Read Online A Dangerous Deceit by Marjorie Eccles - Free Book Online

Arms Green and spread out as far as Birmingham. No shortage of machine shops or foundries, brass or otherwise, but none of the managers or owners had ever had any South African visiting them – and there was no reason why any of the men working on the shop floor would have taken particular notice of any stranger being shown around. Happens all the time.’
    â€˜The coin might have been in his pocket for all sorts of reasons. Maybe he collected foreign coins. Maybe he’d visited there at some time. Doesn’t necessarily make him South African.’
    â€˜That wasn’t ruled out.’
    â€˜And the assumption was that he’d been killed and buried just before the big freeze, before the ground got too hard to dig?’
    â€˜The ground was hard before the snow came. We’d had some heavy frosts and that must have been why he wasn’t buried so deep. Waste of energy trying.’
    â€˜And since he wasn’t wearing an overcoat, nor a scarf or gloves, come to that, in that weather, he was likely killed indoors and transplanted there.’
    â€˜Right. Though why out at Maxstead is anyone’s guess.’
    The place where he’d been found was at the edge of a small covert well off the beaten track, though accessible – just – by vehicle. The grave had necessarily been shallow due to the hardness of the ground at the time, covered by an insufficient layer of what loose earth the killer had managed to remove. Scavengers would have found him earlier but for the freezing temperatures; it was only when the snow began to melt and caused the disturbed earth to settle that the corpse’s boot had been revealed.
    â€˜Someone who had access to a vehicle of some sort put him there,’ Joe said, ‘a car, or even a van. But we never got anywhere with that.’ Every year saw the number of private car owners or van drivers increasing, not least in Folbury, and without anything more concrete to go on, an extended search would have been fruitless. ‘Anyway, no one in the area has ever reported a missing man, and no hotel – from here to Brum – ever had a guest, South African or otherwise, who failed to turn up and claim his belongings when he should have done.’ Joe watched Reardon as he added, ‘By the way, I – er – went out to Maxstead Court only yesterday. Inspector Waterhouse asked me to let Lady Scroope – sorry, Lady Maude, they say she must be called – know that the enquiries were being suspended.’
    â€˜Watch how you go, Gilmour,’ Waterhouse had warned sourly. ‘No putting your size tens where they shouldn’t be.’ The inspector had been mortified that he wasn’t the one to visit the Dowager Lady Scroope and reassure her that she need give no more thought to the matter of the dead man found on her estate: he was after all the senior officer at Folbury. But the decision had been taken out of his hands by instructions from above that her Ladyship was to be informed immediately, just as he was about to leave to catch the 12.10 for Newcastle.
    Considering his reception by the lady and the man called Frith who was with her, Joe could have wished Waterhouse the joy of it. Perfectly polite, of course – thank you very much, Sergeant, good of you to let us know, good afternoon – as if the discovery of the body of a murdered man on the estate had been nothing more than an irritating matter, albeit one best cleared up. Obviously glad to be able to forget the whole business. ‘I think,’ Joe said thoughtfully, ‘she was very – er – relieved.’
    For a while Reardon said nothing, thoughtfully tapping his pencil on the desk. ‘Then she might not be too pleased if we start making enquiries again. So keep them discreet.’
    â€˜So the case might be reopened, sir?’ Joe brightened visibly.
    â€˜Not at this stage, no chance. Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t bear it in