Crown Court Killer Read online

  BLURB

  Months after saving their flamboyant theatre friend from disaster, Dannel Ortea and Osian Garey are back with a thrilling murder investigation in the third London Podcast Mystery series novel.

  * * *

  Dannel and Osian breakfast double date rapidly devolves into a murder mystery when a dead body is found in their solicitor friend’s car. Wayne is taken for questioning by police. He was last seen arguing with the deceased.

  When Wayne’s tie is identified as the murder weapon, it’s hard to refute the growing evidence stacked against him.

  Convinced of their friend’s innocence, Dannel and Osian throw themselves into the investigation. When Wayne’s boyfriend, Roland, finds himself suspended from the police, they realise powerful people are involved in the murder.

  With a philandering crown court judge, two disgruntled wives, and an angry client as suspects, the clock is ticking for them to find the killer before Wayne winds up arrested—or dead.

  PRAISE FOR DAHLIA DONOVAN

  Another hit from Donovan... wonderful and realistic autism representation.

  BOOKOUT BELOW

  The secondary characters are supportive and caring and so diverse... absolutely brilliant...

  SAUCY REVIEWS ON KINKY CORNER

  Osian and Dannel are my new favorite couple.

  BOOKS ARE LOVE REVIEWS

  ALSO BY DAHLIA DONOVAN

  The Grasmere Cottage Mystery Trilogy

  Dead in the Garden | Dead in the Pond | Dead in the Shop

  * * *

  Motts Cold Case Mystery Series

  Poisoned Primrose | Pierced Peony | Pickled Petunia | Purloined Poinsettia

  * * *

  London Podcast Mystery Series

  Cosplay Killer | Ghost Light Killer | Crown Court Killer

  * * *

  Stand-alone Romances

  After the Scrum | At War With A Broken Heart | Forged in Flood | Found You | One Last Heist | Pure Dumb Luck | Here Comes The Son | All Lathered Up | Not Even A Mouse | The Misguided Confession

  * * *

  The Sin Bin (Complete Series)

  The Wanderer | The Caretaker | The Royal Marine | The Botanist | The Unexpected Santa | The Lion Tamer | Haka Ever After

  CROWN COURT KILLER

  LONDON PODCAST MYSTERY BOOK THREE

  DAHLIA DONOVAN

  HOT TREE PUBLISHING

  Crown Court Killer © 2022 by Dahlia Donovan

  * * *

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any written, electronic, recorded, or photocopied format without the express permission from the author or publisher as allowed under the terms and conditions with which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  Crown Court Killer is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events and places found therein are either from the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons alive or dead, actual events, locations, or organizations is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  For information, contact the publisher, Hot Tree Publishing.

  www.hottreepublishing.com

  Editing: Hot Tree Editing

  Cover Designer: BooksSmith Design

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-922679-19-2

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-922679-20-8

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Dahlia Donovan

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  To my betas, for keeping me going when I wanted to give up on this story.

  ONE

  OSIAN

  “A massive thanks to our special guest—solicitor extraordinaire Wayne Dankworth, whose insights into criminal litigation have been fascinating. As always, I’m Osian Garey. My partner in crime is Dannel Ortea.” Osian winked at his husband-to-be, who simply rolled his eyes. “Hope you’ve enjoyed this week’s episode of our London Crime Podcast. Don’t forget to tune in next time. This has been Oz and D. Signing out.”

  Dannel waited until Osian hit pause to let out a loud groan. “And you’d done so brilliantly right until the end.”

  When Osian looked at Dannel, he was always reminded of Richard Ayoade, if the actor were taller, buffer, and a retired firefighter. Whereas Osian felt like a washed-up version of the actor who’d played Constantine on the telly, less buff, shorter, and scruffier.

  “Nothing wrong with Oz and D,” Osian insisted. They had this debate at least once every podcast. He got up to stretch, having sat for several hours getting their recording together. “I’m knackered.”

  “Are you still not sleeping well?” Wayne paused in sifting through the papers he’d brought to glance at Osian in concern.

  “Nightmares aren’t conducive to a good night’s rest.” Osian believed healing started with being open with his friends and family. “My therapist thinks being trapped in the well aggravated my post-traumatic stress.”

  A former paramedic, Osian had resigned after losing a patient through no fault of his own. He’d spent over a year trying to unpack the trauma left behind. His recovery had taken a hit three months ago.

  While trying to solve a murder, Osian had come face-to-face with the killer. He’d been forced into an old well along with their elderly neighbour, Ian Barrett. Rescue had eventually arrived.

  His nightmares had begun not long after. Dannel often sat up with him, and they’d play video games or listen to a cast album of whatever musical had grabbed their attention until he was too exhausted to remain awake.

  Thanks to the lack of sleep, Osian felt a hundred years old and not thirty. His therapist did help. It would simply take time.

  He fully intended to avoid old wells in the future.

  And killers.

  And fake ghosts haunting theatres masquerading as killers.

  “Are you joining us for coffee and footie in the morning?” Wayne went back to packing up the files. “Chelsea versus Tottenham. Clash of the titans.”

  Wayne was shacked up with Dannel’s younger brother, Roland. The latter had moved into the former’s swanky flat. They had a larger telly, so Dannel and Osian occasionally went over to watch their rival Premier League football teams do battle on the pitch.

  “Of course.” Osian nodded. Dannel readily agreed as well.

  “Bugger.” Wayne checked his phone when it beeped, muttering a few additional curses under his breath. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Problem?” Osian followed him to the door, watching him drag on his overcoat.

  “Barnaby being Barnaby.” Wayne rushed out the door, shouting a “goodbye” halfway down the stairs.

  “Who’s Barnaby?” Osian wondered. He closed
the door when it became clear Wayne had already made it out of their building in record time.

  “A barrister.” Dannel had begun packing up their microphones. “Rolly mentioned Wayne had quite a dust-up in Crown Court with the man.”

  “Did they throw their wigs?” Osian always found the court accoutrements to be entertaining. “Swirl their robes around dramatically?”

  “Words were exchanged.” Dannel snorted in amusement at Osian as he waved his hands around. “They were chastised by one of the judges. Not sure Wayne wears a wig. Isn’t that just for barristers?”

  “We’ll ask Wayne tomorrow to give us the juicy details.”

  “Or we could mind our own business?”

  “In the face of potentially interesting court gossip?” Osian went over to help Dannel clean up. They’d recently exchanged their small kitchen table for a larger one more conducive to the equipment needed for their weekly podcast. “Did you see the email from Archie?”

  “About the new love of his life?”

  “Let’s hope this one’s less prone to extortion and murder.” Osian didn’t think their old friend had the best of luck when it came to romance.

  Three months ago, Archie had been faced with the murder of his mother. His love interest had been inexplicably intertwined in the case and wound up dead as well. They’d only just come out of it alive after Osian’s close call in the well; Archie had fled to his beloved backpacking as soon as the police cleared him and arrested the killer.

  Osian couldn’t blame him for wanting to leave. Their LGBTQ+ First Responder Coalition did miss Archie, though. They’d all been a founding member of the support group for former and current paramedics, police officers, and firefighters. His best friend, Abra, and Dannel’s best mate, Evie, led the organisation currently.

  “Mum wants to chat about the wedding plans.” Dannel brought up the subject they’d been avoiding for the last week. “I have slight regrets.”

  “About proposing?”

  “About telling everyone else I proposed.” Dannel packed the last of their recording gear into the hall cupboard. “We don’t have to make a whole meal of the wedding.”

  Osian didn’t necessarily disagree, but their mums had opinions on the matter. “What if we turn control over to Olivia?”

  “Would she mind?”

  “Would she mind planning our wedding? Have you met my baby sister?”

  “Yes. We grew up next door. I’ve known Olivia her entire life.” Dannel hopped up onto the kitchen counter, watching Osian get the kettle going. “You were being rhetorical.”

  “I was.” Osian dug through one of the cabinets, hunting for their box of tea. Dannel, as an autistic, occasionally had trouble deciphering when someone was facetious, sarcastic, or rhetorical. “How are we out of tea?”

  “You made the last shopping list,” he pointed out helpfully. “Suppose we could run by the supermarket.”

  “Maybe pick up cinnamon buns and mochas at Nordic Bakery on the way?” Osian had yet to meet a pastry he didn’t love. “I’ll text Olivia to see if she wants to take on the circus that our mums want to turn the wedding into, yeah?”

  “Princess Olivia to the rescue.”

  “She could rule the world.” Osian lived in awe of his younger sibling. He also thought she had experience corralling the madness of their family when it came to weddings. She was happily married to her beloved Drystan Rees, an overly cheery Welsh firefighter who used to work with Dannel. “I doubt she’ll say no.”

  “She can’t resist throwing a party.” Dannel switched off the kettle. “I’ll grab my wallet. Coffee is calling my name.”

  “Cake is calling both our names. Something to keep us going while we start the new armour project.” Osian was excited. They’d been commissioned to create a full cosplay set based on one of the designs for the character Hawke from the second Dragon Age game. His personal favourite. “Get my keys and wallet as well, please?”

  Moving over to the kitchen window, Osian stared out at their colourful corner of Covent Garden. They lived in an exciting hub that made the heart of London. Maybe I’m a bit biased.

  Since they’d both retired from emergency services, they’d focused on building their podcast and cosplay fabrication business. Osian hadn’t imagined a career other than as a paramedic. And yet, they were thriving.

  Thriving.

  Such a millennial word.

  Yet, here we are, thriving.

  Aside from the occasional murderer.

  He did wonder if it might be easier and simpler to live in a quieter place. They’d have more time for building their businesses—maybe. Dannel might find life less stressful without the crowds and chaos of London.

  “Ready?”

  Osian was jerked out of his thoughts. He turned to find Dannel fighting with the knot on his trainer laces. “Do you ever wish we moved away from London? Live somewhere in the country, maybe?”

  “No.” Dannel’s response was immediate and emphatic. “Leave London? I love it here. Why?”

  “No reason.”

  He gave his shoelaces one last frustrated yank. “Weird question to ask out of the blue. Is this a neurotypical thing?”

  Osian went over to take the trainer out of Dannel’s hand. “How do you bungle up a knot this badly?”

  “Just cut the laces. I’ve got a spare set somewhere,” Dannel grumbled impatiently. “Inside voice?”

  “Close enough.”

  Over the years since Dannel’s official autism diagnosis, he’d learned to rely on others to help him not shout or whisper. He struggled to modulate his voice. Osian knew it greatly frustrated him.

  Osian struggled with the knot before tossing the trainer back to Dannel. “Buggered those up, didn’t you? Have you superglued your laces?”

  “Tired of the sodding things coming undone while I’m in the gym. I’ve only narrowly avoided tripping. These laces hate me. Grab the scissors, will you?”

  After a bit of creative cursing and a quick snip, Dannel freed his trainers. He put in the new laces. Osian chuckled when he beamed the old ones into the bin with enough force to almost knock it over.

  “You showed them.”

  Dannel stood by the door and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for several seconds. “Okay. Let’s get fuel for the rest of the day.”

  “Is cake fuel?”

  “It’s usually enough of a fuel to get us motivated, if only to find more.” He made an excellent point. “Are you coming?”

  The cake wound up being a selection of almond twists, apple Tosca buns, and chocolate-orange croissants. They bought enough to share with their neighbours, Adelle and Stanley, who lived downstairs with their Yorkie, Thames. The couple frequently brought treats for them; it was only fair to return the favour.

  Their vibrant three-storey apartment building had been around since the fifties. His uncle and aunt owned it along with the shop on the ground floor and rented out the flats. They all had a close relationship with their neighbours.

  In retrospect, it was likely one of the reasons Dannel would never consider moving. He was comfortable. Their flat and neighbours were home.

  Why even consider leaving his safe space?

  With enough sugar and coffee to have them buzzing, the two got down to the business of creating a set of armour. They pulled screenshots from the game. Dannel began sketching out the various pieces required.

  He had a deft hand at design. Osian barely managed a straight line with a ruler. His main job in the early stages involved checking through their inventory for supplies.

  Dannel sat up when his phone beeped jauntily. He shook his hand out to relax his fingers, then grabbed it, peering at the screen. “Rolly.”

  “What’s Constable Rolo want?” Osian snickered along with Dannel.

  They enjoyed teasing the youngest out of their quartet. They’d all grown up together, since their mums had lived across the hall from one another. Osian and Dannel had been best friends basically from birth and in love
from the time they’d known what it meant.

  “Apparently, this barrister Barnaby shouted at Wayne in the middle of the office, called him an amateur.” Dannel seemed as surprised as Osian. “Never met anyone as dedicated to their clients as Wayne.”

  “I imagine he’s not going to take being dressed down in public well.” Osian knew he’d have been irate if a co-worker had yelled at him like a naughty child. “Poor Wayne.”

  TWO

  DANNEL

  “It’s too early.” Dannel launched his pillow at the clock across the room. They’d placed it on a shelf out of easy reach to keep them from snoozing the alarm constantly. “It’s not even daylight yet.”

  “We’ve got to be up in time to watch Chelsea smash Tottenham.” Osian rolled away from Dannel when he tried to shove him off the bed. “Don’t be jealous. My team’s success isn’t a direct reflection on you.”

  “Please stop talking utter twaddle.” Dannel repeated the last word a few times. It had a satisfying rhythm. “We promised to bring part of breakfast over to watch the game with Rolly and Wayne.”