Death of a Cave Dweller Read Online Free PDF

– it can’t. Eddie’s a different matter. The electricity finds a number of gaps in his dam, and it gushes through destroying everything in its path. Do you get it now, sir?”
    â€œAye, I think so,” Woodend said. “So somebody wanted him dead, an’ re-wired his amp. Does anybody have any idea when this re-wirin’ might have been done?”
    Rutter shrugged. “Sometime between the last time he used the equipment and the moment it killed him.”
    â€œThat’s not much help,” Woodend mused. “Witnesses?”
    â€œRound about three hundred of them actually saw the murder, but the police haven’t managed to turn up anyone who saw the murderer tampering with the equipment.”
    The chief inspector threw his cigarette end over the side of the boat, and watched it fly through the air current until it crash-landed in the grey-blue river.
    â€œNasty things – murders by remote control,” he said. “The killer’s got no problems with an alibi, has he? He could have been right in the room when the poor lad got himself electrocuted. On the other hand, he could have been miles away, havin’ a coffee with his mates.”
    Rutter smiled in a way which alerted his boss to the fact that he thought he was about to score a point.
    â€œIt’s not like you to be prejudiced, sir,” he said.
    â€œPrejudiced?” Woodend repeated. “What are you talkin’ about?”
    Rutter’s smile broadened. “You keep saying ‘he’. Does that mean you’ve ruled out the possibility that the murderer’s a woman?”
    â€œI can’t say I’ve even thought about rulin’ it out
consciously
,” Woodend admitted. “But now you mention it, I suppose I have.”
    â€œBecause of the murder method?”
    It was rare to see the chief inspector look uncomfortable, but he did at that moment.
    â€œWell, you know,’ he said awkwardly. “Women and electricity. They don’t really mix, do they?”
    Rutter laughed. “You’re behind the times, sir,” he said. “Girls brought up since the war have a different attitude to ones you would have gone out with when you were young. Why, Maria wired her whole study herself. Of course, that was before her accident.”
    Her accident
. Woodend marvelled at the calm, controlled way his sergeant could say the words, but he knew it was taking Bob Rutter a considerable about of effort to maintain that calm.
    â€œI don’t often ask about Maria,” he said. “The way I see it, if you want to tell me anythin’ about her, then you will. But I’m always thinkin’ about her – worryin’ about her.”
    â€œI know you are, sir,” Rutter said gratefully. “But you shouldn’t worry. She’s treating the whole business of finding her way around as a challenge – almost an adventure.”
    â€œShe always was a kid with spirit,” Woodend said admiringly. “You’re a lucky man.”
    â€œYou don’t need to tell me that,” Rutter replied.
    They had almost reached Pier Head, and could see a uniformed police inspector standing on the pier and gazing up at the boat.
    â€œThat’ll be our reception committee,” Woodend said. “Wonder how long it’s goin’ to take me to get him house-trained?”
    Near the stage of the Cellar Club, the two old women who supplemented their state pensions with a cleaning job were mopping the floor. Standing by the snack bar, and half watching them, were a man and a woman. The woman was Alice Pollard, the owner of the club, a brassy blonde who would never see the right side of forty again. The man was much younger, perhaps no more than twenty-three or twenty-four, and had muscles which threatened to burst his shirt buttons every time he breathed out. His name was Rick Johnson, and for the last six months he had been employed as Alice