Chris Dolley An Unsafe Pair of Hands (retail

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.”She talked with her head lowered, her left hand resting on her right, her right thumb gently caressing her wedding ring.“Did you drink the same wine?”“No, I didn’t drink.I … I had the meeting.”“Did you lock up when you left at six?”“I think so–”“I’m sure so,” said the Brigadess, interrupting.“I remember waiting while you locked the front door.”“What about the back door?”“I …” She dropped her head lower and slowly shook it, her voice breaking.“It’s all my fault.We never had to lock doors before.George was going to be back in half an hour.I … I forgot.””It’s not your fault,” said the Brigadess.“Don’t ever think that.”Shand looked away.If blame was being apportioned…He waited, time hanging heavy in the grief-laden atmosphere.Eventually the tears subsided.“Can you … can you think of any reason why your husband would go out to the stables?”Helena looked up, surprised.“He was in the stables?”“Yes.”“Why would he go there?” She rubbed her eyes with a sleeve and looked from Shand to the Brigadess.“Were you…” Shand felt stupid even asking, but … If only he could find the words that didn’t make the question sound absurd.“Did you keep chickens in the old stables?”“Chickens?” Helena and the Brigadess spoke as one.“We found a chicken with your husband.Bill Acomb’s chicken.The Athelcott One.”Both women looked stunned.“How…” The Brigadess broke off and looked apologetically at Helena.“I’m sorry,” she said.“It’s none of my business.””No,” said Helena, squeezing her friend’s hand.“Don’t worry about me.”The Brigadess turned to Shand.“How did George die?”“We don’t know yet,” said Shand.“But we know he didn’t suffer.”Both women looked relieved.“There was nothing … ritualistic then,” asked the Brigadess.“About the…”“Oh, no, nothing like that,” said Shand, suddenly realising the picture he must have placed in both women’s heads at the mention of a chicken being found with the body.“Sir?” said Marcus, appearing at the kitchen door.“Can you come outside a minute.”Shand excused himself and followed Marcus outside.“What is it?”“Footprints on the lawn.”Shand increased his pace.The stables and the ground nearby were now illuminated by arc lights.A frosty dew glistened over the exposed areas of lawn, leaving islands of dark grass around the trees and the buildings.And there, about five yards beyond the stable, ran a ragged line of footprints – dark patches in the dew – running from the outbuilding to the back wall of the garden.It had to be recent.The dew could only have formed in the last few hours.Shand looked closer, shoulder to shoulder with SOCO, both men peering at the tracks in the dew.There seemed too many for one person.And it was impossible to tell which direction they were moving.They were shapes rather than imprints.“One was walking, one was running,” said SOCO.Shand stared harder, trying to see what SOCO saw.He couldn’t.“I’d say it’s one man,” said SOCO.“He climbs over the back wall, walks to the house, then leaves running.”They followed the trail to the back wall, walking a parallel track several yards to the right.SOCO shone his torch on the shrub border, then pushed through to the shoulder-height brick wall and eased himself up, balancing precariously on the fulcrum of his stomach.Shand waited.“There’s a good print on the other side,” said SOCO, his voice contorted by the pressure of the wall on his stomach.“We can get a cast.He must have jumped down with some force.”He jumped back down and Shand took his place.And his torch.There was a small patch of exposed soil at the base of the wall.He could see the zigzag marks of a tread from a shoe.Just the one.He panned the torch from left to right.It looked like a track, running parallel to the back wall, bounded on the far side by a wood and grassed over.Which way had the intruder gone? Where had they come from? Shand shone the torch to its limits.The track might have opened up into a field on the right, but it was too dark to tell.To the left, the track faded into the night.“We’ll take that cast tonight,” said SOCO.“The rest can wait until tomorrow.”“There’s a bottle of wine in the kitchen too,” said Shand, clambering down.“It’s the one thing George had, that Helena didn’t [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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