Read Online The Reaper by Peter Lovesey - Free Book Online
Authors: Peter Lovesey
Tags: Mystery
Ads: Link
unravelling. "It's not so simple."
"Why?" said Stanley.
"We don't know who they might appoint. It could be someone who doesn't appreciate the advantages of the fund."
Stanley shook his head. "Why shouldn't they? If they can't allow a man of the church some discretion what's the world coming to? I'm very clear about this, Rector. It doesn't matter a bean who takes over. I'm honour bound to show him the accounts in full, including your statements from the building society."
"I don't keep them."
"You don't?" Stanley blinked and stared.
"Have I committed a faux pas? I told you I'm hopeless with money."
Stanley Had turned a deep shade of pink. "I expect it's all right. No doubt it's all on computer somewhere. The new treasurer must have chapter and verse on everything we've done. You do see that?"
"In time, yes, but..."
"No, Rector. Forgive me, but this is an accounting matter. The handover is when you open the books and explain everything."
"But this doesn't have to be an overnight thing. We'll need a transition. A few months of working together."
"No. My mind is made up. A clean break. I'm through with the job. It's better for the new person to start without me looking over his shoulder."
Most people can be charmed, persuaded or threatened out of an unwise decision. There are just a few who are totally intractable.
"Even so," said Joy, realising he'd lost this one.
"Look at it this way," said Stanley. "If I dropped dead tomorrow, you'd be forced to appoint someone else."
Otis Joy sighed heavily. "And I thought We had years ahead of us." He took Stanley's glass to the cupboard and refilled it.
STANLEY DIED in bed that night.
five
HE WAS NOT FOUND for two days. People came to the cottage, got no answer and went away. The paper-boy unthinkingly pushed the previous morning's Daily Telegraph through the letterbox to make way for the next one. The meter reader from SWEB made a note that this quarter would be another estimated reading. Bill Armistead, local organiser of Neighbourhood Watch, calling to offer sympathy about the break-in, assumed Stanley was having a lie-in. Even the police knocked at the door to check details of the stolen property and went away without doing anything.
The irony of all this was that the back door remained unlocked. Anyone could have walked in.
Finally the publican at the Foxford Arms remarked that Stanley hadn't been in for his usual for a couple of lunchtimes and Peggy Winner, who lived opposite, said she'd noticed his bedroom curtains had remained drawn. The publican said someone had better get over to the cottage and see if the old boy was all right.
Bill Armistead went around to the back door and walked in. Upstairs he found Stanley Burrows dead in bed. The doctor, when he came, confirmed that death must have been at least thirty-six hours earlier because the effect of rigor mortis had already come and gone.
The circumstances of Stanley's passing horrified everyone. It was assumed that the trauma of being burgled had brought on a heart attack, and for a time a lynch mentality took over. If the burglar had been identified for sure he would not have lasted long in the village. As it was, a number of youths came under strong suspicion and were treated with contempt by everyone who had known Stanley. Two of them were drop-outs from the new Sixth Form College, a point that would not have escaped the old headmaster.
The death was reported to the coroner, who ordered a post mortem. The analytical findings demonstrated that Stanley had died from the effects of amylobarbitone, a sedative, mixed with whisky. An inquest was arranged.
Suicide, then? This was even more shocking than the heart attack theory. No note was found, but it is common knowledge that you don't take barbiturates and alcohol together unless you want to do away with yourself. The idea of the heartbroken old man alone in his cottage mixing his fatal cocktail moved people to tears. They had known Stanley was in a state
"Why?" said Stanley.
"We don't know who they might appoint. It could be someone who doesn't appreciate the advantages of the fund."
Stanley shook his head. "Why shouldn't they? If they can't allow a man of the church some discretion what's the world coming to? I'm very clear about this, Rector. It doesn't matter a bean who takes over. I'm honour bound to show him the accounts in full, including your statements from the building society."
"I don't keep them."
"You don't?" Stanley blinked and stared.
"Have I committed a faux pas? I told you I'm hopeless with money."
Stanley Had turned a deep shade of pink. "I expect it's all right. No doubt it's all on computer somewhere. The new treasurer must have chapter and verse on everything we've done. You do see that?"
"In time, yes, but..."
"No, Rector. Forgive me, but this is an accounting matter. The handover is when you open the books and explain everything."
"But this doesn't have to be an overnight thing. We'll need a transition. A few months of working together."
"No. My mind is made up. A clean break. I'm through with the job. It's better for the new person to start without me looking over his shoulder."
Most people can be charmed, persuaded or threatened out of an unwise decision. There are just a few who are totally intractable.
"Even so," said Joy, realising he'd lost this one.
"Look at it this way," said Stanley. "If I dropped dead tomorrow, you'd be forced to appoint someone else."
Otis Joy sighed heavily. "And I thought We had years ahead of us." He took Stanley's glass to the cupboard and refilled it.
STANLEY DIED in bed that night.
five
HE WAS NOT FOUND for two days. People came to the cottage, got no answer and went away. The paper-boy unthinkingly pushed the previous morning's Daily Telegraph through the letterbox to make way for the next one. The meter reader from SWEB made a note that this quarter would be another estimated reading. Bill Armistead, local organiser of Neighbourhood Watch, calling to offer sympathy about the break-in, assumed Stanley was having a lie-in. Even the police knocked at the door to check details of the stolen property and went away without doing anything.
The irony of all this was that the back door remained unlocked. Anyone could have walked in.
Finally the publican at the Foxford Arms remarked that Stanley hadn't been in for his usual for a couple of lunchtimes and Peggy Winner, who lived opposite, said she'd noticed his bedroom curtains had remained drawn. The publican said someone had better get over to the cottage and see if the old boy was all right.
Bill Armistead went around to the back door and walked in. Upstairs he found Stanley Burrows dead in bed. The doctor, when he came, confirmed that death must have been at least thirty-six hours earlier because the effect of rigor mortis had already come and gone.
The circumstances of Stanley's passing horrified everyone. It was assumed that the trauma of being burgled had brought on a heart attack, and for a time a lynch mentality took over. If the burglar had been identified for sure he would not have lasted long in the village. As it was, a number of youths came under strong suspicion and were treated with contempt by everyone who had known Stanley. Two of them were drop-outs from the new Sixth Form College, a point that would not have escaped the old headmaster.
The death was reported to the coroner, who ordered a post mortem. The analytical findings demonstrated that Stanley had died from the effects of amylobarbitone, a sedative, mixed with whisky. An inquest was arranged.
Suicide, then? This was even more shocking than the heart attack theory. No note was found, but it is common knowledge that you don't take barbiturates and alcohol together unless you want to do away with yourself. The idea of the heartbroken old man alone in his cottage mixing his fatal cocktail moved people to tears. They had known Stanley was in a state
Similar Books
