Beside a Narrow Stream Read Online Free PDF Page B

lads who found him. They still here?’
    ‘No, ma’am, we took ’em back to their homes.’
    ‘Bit upset were they?’
    The constable, a short, lean man in his early thirties, smiled briefly. ‘More excited, I’d say, ma’am.’
    Hillary smiled and nodded. ‘Well, better that than trauma, I suppose. You’ve got their addresses?’ She waited until he’d copied them from out from his notebook and took the sheet of paper he proffered. ‘OK, well get to it then, everyone.’
    Gemma, Frank and Barrington peeled off to start house- to-house . ‘You’d better wait here for SOCO and the coroner’s van,’ she said to the uniform. ‘The body can go as soon as it gets here.’ She glanced across at Steven Partridge. ‘If you need a lift back, the van’s your best bet.’
    The doctor grimaced. ‘I’ll be glad when the MG’s back on the road.’
     
    It was Gemma Fordham who hit the jackpot first. The tenth house she tried belonged to an old lady who twittered and fluttered , but avidly looked at the picture of the dead body, and identified him at once.
    ‘That’s that Wayne Sutton that is,’ she said judiciously, nodding her permed blue head sagely. ‘Lives in one of them cottages other side of lights, near church. Bit of a lad, they do say.’
    Gemma nodded and smiled. ‘Is that right? In what way?’ she asked chattily, settling down on the sofa, all ears. Thus gratified, the old lady promptly spilled her guts.
     
    Hillary was talking to Marjorie Gould when her mobile rang. She answered it, surprised to hear her new DS’s voice. She hadn’t remembered giving her the number yet. Still, for someone as super-efficient as Fordham, acquiring it probably hadn’t represented much of a challenge.
    Biting back the urge to snarl, Hillary smiled an apology at Marjorie Gould, and turned slightly on her chair, dropping her voice an octave. ‘Yes, Sergeant?’
    ‘Guv, the victim’s name is Wayne Sutton. He lives near the church,’ she gave the address, and carried on smoothly, ‘but his parents live on the other side of the village, near one of the farms.’ She rattled this off as well.
    Hillary jotted it down in her book. ‘OK, got that. Well done and carry on,’ she said briefly, and hung up. She supposed she could have given her extra instructions but why bother?Gemma Fordham obviously didn’t need them. The woman would probably have the case solved by teatime and they could all go home.
    She turned back to Jaime’s mother and smiled again. ‘Sorry about that. You were saying that you had a coffee morning planned…?’
    She listened as Marjorie Gould explained her reasons for turfing out her son that morning, whilst the boy himself sat listening, wide-eyed and enjoying himself. When it came to his turn, he related everything that had happened that morning with childish relish, and Hillary thought, probably also with extreme accuracy. He was, she’d noticed, an intelligent lad and, like most children, had a gift for observation.
    When she left the house a few minutes later, she didn’t feel the need to interview Tris Winters, sure that his version would tally exactly with his friend’s.
    Instead, she stood on the pavement, underneath a pink-flowering ribes bush, alive with buzzing insects, and dialled Keith Barrington’s number. It was answered quickly, and in the background she could hear a man’s voice asking him if he wanted a cup of tea.
    ‘Huh, no thanks, Mr Phillpot. Hello, DC Barrington.’
    ‘Keith. The victim’s name is Wayne Sutton. I want you to start a time line on him as soon as you can, tracing his movements from yesterday morning onwards. Get over to his cottage and start interviewing neighbours.’ She quickly rattled off the address for him.
    ‘Guv.’
    She hung up and took a long, deep breath. Well, there was no putting it off. She needed to get over to the Suttons. Since their son was renting his own accommodation, they probably didn’t even know he’d been missing all night.