Devil in the Detail (Scott Cullen Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF Page A

his bedroom in the shared flat he currently lived in.  
    Tattersall's two dogs lay curled up on a leather sofa across from her, a cream rug lying underneath them. They were greyhounds, one black and one grey-brown, or 'blue' as they were known to the greyhound scene. Cullen's Dad had kept a pair of rescue greyhounds for as long as Cullen could remember, every so often replacing a sadly-departed old dog with a just-retired young thing.
    Tattersall had said very little to them. Her hands were still shaking, her fingernails encrusted with dark mud. According to the statement Lamb had given Cullen, she had found the body at roughly eight thirty. It was only an hour later and the discovery must still have been very fresh in her mind.
    "I bet they need a lot of exercise," said Caldwell, pointing to the dogs.
    "Not really," said Tattersall.
    "My dad has two greyhounds as well," said Cullen. "They're the laziest dogs I've ever met. They go for a run on the beach and then do absolutely nothing for the rest of the day."
    Tattersall looked at him and smiled, the first sign of any emotion from her in the ten minutes they'd been with her. The exchange seemed to open Tattersall up. Caldwell eventually managed to coax her into recounting her experience that morning and soon it came out in a stream - walking the dogs, Meg not returning when called, discovering the body, digging it out, calling the police, waiting for Lamb to turn up.
    "Had you ever seen the girl before?" asked Cullen.
    Tattersall shook her head strongly. "No, never," she said. "The police officer said that she's from Garleton. I rarely go there."
    "Do you know anyone from the town?"
    "There's a woman from my yoga class lives there," said Tattersall, "but she's barely an acquaintance."
    Cullen decided that it wasn't worth any further investigation. "Did you see or hear anything suspicious as you approached the body?" he asked.
    "No, nothing out of the ordinary," replied Tattersall. "I mean, it was very quiet - it always is - but the rain must have put most people off."
    "Do you regularly walk at this time?" asked Cullen.
    "Most days, yes," she replied. "Especially on a Monday - there is a yoga class in North Berwick that I go to, so I need to get the girls walked before I head off."
    "Do you often see people on the walk?" asked Cullen.
    "Sometimes I do," she said. "There's a retired couple a few doors down that take their pair of Jack Russells for a walk around the ponds at about the same time."
    Cullen noted it down.
    "And what about during the night?" he asked. "Anything strange? Any cars coming up in the middle of the night, anything like that."
    She thought it over for a few seconds. "Not that I can think of, no," she said, her voice barely audible. "I'm not the lightest of sleepers, however."
    "Do you live alone?" he asked.
    "No, I live with my husband."
    "Could he have seen anything, do you think?" asked Cullen.
    "He's in London, I'm afraid," she said. "He's a management consultant, always away. He caught the train down last night from Dunbar at the back of six."
    "That must be hard for you," said Caldwell, "especially at a time like this. Do you need anyone to look in?"
    "Well, Andrew is trying to get away today," replied Tattersall. "And my sister is coming over from Falkirk."  
    He looked out the living room window - the view stretched across the hedge and fence to the gatehouse over the main road.
    "Do you know who owns the gatehouse?" he asked.
    "Yes I do," she said with a scowl. "Mr and Mrs Williamson. They just moved in a few months ago." Her face became even sourer. "They blocked the path off and turned it into a garden. It's a frightful nuisance."
    "I see," said Cullen, wary of getting involved in a neighbourly dispute. "And do you know where they are?"
    "I think they're away on holiday," she replied. "The car has been gone for a few days."
    Cullen frowned. "It's a bit strange to be away late January, isn't it?"
    "It's skiing season," she replied. The knowing