TODAY, WE WELCOME AUTHOR, DONNA MORFETT, WHO IS SHARING AN EXCERPT FROM HER NOVEL 'MASQUERADE OF MURDER', SECOND BOOK IN THE 'DI CORA SNITTON' SERIES. #RWRTeamBlog #ReadWriteRepeat
- Eva Bielby
- Sep 27
- 9 min read
MASQUERADE OF MURDER
AN EXCERPT
It had been a few days since the funeral of Lorraine—the long-standing and dedicated desk sergeant. She’d had some kind of condition that had lain dormant since birth. The only way she could have found out about it would have been either by a freak occurrence leading to the necessary scans, or at post-mortem. In Lorraine’s case, it was discovered during the latter.
One of her daughters had popped in to visit and found her collapsed on the floor. Thankfully, she was sensible and level-headed, and had the peace of mind to call 999 before attempting CPR. She could tell by the temperature and stiffness of her mother’s body that she was already gone. She informed the paramedics when they arrived to forgo resuscitation attempts. It would only have meant brutalising a corpse. Although surprised, the paramedics agreed—and were secretly relieved. They hated having to break ribs and waste time on a lost cause. They loaded her gently—not placing her in a body bag, just laying her on the stretcher—and took her in the ambulance to Luton and Dunstable Hospital. No need for the blues and twos they’d used to get there.
After the long, hard slog to catch Amanda Kelly and get her put away, the team had been relatively quiet. The volume of crime remained the same, but big cases had been thin on the ground. The team knew they were banned from using the word quiet, though—it was bound to bring on an avalanche of work. Anyone who dared utter it was given a special punishment: usually buying team bacon rolls or doughnuts, depending on the time of day. The newbies learnt quickly that feeding an office full of hungry cops didn’t come cheap. It was a mistake made only once—and then the office had to wait until the next newbie started before they got a free breakfast again.
As May progressed, Cora knew they’d be busy helping police the Luton Carnival. She’d been asked not long after it had ended last year. There had been a lot of trouble, and the town was desperate to improve its image—especially as the carnival was known as the biggest outside of Notting Hill.
Due to budget cuts, the Dunstable Carnival—a mainstay of her childhood—had been axed many years ago. Ed ‘Stewpot’ Stewart had started it in 1976, and it had featured local school bands and dancers, as well as charities and other local organisations. Cora had taken part a few times as part of her school choir and band, playing the drums, before she aged out—or it stopped. She couldn’t remember which. It was a detail she intended to keep to herself, and she hoped she wouldn’t come across anyone from back then who might reveal her secrets. She’d managed to keep her fledgling comedy career under wraps so far, and intended her childhood would remain out of bounds as well.
The Luton Carnival, held on the second May bank holiday, had grown into something quite spectacular, attracting visitors from far and wide. The town was rightly proud of what it had achieved. However, it had gained a reputation for trouble. Drunken fights, violence, drugs, and stabbings seemed to occur every year, which was why her family had never been regular visitors. Although devastated that her beloved Luton Town had been relegated from the Premier League—their first-ever excursion into the very top tier of English football—she was also grateful. She was sure her Luton counterpart felt the same. At least there would be no football fans to add to the already unpredictable nature of the weekend.
Operation Lake—the task force looking into county lines gangs—was also going to have a big presence, Cora had been told. Dunstable had yet to experience too much trouble with county lines, but she feared it was only a matter of time. Budget cuts meant they couldn’t carry out preventative policing, and instead would have to react to whatever happened, when it happened.
With Luton’s proximity to many large towns and cities, its railway stations, and the airport, it was an ideal hub to pass drugs around quickly and easily. Like Dunstable, the Luton police were playing catch-up—knowing trouble was growing but barely keeping on top of the cases they already had, let alone spending extra trying to prevent what hadn’t yet happened. To Cora, it felt as though the problem had exploded. There was news every day of rival gangs fighting in the streets—sometimes with machetes, sometimes just fists. Kids zipped about on scooters, with crossbody bags containing packages ready for purchase. Some of them were ridiculously young. Cora was a terrible judge of age these days, especially with no children of her own, but even she could tell some of those baby-faced dealers couldn’t have been much older than ten.
When Cora had spoken with her Luton counterpart, Noor Mughal, she’d learned about the vast amount of resources and time spent trawling through data, photos, statements, and phone records of those few they had managed to catch—just to determine who their targets should be.
Standing in front of her team, Cora waited for them to quiet down. She no longer needed to clap her hands like a schoolteacher to bring them to attention. She had gained their respect, she thought, during the arduous Peter Markham case. Catching Amanda Kelly had been no mean feat. She was clever, and it had taken something tiny—and a lot of luck—to finally bring her in.
Cora felt the growing bond between herself, Darcey, and Luke—before Darcey’s accident—had been the start of something special. While Darcey recovered, Luke had got on well with Beverlee, who had begun to come out of her shell. Beverlee had the driest sense of humour and the filthiest laugh. Cora was sure she deployed both at the most inappropriate moments on purpose. Humour was vital in this job, and Cora couldn’t help herself—she laughed along with everyone else.
The team had also inherited a retired officer who hadn’t been quite ready to give up the job. He’d returned as a civilian, and his years of experience had proven invaluable. Sharp as a whip, he missed nothing. He was a great asset, and now that Darcey was fit to return, Cora hoped they could keep hold of him.
As the room settled, people fidgeted, shrugged off coats, and brought in the smell of wet grass and damp, despite it supposedly being spring. No one had told Mother Nature it was time to move on to nicer weather.
It looked like there was a stranger among them—but the skinny frame, slightly askew appearance, and obscure band T-shirt gave him away. It could only be Dave. He’d shaved his head—not bald, but close enough. It made him look older, slightly more serious. The boyish playfulness of his previous hair had fallen to the barber’s floor. Cora still didn’t know much about him; she’d vowed to fix that. But he was always hunched over a computer—that was no excuse, though.
Finally, the chatter faded. Cora loved that moment. It gave her a little buzz, knowing all those officers were waiting to hear her speak. If she ever lost that feeling, it would be time to retire.
Dave brought up the electronic whiteboards and got them ready for her. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how—well, mostly it was—but she figured it made Dave feel special to have one job that was his own. If he ever left, she’d have to learn, and she refused to be beaten by technology. It wasn’t like she was a dinosaur, but some things just took longer to sink in.
On the screen were images of four men, all between twenty-five and thirty. Their harsh facial features suggested Eastern European or Russian origins. Three had the haunted eyes of regular drug users. One had the clear eyes of someone who hadn’t partaken—clearly the ringleader. Three looked directly into the camera, faces full of hatred. Their mugshots, taken in front of height charts at various police stations, made them look pale and cruel. The ringleader’s photo had been taken candidly—one of many shots gathered during surveillance. The Luton team had done an impressive job. Their records were typical of habitual drug users: possession, intent to supply, GBH, burglary, and the occasional car theft—to break up the tedium, she presumed.
“OK team, it’s that time of year again. Luton Carnival.”
Those who’d been around a while let out a collective groan. The rest looked baffled. Cora had to laugh. She wasn’t a fan of the carnival either and never thought she’d be leading a team policing it. Funny how life goes, how it never turns out quite how you imagined it at eight, or sixteen.
Raising her hand, she said, “I know, I know. I’m not thrilled either, but the Luton force has requested our support, and that’s what we’ll give. Remember, our towns are close together. It wouldn’t take much for trouble to spill over—if it hasn’t already. I’d hope we’d see the signs, but people don’t report things like they used to.”
The room fell silent—she was glad her words had landed. She hated the drugs problem and didn’t want to be fighting it in their small town, with a budget stretched beyond breaking.
A hand raised—Luke.
“Boss, we’re not just going to be their dogsbodies, are we? I don’t want to be all yes sir, no sir, three bags full, to some big ‘I am’ with the same stripes I’ve got.”
“Valid question, Luke. Absolutely not. I know the DCI from their force—she’s firm but fair. I imagine she’s told them that kind of behaviour won’t be tolerated. She needs our help, after all. I’ll be there with you. Any problems, use your radios or mobiles. Call me.”
Cora had realised during the last case that Luke was quite insecure—not helped by her unintentional favouritism of Darcey. A couple of pointed comments about teamwork had helped her see it. She’d just clicked with Darcey—it was rare she let her guard down. If she was honest, she was often lonely, and Darcey filled a gap she hadn’t known was there.
While Darcey was recovering, she and Luke had worked many cases together and formed a great bond. He was smart, ambitious, and had a wicked sense of humour. She knew he missed Darcey—they’d had a strong sibling-like bond. He’d visited her often during her recuperation.
“Don’t worry, Luke,” she said. “Normal rank and rules apply. You’re more than capable of looking after yourself. Any real problems—shout.”
Luke smiled, then asked, “Is Darcey coming with us? I know she’s been cleared, but I’m worried she’ll get knocked or something.”
A ball of paper flew across the room and struck him in the back of the head.
Cora raised an eyebrow. “Does that answer your question?”
He turned and glared at Darcey, but without malice. He nodded—a slight movement, easily missed, but full of meaning.
Cora gave Darcey a mock-stern look, both knowing there was nothing behind it.
“Now, children, if you’re finished—yes, Darcey will be with us. A couple of the team will stay behind to man the phones and deal with anything that crops up. We’re assuming most Dunstable residents will head to Luton, so it should be quieter here.”
Beverlee smiled to herself as the heavy door creaked open. Roy entered. Good thing he hadn’t arrived earlier—he wouldn’t have approved of the paper-throwing. A former teacher, he brought that energy with him.
“Sorry I’m late, ma’am. That bloody M1—50mph average for the next year. I didn’t average much over thirty.”
As Roy hung his coat and made his way to the front, Cora replied, “No worries, Roy. We all know what it’s like. You haven’t missed much. Just talking about helping Luton with the carnival, but as you’re one of the team staying behind, it doesn’t affect you too much.”
Crossing his legs and leaning forward with his head on his elbow, Cora knew he was ready.
“Who are those handsome fellows?” he asked.
“Ah yes, good question. These are four main players in the OCG known as the Hatters. Bonus point if anyone knows the meaning behind the name, besides the football team.”
Dave raised a hand. “Luton was famous for hat-making. That’s where the football team got their nickname, and why there’s the old Hat Factory up by the train station.”
Cora raised her eyebrows, impressed. “Correct. Well done. How did you know that?”
“My dad’s a Newcastle fan. That’s where I’m from. When we were kids, he’d teach us about all the teams—their grounds, nicknames, the lot. Bit of bonding time. Not much I don’t know about football. I’m Newcastle till I die though—no offence to the Hatters. Sad to see you go down.”
“Thanks, Dave. Right—Roy’s here and has got us back on point. Alongside general crowd monitoring, we’ve been asked to watch for these four. DCI Mughal thinks they may use the carnival as cover to move around.”
Guy, straight to the point: “What happens if we see one? This is their op, so we can’t intervene?”
“Good question, and yes—you’re correct. Just pass on the intel via radio and let them decide.”
Beverlee asked, “How much do we know? Are they dangerous?”
“Fantastic question, thank you. Luton says they’re not dangerous unless provoked or cornered. They tend to keep a low profile. We’ll have stab vests, and tasers for those certified. Communication is key.”
Looking around at her ragtag bunch, Cora smiled.
“OK, let’s get cracking. Close out what you can—dot the i’s, cross the t’s. You never know what else might get thrown at us before the month’s out.”
Chairs scraped, muttering began, and the sound of clicking keyboards grew as people got stuck in. A couple left the office to follow up leads. Cora retreated to her small office, looked around at the spare décor, and let her mind wander—to the upcoming comedy competition.
COMING SOON: On Wednesday, 1st October, we are delighted to welcome guest author, Linda Nelson, who will be sharing an excerpt from her novel, 'Underground'.
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