and I hear the clinking of bottles. I pick up the magnifying glass on top of a tank picture and hold it up. If the power was any greater, I could see through the brick cracks and into the neighbour’s lounge.

He returns with a grumbling cough and delicately pours a whopping measure into two glasses. From behind, his bald dome surrounded by grey hair makes his head resemble an egg in a nest. Prime for cracking. What a pointless, lonely existence. I’d be doing him a favour.

Finally, his face shows emotion as his jowls quiver in anticipation while he passes me my drink. The inscription on my glass reads, ‘The Time Flies When You’re Having Rum’.

His expression softens. ‘To absent friends.’

I expect him to chink glasses, instead he downs it in a steady gulp. It feels important to do the same, and my own eyesight falters. ‘I better go.’

‘Sure, sure. One for the road?’

We end up chatting for a while. He led an interesting life. An existence where he didn’t tend the home fire, so he’s paying for it now. He has so many things he wants to discuss he hardly knows where to start. I let him talk.

Later, he walks me out despite being visibly tired. Me musters a smile.

‘You be careful out there. You don’t want to bump into that Abel.’

I wonder for a moment if he knew all along. He chuckles but his face is open. Whatever, this poor man is thankful for tonight. He’s had a rare and unexpected pleasure. I consider what I came to do. I will be gracious. Maybe I’m not a lost cause and the good in me still has influence. He places a hand on my shoulder at the door.

‘Please visit again. Any time you want. I’m always in, and I’ve always got drink.’

‘You try and stop me.’

The door closes, slowly, reluctantly. I know I will never return here, and so does he.