Read Online A Dreadful Past by Peter Turnbull - Free Book Online

hundred was a fair purchase price for me to offer and he seemed to be happy and content enough with that.’
    â€˜Self-inflicted tattoos, you say?’ Yellich clarified. ‘That could be interesting.’
    â€˜Yes. He made a right mess, a real dog’s breakfast of the job as well,’ Bernard Wilcher sniffed, ‘but I did note the initials B.W. on the back of his left hand. It’s the sort of thing I’d notice and also remember because they are also my initials.’
    â€˜B.W.’ Yellich committed the initials to memory but also wrote them on his notepad. ‘B.W.’ he repeated. ‘B.W.’
    George Hennessey took his leave from the Jenny household, expressing gratitude for their hospitality as he did so, and took the opportunity to wish Frank Jenny a good-humoured ‘good hunting’ in respect of the ‘wretched’ magpie. He then drove slowly to his home in Easingwold, following the B roads through Norton and Malton, and found himself greatly enjoying the quiet drive in the late spring weather. Upon arriving at Easingwold he drove through the town and exited on the Thirsk Road and then, when on the extreme outskirts of the town, he turned his car into the driveway of a detached house. At the sound of his car tyres crunching the gravel a dog began to bark loudly within the house, and did so excitedly in a welcoming manner. Hennessey entered the house by the front door and was met by a black mongrel that leapt up at him with a vigorously wagging tale. Hennessey knelt and patted the dog, and together they walked to the back of the house from which the dog exited via a dog flap set in the back door. Hennessey unlocked the back door and stood for a few moments watching his dog crisscross the lawn in search of recently laid scents.
    Leaving the dog contentedly exploring the lawn, Hennessey returned into the house and made himself a large pot of tea which he allowed to infuse for the prescribed three minutes before pouring a portion of it into a tartan-patterned half-pint mug. He carried the mug of tea and once again stood on the patio at the rear of the house. ‘An interesting development.’ He spoke quietly. ‘Well, perhaps it’s still early days yet, but we are taking a very interesting fresh look at a cold case …’ And so he continued talking as if to the air or to his garden or to Oscar, his dog, and an observer coming upon the scene would think he was talking to himself. But, dear reader, only those closest to him – his family, and also the new lady in his life – would know that he was in fact talking to Jennifer, his wife, who had died just three months after giving birth to their son. Jennifer, who had been walking through Easingwold one hot summer’s afternoon and who had suddenly collapsed as if in a faint. Other foot passengers had gone to her aid but no pulse could be found. An ambulance was summoned which took her to hospital, where she was declared ‘dead on arrival’ or ‘condition purple’ in ambulance code. At the inquest, the doctor giving evidence had declared that Jennifer Hennessey had died of ‘Sudden Death Syndrome’, which is the nearest the medical profession could get to explain why a young person in absolute and perfect health and still in her youth should fall down dead while doing nothing but walking in the street, quite calmly going about her business, all life having been removed from her in an instant as though, suddenly upon some whim, her life force had been switched off. It had been a great tragedy but Hennessey had picked himself up and had carried on ‘for Jennifer’s sake’. Over the next few years George Hennessey had set about rebuilding their rear garden, observing a design Jennifer had drawn up while heavily pregnant with Charles. She had determined that the long back garden, which had been a dull, totally unimaginative expanse of lawn, should be divided