Read Online Silent Witness (A Dylan Scott Mystery) by Shirley Wells - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Shirley Wells
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approximate. In Dylan’s book, approximate equalled meaningless.
Dylan called the hospital again and was told, again, that a message would be passed on to Dr. Walsingham.
“He knows you want to speak to him,” the receptionist said, “so I’m sure he’ll call you back when he has a free moment. He’s a very busy man, you know.”
To pass time more than anything else, Dylan drove to Lakeside Drive and found number two, home of Dr. Walsingham and his sons.
Kaminski was probably right in that the front of the property was more private than the back. Dylan would guess that the twelve houses making up Lakeside Drive had been built between ten and twenty years ago. They sat on the edge of a road that circled a manmade lake. Each was large, detached and sat within its own good-sized garden. Each was different too.
To see the front of the Walsinghams’ home, Dylan had to park the Morgan at the bottom of their driveway. Tall evergreen trees shielded the building from prying eyes. As Kaminski had said, it was impossible to see the properties on the other side of the small lake. They were a fair distance away too.
Property prices in this northern mill town were lower than most in the UK but—thanks to a good motorway network that gave the town easy access to Manchester, Liverpool, Leeds, Preston and Glasgow—were increasing. These properties had five bedrooms minimum, double garages, large gardens and, more sought-after than anything else, privacy. A Lakeside Drive address wouldn’t come cheap.
Dylan left his car blocking the driveway and walked a circle round the lake. Each home boasted a sophisticated alarm system. He supposed that meant very little though. People tended to activate alarms when they went to bed at night and when they left the property. If they were at home during the day, alarms were often ignored.
Feeling aimless, he returned to his car and drove into the centre of Dawson’s Clough. At least the weather was better today. The wind had died down a little and, although the sky was still a menacing battleship grey, it wasn’t raining.
He walked past the indoor market, bought himself a newspaper and headed to Starbucks. The coffee bar was busy, tables taken mostly by female shoppers, but he got a coffee and carried it to the one free table in the corner.
Still Walsingham didn’t return his call.
It was unlikely that the doctor would tell him anything he didn’t already know. With or without talking to him, Dylan needed to make up his mind. Did he take this case or not? The money would be more than useful and he had nothing else to do. On the other hand, Kaminski’s parents weren’t wealthy and he didn’t like the idea of wasting their life savings.
He’d talk to Walsingham and then make up his mind.
First and foremost, he wanted to hear more about that phone call. Walsingham had said his wife was being threatened, and Kaminski claimed that all they’d done was arrange to meet the following day. Who was lying?
A harassed-looking woman at the next table balanced several carrier bags on a chair before ticking items off on a shopping list. She peered inside one of bags and counted the number of chocolate eggs she’d bought. Dylan mentally thanked her for the reminder.
It was Easter which meant that flowers for Bev wouldn’t be considered an unexpected treat, they were a necessity. Experience had taught him that he needed to buy her a card, flowers and a huge beribboned egg if he wanted to keep on the right side of her.
Luke was the child in the house, but he’d be content with any old egg. Madness.
As he drank his coffee, he wondered how much the various celebrations cost over the course of the year. Christmas, birthdays, wedding anniversaries, Valentine’s Day, Easter—the expense was vast. He’d just spent a fortune to celebrate Freya’s birth too.
He made another mental note. He must stop being such a grumpy bastard. He had a wonderful family, the best.
With his coffee drunk, he
Dylan called the hospital again and was told, again, that a message would be passed on to Dr. Walsingham.
“He knows you want to speak to him,” the receptionist said, “so I’m sure he’ll call you back when he has a free moment. He’s a very busy man, you know.”
To pass time more than anything else, Dylan drove to Lakeside Drive and found number two, home of Dr. Walsingham and his sons.
Kaminski was probably right in that the front of the property was more private than the back. Dylan would guess that the twelve houses making up Lakeside Drive had been built between ten and twenty years ago. They sat on the edge of a road that circled a manmade lake. Each was large, detached and sat within its own good-sized garden. Each was different too.
To see the front of the Walsinghams’ home, Dylan had to park the Morgan at the bottom of their driveway. Tall evergreen trees shielded the building from prying eyes. As Kaminski had said, it was impossible to see the properties on the other side of the small lake. They were a fair distance away too.
Property prices in this northern mill town were lower than most in the UK but—thanks to a good motorway network that gave the town easy access to Manchester, Liverpool, Leeds, Preston and Glasgow—were increasing. These properties had five bedrooms minimum, double garages, large gardens and, more sought-after than anything else, privacy. A Lakeside Drive address wouldn’t come cheap.
Dylan left his car blocking the driveway and walked a circle round the lake. Each home boasted a sophisticated alarm system. He supposed that meant very little though. People tended to activate alarms when they went to bed at night and when they left the property. If they were at home during the day, alarms were often ignored.
Feeling aimless, he returned to his car and drove into the centre of Dawson’s Clough. At least the weather was better today. The wind had died down a little and, although the sky was still a menacing battleship grey, it wasn’t raining.
He walked past the indoor market, bought himself a newspaper and headed to Starbucks. The coffee bar was busy, tables taken mostly by female shoppers, but he got a coffee and carried it to the one free table in the corner.
Still Walsingham didn’t return his call.
It was unlikely that the doctor would tell him anything he didn’t already know. With or without talking to him, Dylan needed to make up his mind. Did he take this case or not? The money would be more than useful and he had nothing else to do. On the other hand, Kaminski’s parents weren’t wealthy and he didn’t like the idea of wasting their life savings.
He’d talk to Walsingham and then make up his mind.
First and foremost, he wanted to hear more about that phone call. Walsingham had said his wife was being threatened, and Kaminski claimed that all they’d done was arrange to meet the following day. Who was lying?
A harassed-looking woman at the next table balanced several carrier bags on a chair before ticking items off on a shopping list. She peered inside one of bags and counted the number of chocolate eggs she’d bought. Dylan mentally thanked her for the reminder.
It was Easter which meant that flowers for Bev wouldn’t be considered an unexpected treat, they were a necessity. Experience had taught him that he needed to buy her a card, flowers and a huge beribboned egg if he wanted to keep on the right side of her.
Luke was the child in the house, but he’d be content with any old egg. Madness.
As he drank his coffee, he wondered how much the various celebrations cost over the course of the year. Christmas, birthdays, wedding anniversaries, Valentine’s Day, Easter—the expense was vast. He’d just spent a fortune to celebrate Freya’s birth too.
He made another mental note. He must stop being such a grumpy bastard. He had a wonderful family, the best.
With his coffee drunk, he
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