Read Online Blood Will Out by Jill Downie - Free Book Online

and her ouija board — sorry, planchette. She considers the ouija board new-fangled. Here we are, Guv.”
    Ahead of him Moretti saw the hermit’s roundhouse, surrounded by police tape. The strange building had been there for well over a decade, as far as he knew, but certainly had not been there when he and Andy Duquemin had roamed the cliffs and the Common. He remembered asking his father about it, when he came home on his first vacation from London University. It was his mother, the island girl, who had answered him.
    â€œGus Dorey. Came back with his mother after the war to find his family home in ruins. Reprisals, I imagine. He built that himself, when he came back again, years later. His parents were long gone by then.”
    â€œGus Dorey,” said Moretti. That visit was the last time he saw her, and he heard again the echo of his mother’s voice, saying the name. When he got out of the car the brisk wind of autumn made his eyes water. “Is there anyone watching the place, Falla?”
    As he asked the question, a uniformed constable came out of the house.
    â€œYes, Guv. Looks like it’s PC Mauger. I think he came on duty this morning.”
    PC Mauger walked briskly towards them across the rough scrub that surrounded the house, his arms folded across his body against the wind.
    â€œâ€™morning, DI Moretti, DS Falla. You didn’t bring any hot coffee with you, by any chance?”
    â€œSorry, no,” Falla replied. “Anything to report?”
    â€œNothing, but PC Bichard, who was here last night, thought there was someone hanging about outside. When he went out to check, he could see nothing, wondered if it was his imagination playing tricks.”
    â€œHe’s a policeman, he’s not supposed to have an imagination playing tricks.” Moretti’s voice sounded sharp, and both officers looked at him with surprise. “I’ll speak to him when we get back to the station. Let’s take a look at Gus Dorey’s hideaway. I’m assuming SOCO are done here?”
    â€œYes, sir. I was told not to move anything, but no need to wear gloves. There’s not much to see, sir. Is there, DC Falla?”
    â€œNot much.”
    Falla watched Moretti go ahead of them into the roundhouse, and turned to PC Mauger. “Did Pete Bichard say what he meant by ‘hanging about’?”
    â€œBlimey, he’s in a mood, isn’t he? What’s got up his nose?” One look at Falla’s expression quelled any further comments about Moretti’s mood, and he went on, “He thought he heard a vehicle on the road, then he thought he heard it stop. Then he thought he heard someone moving around. That’s all.”
    â€œDid he go outside and take a look?”
    â€œYes. It was pitch-black and he saw nothing. Then he heard a vehicle again on the road, but he saw no headlights, which was weird. Should have seen them from here.”
    Falla looked back towards the road. There were few trees, and Pete Bichard was right. He should have seen headlights.
    â€œGo and sit in the car for a bit, Bernie, get warmed up.”
    Bernie Mauger trundled happily off towards the road, and Liz went into the roundhouse. Moretti was kneeling on the wooden floor surrounded by books. Behind him lay the chair, still on its side. He looked up as she came in.
    â€œInteresting,” he said.
    It was Moretti’s default word, and could mean mildly interesting, or extremely interesting, depending on the circumstance. She waited for him to elaborate, which was usually best and, given his sudden hissy fit with PC Mauger, probably advisable right now. If she wasn’t a copper, the laughing Guv of a few minutes before would seem like her imagination playing tricks.
    â€œSome of these are quite valuable.” Moretti held up a nondescript-looking book bound in a faded green, brushing the silvery-white dust left by SOCO off the cloth cover. “First edition of