Read Online Dead Money (A Detective Inspector Paul Amos Lincolnshire Mystery) by Rodney Hobson - Free Book Online

later than usual. The past few days had been gruelling and it was hard to see a way forward in the inquiry - hence his sluggish start to the morning.
    “It’s in connection with the murder inquiry,” the obliging young officer continued. “It’s Mrs Jones. She’s in interview room one with Sgt Swift.”
    Amos was completely taken aback. Inquiries so far had revealed the existence of a wife but not of her whereabouts. Now she had appeared from nowhere.
    Cursing his tardiness, whatever the excuse, he bustled into the interview room just in time to hear Swift asking: "Is there any chance, Mrs Jones, that you can give us some clue as to where your husband might have been intending to go on Sunday afternoon?"
    Amos was not hopeful. After all, the couple had been living apart, probably miles apart, for the past few years.
     
    "I don't know where he might have been going." There was a slight pause. Something about the gentle stress on the word "might" caused the inspector to raise his eyebrows,
     
    "But I do know where he should have been," Mrs Jones continued archly. "He was supposed to visit me."
     
    Amos dropped his pencil on the table.
     "You?" he asked in a startled tone.
     
    "Me."
    Amos eyed her as she paused for effect. She was striking rather than beautiful, tall, blonde and dressed in sharp but not gaudy colours. Her clothes were good quality and although they did not boast the cut of designer labels they were Marks & Spencer rather than Primark.
     
    Mrs Jones sat calmly and spoke in a matter-of-fact way, clearly relishing the stir she was causing.
     Recovering his own composure and belatedly introducing himself, Amos said: "I think you'd better tell me all about it. Shall we start with when you arranged to see your husband and why."
     
    Mrs Jones sat up, leaned forward over the desk and began.
     
    "The arrangement was made the previous Sunday evening. Ray had rung me and asked if we could try to get back together again. I told him I was willing to talk things over but I wasn't prepared to commit myself."
     
    "Were you in regular contact?" Amos interposed.
     
    "Frequent, but not regular," Mrs Jones replied. "We talked on the phone from time to time but there was no set arrangement."
     
    "So you were still on good terms with your husband despite the separation?"
     
    "Yes. There was no bitterness when we broke up. It was more in sadness than in anger. Ray got completely absorbed in his work. It got to the point where he was wheeling and dealing six, even seven, days a week.
     
    "He couldn't bear to go on holiday in case he missed out. I started to go away for the odd week to the Isle of Wight or the Lake District and he would join me at the weekend. Or not as the case may be.
    "Finally he had a heart attack. I thought this would be a lesson to him. Not a bit of it. Even from his hospital bed he was organising his investments. As soon as he was well again he was back in the thick of things. Only now he had religion as well.
     
    "Looking death in the face had certainly shaken him. He started going to church every Sunday evening. He'd never been in the place before in his life. I gave him an ultimatum. The church I could stand - at least it was only once a week. But either he cut back on work or I left him.
     
    "He eased up a bit but it wasn't much more than a gesture. Then came the final straw:  The night of the ice cream chimes."
     
    Mrs Jones was clearly enjoying her role centre stage. She paused for effect once again. If she was hoping that Amos would indulge her with a prompt, however, she was doomed to disappointment. He simply stared her down, watching her every facial expression.
     
    Finally Mrs Jones looked away.
     
    "The ice cream chimes," she picked up the thread again. "I didn't always go to church with him - I'm not a believer, any more than Ray was before he realised he might face the Almighty sooner rather than later. But I was there that Sunday evening, I'm sorry to say.
     
    "Well, in