Read Online CXVI The Beginning of the End (Book 1): A Gripping Murder Mystery and Suspense Thriller (CXVI BOOK 1) by Angie Smith - Free Book Online
Authors: Angie Smith
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detective
investigating his death was likely to be one of the better ones who would
eventually work out how it had been committed and find the numerals; but just
in case, they left a subtle clue, i.e. the reflective tape. Think about it,
they could’ve easily removed it after coming down off the bridge. They’d
covered their tracks up there, why leave the reflective tape?”
“They’d have been seen by the queuing traffic.”
“Yes, but there would have been several vehicles
stopping and a number of people trying to assist at the scene. All our killer
needed to do was come out of the darkness down the banking and onto the
shoulder; no-one would think he was anything other than one of the drivers
who’d stopped further up the carriageway. He could walk to the cone, pretend to
be straightening it and remove the tape.”
“What about the bit on the central barrier?”
“Likewise, he could’ve gone over to the barrier,
removed the tape while chatting to some of the drivers who were queuing, then disappeared
off into the darkness.”
“But what’s CMXVI to do with this?”
“Solve that and you solve the crime.”
Woods sighed, and rubbed his chin. “I like your
reasoning; nevertheless I’m not totally convinced. Get the names of the drivers
who stopped at the scene from Greenwood, have a chat with them and see if they
saw anyone up on the bridge. Reconstructing the cage and painting the bolts
would have taken a while.”
“No problem,” she replied, keying Greenwood’s number
into her phone.
During the journey to Penistone,
Barnes had contacted both Greenwood and McLean. While speaking to Greenwood
he’d informed her that when finishing off and reopening the footbridge, an
elderly gentleman, out walking a dog, had approached him with information about
a man taking measurements and photographs of the footbridge a few weeks
earlier. She had relayed this to Woods who immediately asked her to ring McLean
back and instruct him to visit the man and obtain a full detailed description.
Barnes was awaiting McLean’s call back.
It was almost 5.00 p.m. when the detectives finally
arrived at Dawn Mateland’s house; a modest detached property on the outskirts
of the small market town, eight miles west of Barnsley and seventeen miles
north-east of Glossop. They were invited in and provided with refreshments.
“I wouldn’t say she’s acting much like the grieving
widow,” Barnes whispered as Mateland went out to fetch some biscuits from the
kitchen.
“I’m sorry to bother you at such a traumatic time,”
Woods said, when she returned. “I know it must be difficult for you, but I need
to ask you some questions. Paul’s death is being treated as murder.”
“You don’t have to apologise, Superintendent. It’s no
secret that I despised him and although this may sound heartless, all I’m
feeling at the moment is relief that he’s out of my life.”
Woods frowned. “I see. Err, I understand there’d
been a disagreement between you and Paul recently and. . .”
“A disagreement; if you call ending up in A&E
with two broken ribs a disagreement, then yes we had. I suppose you’ve been
told about John.” She looked straight at Barnes.
“Can we concentrate on Paul first?” Woods said. “Can
you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm him?”
“Can you think of anyone who wouldn’t?”
Woods hesitated. “I… I know he wasn’t everyone’s favourite
person, but there’s a difference between disliking someone and murdering them.”
“Come on Superintendent. Paul had the extraordinary
ability to get under people’s skin; he upset, distressed and irritated almost
everyone he ever came into contact with. He must have been the most complained
about police officer in the Force, not only by the public, but other police
officers. I understood he was only promoted to inspector to get him out of the
way of the public into that traffic office, behind a desk. Everywhere he went
trouble
investigating his death was likely to be one of the better ones who would
eventually work out how it had been committed and find the numerals; but just
in case, they left a subtle clue, i.e. the reflective tape. Think about it,
they could’ve easily removed it after coming down off the bridge. They’d
covered their tracks up there, why leave the reflective tape?”
“They’d have been seen by the queuing traffic.”
“Yes, but there would have been several vehicles
stopping and a number of people trying to assist at the scene. All our killer
needed to do was come out of the darkness down the banking and onto the
shoulder; no-one would think he was anything other than one of the drivers
who’d stopped further up the carriageway. He could walk to the cone, pretend to
be straightening it and remove the tape.”
“What about the bit on the central barrier?”
“Likewise, he could’ve gone over to the barrier,
removed the tape while chatting to some of the drivers who were queuing, then disappeared
off into the darkness.”
“But what’s CMXVI to do with this?”
“Solve that and you solve the crime.”
Woods sighed, and rubbed his chin. “I like your
reasoning; nevertheless I’m not totally convinced. Get the names of the drivers
who stopped at the scene from Greenwood, have a chat with them and see if they
saw anyone up on the bridge. Reconstructing the cage and painting the bolts
would have taken a while.”
“No problem,” she replied, keying Greenwood’s number
into her phone.
During the journey to Penistone,
Barnes had contacted both Greenwood and McLean. While speaking to Greenwood
he’d informed her that when finishing off and reopening the footbridge, an
elderly gentleman, out walking a dog, had approached him with information about
a man taking measurements and photographs of the footbridge a few weeks
earlier. She had relayed this to Woods who immediately asked her to ring McLean
back and instruct him to visit the man and obtain a full detailed description.
Barnes was awaiting McLean’s call back.
It was almost 5.00 p.m. when the detectives finally
arrived at Dawn Mateland’s house; a modest detached property on the outskirts
of the small market town, eight miles west of Barnsley and seventeen miles
north-east of Glossop. They were invited in and provided with refreshments.
“I wouldn’t say she’s acting much like the grieving
widow,” Barnes whispered as Mateland went out to fetch some biscuits from the
kitchen.
“I’m sorry to bother you at such a traumatic time,”
Woods said, when she returned. “I know it must be difficult for you, but I need
to ask you some questions. Paul’s death is being treated as murder.”
“You don’t have to apologise, Superintendent. It’s no
secret that I despised him and although this may sound heartless, all I’m
feeling at the moment is relief that he’s out of my life.”
Woods frowned. “I see. Err, I understand there’d
been a disagreement between you and Paul recently and. . .”
“A disagreement; if you call ending up in A&E
with two broken ribs a disagreement, then yes we had. I suppose you’ve been
told about John.” She looked straight at Barnes.
“Can we concentrate on Paul first?” Woods said. “Can
you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm him?”
“Can you think of anyone who wouldn’t?”
Woods hesitated. “I… I know he wasn’t everyone’s favourite
person, but there’s a difference between disliking someone and murdering them.”
“Come on Superintendent. Paul had the extraordinary
ability to get under people’s skin; he upset, distressed and irritated almost
everyone he ever came into contact with. He must have been the most complained
about police officer in the Force, not only by the public, but other police
officers. I understood he was only promoted to inspector to get him out of the
way of the public into that traffic office, behind a desk. Everywhere he went
trouble
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