Read Online Murder by Magic by Bruce Beckham - Free Book Online Page A

gradient eventually defeats his will to
run, and he is forced to clamber, picking his footholds as best he can –
though he dislodges many a loose boulder – and heaving himself by hand in
places.
    It
takes him a good three minutes to cover the five hundred feet of ascent –
and a similar distance in yards – and when he gains his object, the flat
rim of the quarry, he is panting heavily.  Nonetheless he does not break
stride, wiping his brow on his sleeve as he goes.  Directly ahead is the manmade
cliff where for the best part of a century green slate was hewn, and to his
right a cluster of buildings in various states of dilapidation, their roofs
orange with rust, windows bereft of glass, beams fallen across entrances. 
Of his personal ‘quarry’ there is no sign.
    He
checks about, taking care where he treads so as to move without incurring the
crack of a stone.  He circles the abandoned buildings, peering into their
dark interiors – pausing while his eyes become accustomed to the stale
gloom.  It takes just two minutes to satisfy himself that he is alone
here, and his coiled demeanour relaxes, if reluctantly so.  He begins to
search more minutely, paying interest to the ground, inspecting behind doorways
and forsaken piles of unworked slate.  He is just leaning over the parapet
of what appears to be a well shaft when the sudden urgent crunch of tyres jerks
him around.  But it is only his own long brown estate – distinctive
for its improvised aerial, bent from a coat hanger into the outline of a fish
– DS Jones behind the wheel, her features visibly anxious even through
the competing reflection of the windscreen.  She slews the vehicle around
– raising an eyebrow from Skelgill – and leans out of the passenger
window.
    ‘He
went off-road, Guv!’
    ‘What?’
    Skelgill
places his hands on his hips, gunslinger fashion.
    ‘I did
what you said, Guv – I blocked the gateway – but he spotted me from
a good distance and just drove across the fell – it was an old green Defender,
Guv – short wheelbase.’
    ‘Did
you get the plate number?’
    She
compresses her lips and shakes her head.
    ‘Too
far away, Guv – I couldn’t even swear it was a male driver.  I drove
up to the point where he went off the track – from there you can see back
down the pass – the wall disintegrates – he must have got through.’
    ‘So he
headed for Ambleside?’
    Now DS
Jones nods.
    ‘I
phoned for back-up, Guv – but the duty officer for the area has been
called away on an emergency – I was hoping if he was around he’d be able
at least to get the number – maybe intercept the vehicle.’
    ‘You
could have tailed him.’
    DS
Jones looks momentarily crestfallen.
    ‘I
don’t like the sound of what’s been happening to these sheep, Guv.’
    She
refrains from elaborating further – perhaps a more direct expression of
concern for his welfare.  Skelgill for his part folds his arms and exhales
through clenched teeth.  He pulls open the driver’s door and reaches into
the side pocket for his torch.  Then he walks back over to the well. 
Just before he reaches the retaining wall he bends down and picks up an object from
the stony ground.  DS Jones has left her seat and now approaches him.
    ‘What
is it, Guv?’
    He
holds out a tuft of sheep’s wool.  DS Jones indicates towards the well.
    ‘Think
it’s down there, Guv?’
    Skelgill
shrugs.  He leans over and directs the flashlight into the depths of the
shaft.  Perhaps fifty feet down, a black circle of water reflects the
beam.
    ‘If it
is, it’s not going anywhere in a hurry.’  He raises his palm to his lips
and blows the wool into the opening of the shaft.  ‘But this could have
come from any number of sheep – there’s nothing to stop them scavenging round
here.’
    DS
Jones is surveying the abandoned workings.
    ‘What
made you come up, Guv – how did you know he was here?’
    Skelgill
narrows his eyes.
    ‘He was
watching us – I saw