A Perfect Death Read Online Free PDF Page A

bear in the Sahara, sitting
     there in the spacious Morbay offices of Tradford Developments. He fingered the collar of his shirt, tight as a noose around
     his neck, as the office door opened.
    The man who emerged was in his mid forties, tall and with the heavy build of a habitual rugby player. He had pre-empted nature
     by cropping his receding hair almost to the scalp and he wore a diamond earring in his left ear that looked incongruous with
     his dark suit, striped shirt and tie.
    He approached Neil with outstretched hand. ‘Jon Bright. Dr Watson, I presume?’ He smirked. ‘Not brought Sherlock with you,
     eh?’
    Neil tried to smile but only managed an insincere grimace. The powers that be in the County Archaeological Unit had issued
     their orders – he wasn’t to rub this man up the wrong way. There was money in the deal. He had to make an effort.
    ‘Sorry to keep you waiting. My receptionist’s gone AWOL. Didn’t turn up for work a few days ago and we’ve not heard from her
     since. No sense of responsibility, these girls today.’
    Neil said nothing.
    Jon Bright opened a filing cabinet to the right of the reception desk. ‘Now where did she put the correspondence?’ He pulled
     out a file triumphantly. ‘This is it. I’ll say one thing for Donna, she’s not bad at filing. Sorry I can’t offer you tea.
     My secretary’s gone to the dentist’s and I’m not sure where the milk’s kept.’
    ‘That’s OK,’ Neil said quickly. Tea was the last thing on his mind.
    ‘Anyway, let’s go into my office and get down to business.’ He sighed. ‘I suppose I’d better tell you that I’ve had the police
     on the blower this morning. Someone’s decided to commit suicide on the site so the place is going to be out of bounds for
     a while … cordoned off for forensic examination.’
    Neil assumed a solemn expression. ‘That’s awful. Do they know who it is or why …?’
    ‘If they do, they didn’t choose to share the information with me. I’m wondering whether it’s one of these activists I’ve been
     having trouble with – the bloody Pure Sons of the West. One of the bastards might have decided to top himself and make life
     awkward forTradford Developments at the same time. The grand gesture.’
    Neil thought that Bright’s theory was highly unlikely. Environmentalists don’t usually opt for self-destruction. But he remained
     silent.
    ‘This archaeological assessment of the Queenswear site. How long will it take? Time is money, you know.’
    Neil took a deep breath. He’d already taken a dislike to Bright with his ready clichés and his artificial bonhomie. ‘That
     depends what we find. From what I’ve already discovered, it seems to be an interesting site, archaeologically speaking. There
     are records of a medieval manorial complex on the site … a family called de Grendalle held the property from Judhael who held
     Neston from the King.’
    He noticed that Bright’s hard blue eyes were beginning to glaze over but he carried on. ‘The de Grendalles are first mentioned
     in the Domesday Book, you know. The house fell into disuse in the Tudor period when a new house was built quarter of a mile
     away; they must have been into recycling back then because they used a lot of materials from the old place to construct the
     new one. What’s left of the new manor house is now used as a farmhouse, altered drastically over the centuries, of course.’
    ‘So what’s this got to do with my development?’
    ‘If the original manorial site is considered to be of archaeological importance, it needs to be thoroughly investigated. Actually
     there was an excavation there back in the early nineteen eighties but it came to a sudden halt for some reason … I haven’t
     managed tofind out why. But we need to do a proper investigation. It’s a legal requirement, as you know.’ He leaned forward. ‘Look,
     you might be able to do yourself a bit of good here, Mr Bright. Some developers have made a