Read Online Omens of Death by Nicholas Rhea - Free Book Online Page B

purpose in being at this place. Little details, Mr Winton, petty stuff you might think, unimportant stuff you might even say, but most important to us, to me, to the whole investigation.’
    At this point Pluke took out his official notebook, found a ballpoint pen among the conglomeration of instruments in his breast pocket and scribbled on the clean page; he was noting the time, the place and the reason for the ensuing entries.
    ‘Your full name, Mr Winton? Age, date of birth, address and occupation please.’
    He was Stephen George Winton, twenty-eight years old with a flat on Cragston Moor on the outskirts of Fossford. He said he was a professional freelance photographer and provided his date of birth. He was single and lived alone. He had a girlfriend who lived with her parents in Fossford, but there was no engagement or long-term commitment. Not yet, he emphasised.
    ‘Tell me about the commission that brought you here,’ invited Montague.
    ‘It’s for a series, “Mystical Tours of Britain”, I told you that before.’ The man’s lower lip quivered as he responded to Pluke, ‘A new magazine highlighting places of mystery ...’
    ‘You know the Druids’ Circle is a folly, a fake?’ Montague put to him. ‘It is hardly a place of mystery, hardly the sort of spot to merit any great attention.’
    ‘Yes, I know, but it does attract people, and there is a theory it might occupy the site of an earlier temple and that it is on a ley line, so the editor wants to include it.’
    ‘And your editor, who is he?’
    ‘She, it’s a woman. Molly Swift, I have her address and telephone number.’
    ‘I may need those to check your story.’ There was a hardness in Pluke’s voice because he was in active pursuit of a killer. ‘We check everything that we are told, Mr Winton, time and time again until we are completely satisfied.’
    Detective Inspector Pluke waited as Winton found a business card in his jacket and handed it to Pluke. It bore Molly Swift’s work address, telephone and fax numbers.
    ‘You can keep it, I have her details in my Filofax,’ said Winton.
    ‘Tell me more about the commission, Mr Winton,’ invited Montague Pluke. ‘How you came to receive it, how you were about to execute it this morning.’
    ‘Molly rang me last week, she knows my work. I’ve undertaken commissions for her before, rural scenes generally. Abbeys, castles, country houses, river bridges, dramatic views, that sort of thing.’
    ‘Published work?’
    ‘Yes, of course. She asked me to produce a set of contact prints of the Druids’ Circle, that’s all. She wanted to select two good ones for publication. By the end of the month. So I came this morning, the light was ideal. A hint of thunder and dark clouds combined with bright sunshine would produce a marvellous atmosphere.’
    ‘You’ve been here before?’ asked Montague.
    ‘Yes, but not to take pictures. I once came with some friends, hiking, about eight or nine years ago. We had a picnic here, we didn’t stay, we were youth hostelling.’
    ‘So this is your first visit for professional reasons?’
    ‘My first visit for years, Mr Pluke.’
    ‘So today. What time did you arrive?’
    ‘It would be around eleven o’clock. I reckoned I could work for an hour or so and allow an hour or so for the drive to York for another appointment.’
    ‘That plan has been thwarted, eh?’ Montague’s face creased in a sad smile. ‘So you drove out here, parked in this car-park and walked into the Circle?’
    ‘Yes. I spent a few minutes calculating the light, to get the right setting, studying angles and views. I wanted to capture the atmosphere, the mystical feel of the place, something to provide the reader with an immediate appraisal of the attractions of the Circle.’
    ‘Did you take your car to the Eastern Gate? I was thinking of you having to carry your equipment.’
    ‘No, I just use a hand-held camera, no portable lighting, tripods or such. Besides,
    we’re not