Read Online A Dreadful Murder by Minette Walters - Free Book Online

make no difference. He has a bad temper when he’s in drink.’
    ‘We’ll see,’ said Taylor, stepping inside the door.
    There was only one room on the ground floor, though some rickety steps in the corner suggested a bedroom upstairs. Taylor pulled the curtain aside to expose John Farrell, fully clothed and flat on his back on a stained mattress. He nudged the man with his foot but got no response.
    ‘You have my sympathy, Mrs Farrell,’ he said loudly. ‘You made a rotten bargain when you picked this one.’
    If he hadn’t been ready for it, the man’s speed would have taken him by surprise. Farrell launched himself off the mattress in a roaring charge, fists flying.
    ‘A
very
bad bargain,’ Taylor grunted, jabbing his knee into Farrell’s groin and crowding him back against the wall. He slammed his forearm against the man’s throat. ‘A brute when he’s drunk and a fool when he’s sober.’
    The woman wrung her hands. ‘He’ll take it out on me and the kids if you don’t let him go,’ she wailed.
    ‘He’ll do that anyway,’ said Taylor, staring into the other man’s eyes. ‘He doesn’t need reasons to inflict pain.’
    ‘You don’t know him like I do, sir. He can be nice when he wants.’
    The Superintendent wondered why battered women always said the same. It made no sense to him. He eased the pressure on the other man’s throat. ‘Does your husband own a revolver, Mrs Farrell?’
    He heard the sudden tremor in her voice. ‘He wasn’t the one shot Mrs Luard, sir. He was here with me when the poor lady died.’
    ‘And you’ll swear to that on the Bible, I suppose?’
    ‘It’s the truth.’
    ‘I doubt it. The truth is he’ll beat you within an inch of your life if you don’t lie for him.’ Taylor dropped his arm and stepped away. ‘You’re a better fit for a woman-killer than the Major-General, Mr Farrell.’
    ‘You heard the wife,’ the man growled. ‘It wasn’t me. What business would I have had in Frankfield Park that day?’
    ‘A better question would be, what business did you have here at 3.15 on a Monday afternoon? Why weren’t you out working?’
    ‘Times are hard.’
    ‘Is that right? So where did your beer money come from in the pub this lunchtime? Did you pawn a couple of stolen rings, perhaps?’
    Farrell wasn’t used to fighting men. He signalled his moves in advance and looked surprised when Taylor dodged. The Superintendent easily landed a punch in the pit of the lumbering oaf’s stomach, but it was hardly a fair contest. Farrell was drunk, and Taylor had been a champion boxer in his day.
    The man doubled up, winded. ‘Why are you doing this?’ he whined. ‘It wasn’t me killed Mrs Luard.’ He flicked an assessing glance at his wife. ‘It’s the ones who were out and about you should be after.’
    Taylor felt – rather than saw – the woman’s sudden movement. He glanced round and watched her grab the wrist of the thin-faced youth who was standing beside her. The boy looked scared, and it seemed to Taylor that his mother was trying to keep him from running.
    ‘It’s you who keeps picking the fight,’ Taylor told Farrell. ‘I’m just defending myself.’
    The man made a retching sound. ‘Yeah, well, you’d better be watching your back from now on.’
    ‘You interest me more and more, Mr Farrell. Is that how you usually attack a person? From behind?’
    There was a short silence before the woman spoke. ‘You have to believe me, sir. John was sleeping off the drink . . . like he does every afternoon.’
    Taylor eyed her for a moment then shifted his gaze to the youth. ‘Is this Will? What about him? Where was he when Mrs Luard was shot?’
    The woman tightened her grip on the lad’s wrist. ‘He was here,’ she said in a shaky voice. ‘I can’t do the laundry without him.’
    * * *
    Taylor’s last visit that day was to Ightham police station. He expected the local bobby to be manning the desk, but instead he found George Hamble sorting