Read Online Catch the Fallen Sparrow by Priscilla Masters - Free Book Online

You ought to pick on someone your own age and size ...’
    She let him rattle on, watching his thin, intelligent face, the gold-rimmed glasses that caught the light of the fire, his restless, fidgety hands that displayed his nervous quick personality. They had lived next door to one another for more than four years, had slept together just once and immediately realized they would remain friends for life but never make love again. It had intruded on a deep, close friendship. They had witnessed each other’s disastrous affairs, watched each other break hearts and have their own broken in turn. Tom’s particular Achilles’ heel was Caroline, recently removed to the London tabloid, with whom he had lived in uneasy turbulence for four years. Joanna’s had been Matthew Levin. While Tom had moved up the legal ladder to a senior position in Manchester she had taken the right exams, kissed the right hands and been rewarded with the title of Detective Inspector. And they had remained living with a thin wall separating their homes.
    It was not until their second glass of wine that Joanna broached the subject that had brought her here. He listened while she related all the details of the boy found on the moors.
    â€˜I need your cleverness,’ she said.
    Immediately Tom set his glass down on the small occasional table to his side and settled back in his chair in what Joanna laughingly called his ‘Legal Position’. His thin face almost quivered with alertness and intelligence.
    â€˜What is it?’ He studied her carefully. ‘Is it something to do with the case?’
    She nodded. ‘Why would someone fake a burglary?’ she asked.
    â€˜That one’s easy, Jo,’ he said quickly. ‘People fake burglaries for financial gain.’ He stopped. ‘To claim off the insurance.’
    â€˜But if they didn’t claim off the insurance? If the pieces were intrinsically valueless?’
    â€˜I think,’ he said, then laughed, ‘this one’s more tricky. I would venture to suggest that there are one or two possible reasons. Either to explain the absence or presence of an object.’
    She looked at him. ‘Translate,’ she said, laughing.
    â€˜Well, either ... Either to explain the fact that something was missing,’ he said, ‘or to explain away the fact that it was in the possession of someone in whose possession it should not have been.’ He grinned. ‘Do I make myself clear?’
    She nodded. ‘I think so.’
    But her mind was still pondering that strange mix of objects.
    â€˜And why hasn’t anyone come forward to claim the boy?’
    â€˜Possibly,’ Tom said, ‘because no one knows he’s missing.’
    It was late in the day when Mike took the car out on the moor. He pulled up at the lay-by and stared out. Miles and miles of nothing. No houses or trees. Nowhere for anyone to hide – just the dark, menacing moor guarded by the craggy outcrop. And already, late on this gloomy September afternoon, the scene looked grey and menacing. A fitting setting for a violent crime, a graveyard of nature’s making. He shivered. Though it was warm in the town he knew the minute he swung open the car door the wind would almost tear it off its hinges and the damp chill rising from ground that never dried out, summer and winter alike, would seem to penetrate his bones. This scene had been his own private nightmare, uncharted ground, unexplored and remote. He had always visualized undiscovered bodies on this high ground.
    He got out of the car and immediately the elements beat around him. He walked slowly towards the navy van and found the uniformed police sergeant with his hands cupped round a beaker of steaming soup. He grinned and accepted one himself.
    The sergeant winked. ‘Courtesy of the publican,’ he said. ‘Reckon he has a guilty conscience?’
    Mike shook his head. ‘Probably nothing worse than