Read Online A Dreadful Murder by Minette Walters - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Minette Walters
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road on the 24th August, including the people who live here.’
Memories were surprisingly good. As several villagers said, it focused the mind to have a murder on the doorstep. The same names cropped up again and again. Various tradesmen. The baker’s boy on his bicycle. The butcher’s cart delivering meat. The farrier coming to shoe one of Mr Wallace’s horses. The vicar in his car.
One or two claimed to have seen Major-General Luard and Sergeant emerge from Church Road and turn towards Godden Green. But of more interest to Taylor, an elderly farm worker said he had noticed Michael Blaine heading up the same road some two hours earlier.
‘Did you see him come back?’ the Superintendent asked.
‘Never do. Stays out till all hours.’
‘Where does he work?’
The old man shrugged. ‘You’ll have to ask him. I don’t pry into other people’s affairs.’
‘Does he go out poaching?’
‘Not my place to say.’
Taylor put a hand on the door to keep it open. ‘Are you afraid of Michael Blaine?’
There was a tiny pause. ‘His stepmother is.’ With a sudden push he shut the policeman out of the house.
The Blaines’ house – a wooden shack – stood at the end of a rutted lane, on the other side of the road from the Church Road turning. It was a quarter the size of the summer house at Frankfield House, had no windows and was in a bad state of repair. The rickety front door stood open to let some light in.
‘I’d probably want to vandalise La Casa myself if I lived in a dump like this,’ Philpott muttered to his boss as the pair of detectives approached.
Taylor was thinking the same. He rapped his knuckles on the door frame. ‘Mrs Blaine,’ he called, peering into the gloomy interior. ‘I’m Superintendent Taylor of Scotland Yard and this is Constable Philpott. May we come in?’
There was a scurry of movement before a woman appeared in front of them. Her alarm was obvious but she did her best to hide it. She tried to keep the two men outside but Taylor had already stepped over the threshold.
‘We’re asking everyone in Stone Street where they were and who they saw on the day Mrs Luard died,’ he told her. He smiled at the three little urchins who clustered around her skirt. ‘Were you out playing that day, kids? Do you remember seeing the Major-General and his dog?’
‘They don’t know nothing,’ said Mrs Blaine, shooing the children outside. ‘None of us does.’
She threw a worried look towards the corner of the room and Taylor followed her gaze. He made out the figure of a young man, standing in the shadows. His hair looked tousled as if he’d just got up. ‘You must be Michael,’ said Taylor.
‘What if I am?’
The Superintendent produced one of his lazy smiles. ‘I’m told you do labouring jobs at Frankfield Park from time to time.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Were you there when Mrs Luard was killed?’
‘No. Last time they needed me was July. You can check it in their records.’
Taylor nodded. ‘So who was employing you on the 24th?’ His eyes were adjusting to the dimness and he could see the rigid set of the youngster’s shoulders and jawline.
‘Can’t remember . . . could have been anyone.’
‘Give me some names,’ Taylor said, taking his notebook and pencil from his pocket.
‘He was here with me,’ Mrs Blaine blurted out. ‘Ain’t that right, Michael?’
‘Yeah.’
Taylor shook his head. ‘You were seen walking up Church Road at about 12.30. Where were you going?’
A look of hostility glittered in Blaine’s eyes. He wasn’t used to having his movements questioned by anyone. ‘I sure as hell wasn’t going to Frankfield Park.’
Taylor flipped to the front of his notebook. ‘You were at the summer house the next morning. One of the constables took your name.’
‘So? It wasn’t just me that was curious.’
‘How come you weren’t working that day either?’ Taylor glanced around the cramped room. There was a mattress for the mother and
Memories were surprisingly good. As several villagers said, it focused the mind to have a murder on the doorstep. The same names cropped up again and again. Various tradesmen. The baker’s boy on his bicycle. The butcher’s cart delivering meat. The farrier coming to shoe one of Mr Wallace’s horses. The vicar in his car.
One or two claimed to have seen Major-General Luard and Sergeant emerge from Church Road and turn towards Godden Green. But of more interest to Taylor, an elderly farm worker said he had noticed Michael Blaine heading up the same road some two hours earlier.
‘Did you see him come back?’ the Superintendent asked.
‘Never do. Stays out till all hours.’
‘Where does he work?’
The old man shrugged. ‘You’ll have to ask him. I don’t pry into other people’s affairs.’
‘Does he go out poaching?’
‘Not my place to say.’
Taylor put a hand on the door to keep it open. ‘Are you afraid of Michael Blaine?’
There was a tiny pause. ‘His stepmother is.’ With a sudden push he shut the policeman out of the house.
The Blaines’ house – a wooden shack – stood at the end of a rutted lane, on the other side of the road from the Church Road turning. It was a quarter the size of the summer house at Frankfield House, had no windows and was in a bad state of repair. The rickety front door stood open to let some light in.
‘I’d probably want to vandalise La Casa myself if I lived in a dump like this,’ Philpott muttered to his boss as the pair of detectives approached.
Taylor was thinking the same. He rapped his knuckles on the door frame. ‘Mrs Blaine,’ he called, peering into the gloomy interior. ‘I’m Superintendent Taylor of Scotland Yard and this is Constable Philpott. May we come in?’
There was a scurry of movement before a woman appeared in front of them. Her alarm was obvious but she did her best to hide it. She tried to keep the two men outside but Taylor had already stepped over the threshold.
‘We’re asking everyone in Stone Street where they were and who they saw on the day Mrs Luard died,’ he told her. He smiled at the three little urchins who clustered around her skirt. ‘Were you out playing that day, kids? Do you remember seeing the Major-General and his dog?’
‘They don’t know nothing,’ said Mrs Blaine, shooing the children outside. ‘None of us does.’
She threw a worried look towards the corner of the room and Taylor followed her gaze. He made out the figure of a young man, standing in the shadows. His hair looked tousled as if he’d just got up. ‘You must be Michael,’ said Taylor.
‘What if I am?’
The Superintendent produced one of his lazy smiles. ‘I’m told you do labouring jobs at Frankfield Park from time to time.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Were you there when Mrs Luard was killed?’
‘No. Last time they needed me was July. You can check it in their records.’
Taylor nodded. ‘So who was employing you on the 24th?’ His eyes were adjusting to the dimness and he could see the rigid set of the youngster’s shoulders and jawline.
‘Can’t remember . . . could have been anyone.’
‘Give me some names,’ Taylor said, taking his notebook and pencil from his pocket.
‘He was here with me,’ Mrs Blaine blurted out. ‘Ain’t that right, Michael?’
‘Yeah.’
Taylor shook his head. ‘You were seen walking up Church Road at about 12.30. Where were you going?’
A look of hostility glittered in Blaine’s eyes. He wasn’t used to having his movements questioned by anyone. ‘I sure as hell wasn’t going to Frankfield Park.’
Taylor flipped to the front of his notebook. ‘You were at the summer house the next morning. One of the constables took your name.’
‘So? It wasn’t just me that was curious.’
‘How come you weren’t working that day either?’ Taylor glanced around the cramped room. There was a mattress for the mother and
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