Read Online Murder of a Dead Man by Katherine John - Free Book Online

else seeing as how it was made by one of their independent contractors?’ Dan said.
    Bill returned and looked at Dan.
    ‘We’re sleeping on it for a couple of hours, sir.’
    Dan rose stiffly to his feet. ‘If anything comes up after the film is shown on the news –’
    ‘We know,’ Peter said. ‘You’ll telephone us.’
    ‘Anna, Dan and Trevor will be telephoned, Peter. You’re on duty until midnight,’ Bill said.
    ‘What have I done to deserve it?’
    ‘Slept last night.’ Dan yawned and stretched.
    ‘See you in the morning.’
    ‘Can I beg a lift to my place?’ Anna asked Trevor.
    ‘Of course.’ He gave Peter a look of commiseration as he left.
     
    In no hurry to go to his office, Peter poured himself another coffee from the jug that was standing on the hot-plate. He returned to his chair and forwarded the disc to Tony’s second scene.
    “There are people out there who know us.
    Don’t want to see us like this… ”
    He scribbled a note on the back of Sam’s list.
    There had to be a way of finding out just who Tony was keeping his whereabouts from.

    Trevor went to his desk and picked up the telephone. Dialling nine for an outside line he rang home. He allowed it to ring eight times. Nothing –
    Lyn had probably given up on him and gone out.
    That’s if she’d come home at all. He debated whether to stop off and pick up a take-away, then remembered the party leftovers in the fridge.
    ‘You eaten?’ he asked Anna as she climbed into his car.
    ‘No, and I’m bloody ravenous.’
    ‘Ravenous enough to eat cold leftover party food?’
    ‘Take me to it.’
     
    The telephone stopped ringing just as Lyn had come to enough to roll to the edge of the bed and pick up the receiver. Cursing, she slammed it down and looked around. She was still dressed in her uniform.
    As soon as she’d reached the end of the street she’d known Trevor wouldn’t be home. There’d been no car in the drive, and when she’d opened the front door there were other unmistakeable signs of an empty house. No shoes kicked off in the hall, no coat thrown over the foot of the banisters. She’d checked the kitchen in case he’d been in and gone out again. But there were no dirty dishes on the work surface, and the dishwasher was full of clean dishes, just as she’d left it that morning. That’s when she’d climbed the stairs and lain on the bed –for a few minutes.
    She rubbed her eyes and read the clock. Half past eight and she felt like hell. Tired, aching and hungry. She showered, and dressed for bed in silk pyjamas and dressing gown, the ones Trevor had given her for Christmas.
    Perfumed, relaxed and comfortable, she went downstairs. Taking a clean plate from the dishwasher she foraged in the fridge, heaping liberal helpings of pasta and green and Mexican bean salad and coleslaw on to her plate. Healthy lot the police, she noted, realising that all the pork pies, gateau and crisps had gone. Two pieces of spiced chicken and half of a scotch egg completed her meal. She balked at the cold sausages and pasties. She couldn’t stand the greasy taste, but Trevor could, that’s if he came home while they were still edible.
    There was half a bottle of Chardonnay with a cork rammed in the top in the fridge door. She picked it up and put it on a tray together with the food. Removing a glass from the top shelf of the dishwasher she carried her feast into the living room. Switching on the television she curled up on the sofa with the tray on her lap.
    Flicking channels she settled for an old wartime black and white film. She’d seen it before, it had an unhappy ending. The hero died in a blazing plane, but it was preferable to the two channels of football and one of boxing she’d rejected. She was just about to take her first forkful of pasta when she heard the key in the door. Pushing the tray to one side she leaped to her feet, the smile dying on her lips when she saw Anna Bradley step into the hall ahead of Trevor.
    ‘I