Read Online The Slaughter Man by Tony Parsons - Free Book Online

and cooks who were all off on New Year’s Eve.’
    ‘Good time to kill someone,’ I said.
    ‘Six houses and five of the owners are away on New Year’s Eve? It doesn’t make sense.’
    ‘They’re rich,’ I said. ‘Seriously rich. And the seriously rich have always got other places to be. Only the poor stay home.’
    But it felt like the holidays were over. The gates of The Gardens were open and there was a steady flow of vehicles arriving. A pool guy. White vans. Live-out housekeepers and cleaners walking from the bus stop on the other side of Waterlow Park.
    ‘The security guard was quite certain the gates were closed on New Year’s Eve,’ I said.
    ‘Why would he lie?’ Wren asked.
    ‘The same reason they always lie,’ I said. ‘Because he was scared. Maybe he was asleep. Maybe he had slipped off to see in the New Year with his family. Maybe he was in on it, if only to open the gates. But if the gates weren’t open, then they came over the wall.’
    ‘There’s a lot of traffic now,’ Wren said. ‘Maids. Cleaners. Gardeners. Builders.’
    ‘The rich take a lot of looking after.’
    ‘We’re compiling a list of everyone who’s had access to The Gardens over the last six months. It’s not easy with casual workers who like cash in hand.’
    ‘Saves on the paperwork,’ I said, and we started walking towards the twelve-foot wall that surrounded The Gardens. Beyond it the wood that almost consumed Highgate Cemetery stretched off into the mist. The search teams had gone and stone angels peeked half-hidden from the trees.
    ‘If he – or they – came in over that wall, he – or they – didn’t go back over it,’ I said. ‘Not carrying a four-year-old child.’
    ‘Not if the kid was alive,’ Wren said.
    ‘But if he was dead – why take him?’
    A big Lexus pulled into The Gardens. A deeply tanned man and woman of about forty were in the front seats. A teenage girl, her face hiding behind long hippy hair, was slumped in the back, plugged into an iPod. The driver’s window slid down.
    ‘Miles Compton,’ a tanned fifty-year-old man said. ‘We live next door to the Woods. Heard the news just as we were leaving St Lucia.’ His eyes left me and stared with horror at the tape around the murder scene. ‘Is it really true?’
    ‘I’m afraid it is, sir,’ Wren said.
    Next to him, the woman’s hands were pressed to her mouth.
    The man nodded grimly. ‘I always knew he would push his luck too far,’ he said.
    ‘Who?’ I said.
    ‘The boy. Marlon Wood. That arrogant little shit.’ He shook his head with real regret. ‘Bloody shame about the rest of them, though. Bloody shame.’
    He drove off to the house next door to the Wood property. ‘I’m on my way,’ Wren said, and started walking towards them.
    I walked to the wall and followed the perimeter around The Gardens. At the back of the house next door to the Comptons, workmen were taking down some scaffolding.
    ‘Stop that!’ I called.
    They stared at me for a moment and then carried on dismantling the scaffolding.
    ‘
Zatrzymac!
’ I shouted, and my Polish was good enough to get them to stop immediately. ‘
Policja
,’ I said. ‘Let me try something, men.
Jing kweer
.’
    As they conferred in Polish, I climbed up a ladder on the scaffolding and then another to the point where it was above the top of the wall. I walked to the end of the plank. The branch of a tree that grew inside the cemetery hung close to the house, brushing the top of the scaffolding. Some of the branches had been cut back, but it must have been a while ago now. I looked up at the branch above me and then jumped up and gripped it, hanging there for a moment, checking it wasn’t going to break any time soon. It seemed strong enough to hold me so I swung my legs up and caught it. The Polish builders had lit cigarettes and were enjoying the show. Sweating now, I shuffled down the branch, passing over the top of the wall. I kept going until my shoes touched the