Read Online Echoes of the Dead by Sally Spencer - Free Book Online Page B

house had a substantial garden and the residents lived completely separate lives. This was the shoulder-to-shoulder terraced-housed north – where people not only knew their neighbours’ business, but thought they had a right to know it.
    â€˜There was one thing,’ Mrs Dawson said tentatively.
    â€˜Go on.’
    â€˜Lilly was very late home on the Friday night before . . . before it happened. I had words with her about it.’
    â€˜Why was that? Was it because she was normally a very punctual girl?’
    â€˜Well, exactly. You could have set your watch by our Lilly.’
    â€˜Did she give you a satisfactory explanation for her tardiness?’ Bannerman asked.
    Mrs Dawson looked completely mystified.
    â€˜Pardon?’ she said.
    Bloody idiot, Woodend thought.
    â€˜Did she give you any reason for why she was late?’ he asked.
    â€˜Not really. She said she’d just been for a walk. But I could tell she was lyin’ – I could always tell when she was lyin’ to me! I nearly stopped her goin’ to her Saturday job on the market because of it.’ Mrs Dawson suppressed a sob. ‘I wish to God I had stopped her.’
    â€˜It wouldn’t have made any difference if you had,’ Bannerman told her, bluntly. ‘Once one of these animals has a girl in his sights, he’s not likely to put off by the fact that she doesn’t follow her normal routine.’
    â€˜My sergeant’s got a talent for sayin’ just the right thing in just the wrong way,’ Woodend told Mrs Dawson. ‘But what he says is true, you know. None of what happened is any of your fault – an’ nothin’ you could have done would have prevented it.’
    â€˜Thank you, Chief Inspector,’ Mrs Dawson said, looking Woodend straight in the eye and ignoring Bannerman’s gaze completely. ‘I really needed to hear that.’
    They were sitting in the Balmoral Bar of the Royal Victoria. The best bitter that the bar served was passable – maybe even better than passable – but the tartan wallpaper was starting to give Woodend a headache.
    â€˜What line of investigation do you think we should pursue in the morning, sir?’ Sergeant Bannerman asked.
    â€˜What line do you think we should follow?’ Woodend countered.
    â€˜Well, there is a long list of possible suspects who should be investigated,’ Bannerman said.
    Woodend took a sip of his pint. ‘Is there? I didn’t know that.’
    â€˜It’s all in the reports, sir.’
    â€˜Oh, you mean the fellers that the local bobbies have already pulled in for questionin’?’
    â€˜That’s right, sir.’
    â€˜But – an’ correct me if I’m wrong, Sergeant – haven’t they already been ruled out?’
    â€˜Yes, sir – but you shouldn’t forget who ruled them out.’
    â€˜I’m not followin’ you,’ Woodend said.
    But he was – he was following every twist and turn of Bannerman’s blinkered thought process.
    â€˜It’s the local coppers who have ruled them out, sir.’
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜And whilst they are our colleagues – and thus entitled to our professional respect – I have to say that I don’t think they’d recognize a lead if you slapped them in the face with it.’
    Arrogant young sod, Woodend thought.
    â€˜So it’s your opinion that we could do worse than re-interview all the usual suspects, is it?’ he asked.
    â€˜That’s right,’ Bannerman agreed.
    He hadn’t solved the Pearl Jones murder case by sitting on his arse and glaring at some poor twisted sod on the other side of the table, Woodend reminded himself – he’d done it by clogging his way around Canning Town, breathing in the air that Pearl had breathed herself, and talking to the people who Pearl had known. And that was how he intended to crack this case – by planting