Read Online Murder Comes Calling by C. S. Challinor - Free Book Online Page B

evening and see how things were going with his graduate studies and life in general.
    “The Ballantines are moving so Will can be closer to kids his age and, hopefully, integrate better,” Malcolm informed him as they walked back to Badger Court. “There aren’t many teenagers here.” A light drizzle began to fall and they popped open their umbrellas.
    “You said ‘integrate.’ Antisocial tendencies?” Rex asked.
    “Maybe not ‘anti,’ but none. I’ve never heard more than a mumbled ‘hello’ from the lad. And you can barely see him through all that hair falling into his face. Grungy is the word I’d use to describe his appearance. I pity his parents, really.”
    “It could be a passing phase,” Rex said as they entered Malcolm’s driveway. “Take my car to the pub?” he asked his friend.
    “Fine. I’ll navigate.”
    “You’ll have to. I don’t want to get lost again. You can point oot the signs that should be there.” In this godforsaken place, he almost added.

eight
    Installed in a booth at the King’s Head with their pints and shepherd’s pie, Rex listened as Malcolm remarked how good it felt to be away from Notting Hamlet for a spell enjoying a late lunch. Rex had to agree. He found the community depressing, though whether more from the serial murders or the dismal weather, he could not be sure. A fire blazed in the hearth and horse brasses and old photographs of local scenic spots covered the walls, providing a genial atmosphere of welcome and warmth.
    “So, to recap,” Rex said looking around the lounge to ensure no one was within earshot, “the estate agent is as of now the main police suspect and we have discovered the existence of a pair of foreigners who might be posing as homebuyers.”
    “Perhaps they have nothing better to do than dress up and go looking at property they can’t afford. Bet you a second pint the fur and diamonds are fake.”
    “Let’s see if we can learn anything from the sales office.”
    On the way to the pub, they had driven past Chris Walker’s premises on the High Street in Godminton, a small market town of old and the closest to Notting Hamlet.
    “And I’d like to try the Ballantine house again when we get back.”
    “Or we could just phone. I have Rick’s number somewhere,” Malcolm said. “I wonder why they went with a different estate agent,” he added, a forkful of cheesy mashed potato poised before his lips.
    “Would you retain the services of a house agent whose properties have been the scenes of four grisly murders?”
    “I suppose not.” Malcolm put the food in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Though Walker hadn’t been arrested then.” He swallowed and washed down the potato with his pint of bitter.
    “He hasn’t been arrested at all as far as we know,” Rex pointed out. “His name hasn’t even been released to the media. We only have it on hearsay that it’s him the police are interested in.”
    “I had it confirmed this morning,” Malcolm reminded him. “When DCI Cooper told me about the wet shoeprint on the mat. Perhaps his name will be on the evening news.” He swiped the paper napkin across his mouth with relish.
    Clearly, Malcolm didn’t want the police releasing Walker and detaining him instead on the basis of the destroyed blood evidence. “Even so,” Rex said, getting back to the Ballantines. “I wonder how much Rick and Sandra’s motivation to move was prompted by the murders. You said they’d been wanting to find a different environment or special care for their son?”
    “Will is not special needs, exactly,” Malcolm said. “It’s just a bit isolating for him in the Hamlet. No kids of his age.”
    Rex had not seen many of the residents, but from what Malcolm had told him, the demographic seemed stagnant: a lot of retirees, and not many young commuters or entrepreneurs working from home. Families with small children were few and far between. Until the epidemic of selling fever, there had not been