Read Online Lambs to the Slaughter by Sally Spencer - Free Book Online Page B

the kerb.
    â€˜So what do you think of the new doctor, boss?’ Meadows asked.
    â€˜I like him,’ Paniatowski admitted. ‘He’s no Shastri, but he has a certain style that I think I can work with.’ She lit up a cigarette. ‘We need to interview the woman who found the body – Susan Danvers. Where is she?’
    â€˜She’s at home. Her doctor’s with her.’
    â€˜Go and talk to the doctor,’ Paniatowski said. ‘Ask him if she’s in any state to be questioned.’
    â€˜And where will you be when I’ve got an answer, boss?’ Meadows asked.
    â€˜I’ll be here – trying to make some sense of what happened,’ Paniatowski said.
    She turned around and walked back into the house – through the parlour, through the kitchen and into the yard. She looked down the yard at the lavatory in which Len Hopkins had met his end.
    The back gate had blown open, and a cold wind which had been roaring down the alley had taken advantage of the fact to conquer the yard. Paniatowski shivered as she felt its icy fingers reaching for her, but even with the wind, the stink of the killer’s rage still hovered in the air.
    The church hall was about ten times the length of an average car garage, and roughly five times as wide, Crane estimated. There was a small stage at one end of the room, on which hung a heavy purple mock-velvet curtain, and there were a number of tables and chairs stacked up along the wall.
    Two women, well past pensionable age, were mopping the floor near the stage, and a tall thin man in a clerical collar stood a little distance from them, watching them work, and occasionally popping something into his mouth from the paper bag he held in his hand.
    The vicar noticed he had visitors, though from the expression on his face, it was more likely that he considered them intruders.
    â€˜I’m not interested in buying anything, so you’re simply wasting both your time and mine,’ he called across the hall.
    â€˜Blessed are the meek,’ Beresford said.
    â€˜Should we go over and tell him . . .?’ Crane began, taking a step forward.
    â€˜No,’ Beresford said, grabbing his arm to restrain him, ‘let the bugger come to us.’
    Crane noticed the dark edge that was creeping into his inspector’s voice. It was quite a new thing – this edge – but it always spelled trouble.
    The vicar, seeing that they were making no effort to move, strode towards them.
    â€˜Treat him gently, sir,’ Crane advised.
    â€˜I’ve had quite enough of you travelling salesmen,’ he said. ‘This church hall is private property, and you are only allowed to be here with my permission – which I do not grant. So either leave now, or I will call the police.’
    â€˜But we are the police,’ Beresford said, producing his warrant card.
    â€˜Oh!’ the vicar replied, somewhat taken aback. ‘I took you for—’
    â€˜You made it quite clear what you took us for,’ Beresford interrupted him.
    â€˜It’s just we’ve had such a plague of travelling salesmen in this village recently. And they’re so forward and pushy, aren’t they? They hardly ever show the proper respect.’
    â€˜I suppose they’ve got their job to do, just like everybody else,’ Beresford said. ‘You don’t mind if we have a look around, do you?’
    â€˜No . . . uh . . . I suppose not,’ the vicar said, dipping his hand in his paper bag, and pulling out a peppermint. ‘It is not much, as you can see for yourselves, but it serves our humble purposes.’
    â€˜Hmm,’ Beresford said, striding off towards the stage and leaving Crane with the vicar.
    Though not a believer himself, Crane’s view of religion was, on the whole, a rather positive one – he would for ever be grateful to the priest who had comforted his father in his last agonized days – but that did