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

and soon? Had he found the getting and spending laid waste his powers? Not hard to understand, thought Moretti. Drifting down the years the words came back to him.
    So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, have glimpses that would make me less forlorn …
    â€œGuv.” He realized Falla was speaking to him, holding out her mobile. “It’s Sergeant Jones. He’s interviewing Gord Martel right now.”
    â€œSorry, Falla. I was thinking of Wordsworth.”
    He took the mobile from her. “Sergeant Jones, Moretti here. I have a question for you to ask Mr. Martel about Gus Dorey. Did he smell?” He heard the question posed, and the postman’s indignant reaction. “I take it that’s a no? Thanks, Sergeant — yes, that’s all.”
    He handed the mobile back to Falla, who was looking at him quizzically. “You have a question yourself, I think?”
    â€œI was going to ask you where Wordsworth came in, but that’ll keep. Did he smell , Guv?”
    In answer Moretti walked across to the shelf with the small pile of clothing, and picked up a shirt.
    â€œThere’s no public laundry for miles, and this stuff is impeccably laundered. There’s no way that was washed under the coldwater pump outside, near what looks like his vegetable patch, and any iron would have had to be an old-fashioned non-electric one. I don’t see one, so I doubt he used the hipbath. Therefore —?”
    â€œEither he went into town with his washing or —”
    â€œSomeone was doing it for him. And something else. If Dr. Edwards’s suggestion that this is an aided suicide is accurate, then whoever helped Gus Dorey was not after his worldly goods.” Moretti bent down and picked up the Dickens. “They had some entirely different motive.”
    â€œMaybe he asked his laundry person to help him end his life.”
    â€œAnd maybe his laundry person gave him no choice in the matter. Because, Falla, whoever threw these books around, it wasn’t Gus Dorey, who loved them. It was the mysterious other person who was in this room with him. And they were looking for something, probably while he hung above on a rope he couldn’t have tied by himself.”
    At that moment, Moretti’s mobile rang. He answered it briefly, then looked at Liz Falla, who was staring up at the crossbeam by the fireplace.
    â€œDuty calls. That was Chief Officer Hanley. We’re needed at the station. Aloisio Brown has arrived.”
    â€œ Who , Guv?”
    â€œThe brainiac, Falla. Let’s go and face the music, shall we?”

Chapter Five
    H ugo Shawcross’s back was killing him. The phone call from Marie Gastineau had come as a complete surprise, sending him rushing to his laptop to put in an all-nighter. He couldn’t remember doing that since his student days. Mind you , he thought, if I am indeed one of the undead, last night should have been a walk in the park for me . Or perhaps a stroll in St. Martin’s Churchyard among the gravestones, hand in hand with La Gran’mère du Cimetière, the ancient menhir that kept watch at the gate. Over the thousands of years she had stood there, she must have seen a vampire or two, he thought.
    He giggled and stood up abruptly, instantly regretting both actions. Not only did his back hurt, but so did his head. However, the euphoria of the wine had lasted through the night until dawn, and now he just had to survive the hangover. He thought back to the message he had found on his answerphone when he got back from Elodie Ashton’s.
    â€œHello, Hugo. This is Marie Maxwell.”
    The tone of voice was the first surprise. Light, almost flirtatious, harpy turned seductress. Very different from the unearthly shrieks and howls, reminiscent of Stoker’s encounters with Mudge, that had greeted his little joke. He sat down at his desk and listened in disbelief.
    â€œI realize you will get this message after your