Read Online Shooting in the Dark by John Baker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Baker
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identify the body, that’s number one, then I want you to find out who killed her.’
‘Shall we take it a step at a time?’ Sam said. ‘It might not be Isabel.’
‘We’ll soon know,’ she said. ‘Can we go now?’
‘Yeah. The car’s outside. What about her husband? Shouldn’t he be involved in this?’
‘Quintin’s not here,’ Angeles said. ‘He went on a business trip last night. The police are trying to contact him, but he’s not due back until tomorrow.’ She pulled a beanie hat down on her head and slipped into an ankle-length fitted coat. She did it nonchalantly, without thinking, but in a way that made Sam want to share his life and prejudices with her.
He followed her through the door. ‘So he doesn’t know about the body being found?’
‘No.’ She took his arm and let him lead her to the car. He opened the passenger door and waited until she’d settled herself inside. He watched her smooth out the wrinkles in her skirt. As he walked round to the driver’s door he wondered if there was anything else in the world apart from sex. No, he mused, not a lot, apart from birth and death. Music? The politics of power came into the equation somewhere. And starvation was always good. Homelessness? OK, the world was a complicated place, full of joys and disappointments, an infinite variety of emotions and experiences. It was just that sex was the best.
She’d been at the bottle. There was the minted mask which only drew attention to her breath. There was the careful walk, the conscious placing of one foot in front of the other. And there was the slight tremor of the hand. Sam couldn’t leave it alone.
‘I’m an alcoholic,’ he said.
She didn’t respond, her eyes seemed as though they were following the road.
‘Booze isn’t going to help,’ he said. ‘It might seem like it will, but at the end of the day you have to get yourself through this.’
‘I had a stiff drink,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’
He drove the car, nodding inwardly. She’d had at least three. Big ones. But the real danger sign was that she could hold it.
What it looked like, apparently, if you were a policeman, was that Isabel Reeves drove up to the moors, parked her car, took an overdose of sleeping tablets, and wandered off into the bracken.
‘Part of her face had been eaten,’ Angeles said. ‘Birds had pecked out her eye. It was the only time in my life that I was glad I couldn’t see.’
‘Could you identify the body?’ Sam asked.
‘Yes.’
‘How did you do that?’
Angeles sighed. ‘She was my sister. I know her body, her hands, her jewellery. There is a birthmark on her thigh. There’s no doubt. It was Isabel.’
‘They can’t have held a PM already. There’ll have to be an inquest.’
Angeles put her hands forward and rested them on the dashboard. She jumped when a huge truck with airbrakes went into a sneezing fit beside them.
‘They said the preliminary results show she died from the combined effects of the sleeping pills and the exposure. Temazepam. They think she committed suicide.’
‘But you don’t?’
‘No, I don’t. If she did that herself, then someone drove her to it. The skin on her palms was broken. It felt as though someone had tried to gouge a hole through her hands.’ Angeles swiped a tear away from her cheek. ‘How can they think she’d do that to herself? She was happy. She was in love. For the first time in years she had something to live for. So why did she kill herself? If she killed herself.’
‘You told them about being watched? That someone was following you and Isabel?’
Angeles nodded. A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye and splashed on to her cheek. She brushed it away impatiently. ‘They said there was no evidence to link anyone else to her death. They’ve had a forensic team up on the moor, but they haven’t found anything suspicious.’
‘So they’ve already solved it?’
‘Sounded like it. They said
‘Shall we take it a step at a time?’ Sam said. ‘It might not be Isabel.’
‘We’ll soon know,’ she said. ‘Can we go now?’
‘Yeah. The car’s outside. What about her husband? Shouldn’t he be involved in this?’
‘Quintin’s not here,’ Angeles said. ‘He went on a business trip last night. The police are trying to contact him, but he’s not due back until tomorrow.’ She pulled a beanie hat down on her head and slipped into an ankle-length fitted coat. She did it nonchalantly, without thinking, but in a way that made Sam want to share his life and prejudices with her.
He followed her through the door. ‘So he doesn’t know about the body being found?’
‘No.’ She took his arm and let him lead her to the car. He opened the passenger door and waited until she’d settled herself inside. He watched her smooth out the wrinkles in her skirt. As he walked round to the driver’s door he wondered if there was anything else in the world apart from sex. No, he mused, not a lot, apart from birth and death. Music? The politics of power came into the equation somewhere. And starvation was always good. Homelessness? OK, the world was a complicated place, full of joys and disappointments, an infinite variety of emotions and experiences. It was just that sex was the best.
She’d been at the bottle. There was the minted mask which only drew attention to her breath. There was the careful walk, the conscious placing of one foot in front of the other. And there was the slight tremor of the hand. Sam couldn’t leave it alone.
‘I’m an alcoholic,’ he said.
She didn’t respond, her eyes seemed as though they were following the road.
‘Booze isn’t going to help,’ he said. ‘It might seem like it will, but at the end of the day you have to get yourself through this.’
‘I had a stiff drink,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’
He drove the car, nodding inwardly. She’d had at least three. Big ones. But the real danger sign was that she could hold it.
What it looked like, apparently, if you were a policeman, was that Isabel Reeves drove up to the moors, parked her car, took an overdose of sleeping tablets, and wandered off into the bracken.
‘Part of her face had been eaten,’ Angeles said. ‘Birds had pecked out her eye. It was the only time in my life that I was glad I couldn’t see.’
‘Could you identify the body?’ Sam asked.
‘Yes.’
‘How did you do that?’
Angeles sighed. ‘She was my sister. I know her body, her hands, her jewellery. There is a birthmark on her thigh. There’s no doubt. It was Isabel.’
‘They can’t have held a PM already. There’ll have to be an inquest.’
Angeles put her hands forward and rested them on the dashboard. She jumped when a huge truck with airbrakes went into a sneezing fit beside them.
‘They said the preliminary results show she died from the combined effects of the sleeping pills and the exposure. Temazepam. They think she committed suicide.’
‘But you don’t?’
‘No, I don’t. If she did that herself, then someone drove her to it. The skin on her palms was broken. It felt as though someone had tried to gouge a hole through her hands.’ Angeles swiped a tear away from her cheek. ‘How can they think she’d do that to herself? She was happy. She was in love. For the first time in years she had something to live for. So why did she kill herself? If she killed herself.’
‘You told them about being watched? That someone was following you and Isabel?’
Angeles nodded. A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye and splashed on to her cheek. She brushed it away impatiently. ‘They said there was no evidence to link anyone else to her death. They’ve had a forensic team up on the moor, but they haven’t found anything suspicious.’
‘So they’ve already solved it?’
‘Sounded like it. They said
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