Evil in Return Read Online Free PDF

belongs to Sally Mathews. She’s a friend of mine.’
    ‘Where is she?’
    ‘Gone to LA for a few months. Got a little part in a film and she’s going to stay and see if she can pick up some more work. She let Joe have the boat until she gets back.’
    ‘She’s a friend of Mr Logan’s, then, or more than that?’
    ‘Just friends,’ she said firmly. ‘I think they were at drama school together.’
    ‘I’ll need her number, if you have it.’
    ‘Of course.’ She came and sat down opposite him in a large, comfortable-looking armchair, tucking her feet up on the seat, her toes just visible beneath the hem of her flowing, gypsy skirt. Even though she was a good decade or so older than Logan, she was still a fine looking woman and he wondered if there had been something between them. It would explain why she was so upset over the death of somebody she claimed not to know particularly well.
    ‘So Mr Logan’s an actor?’
    ‘Yes. Or at least he used to be. Like me. That’s what we had in common, why we hit it off.’
    An actress. Maybe that was why she looked so familiar, although he still couldn’t place her. ‘I see. What do you mean, “used to be”?’
    ‘Well, from what he told me, he did a bit of theatre, some telly and radio, but nothing mainstream. He wasn’t bad looking and he had a nice voice, but there are a lot of guys like that. No USP. It’s tough if you don’t get a break. There’s bugger all you can do if nobody wants you except sit at home and twiddle your thumbs and wait for the phone to ring. Even if you’ve got the skin of a rhino, it does your head in. I was lucky, I got into location work.’
    ‘What’s that?’ he asked, curious to know a little more about her.
    ‘I run an agency for film and TV. Say a location manager on some telly programme wants a big house in Hampstead for a shoot, or a gothic country mansion, they come to me. I’ve got hundreds of great properties on my books. I started about fifteen years ago as a sideline when work was slow. Now it’s more or less all I do.’
    ‘What about Mr Logan? If he wasn’t getting much work as an actor, how did he keep himself busy, pay the bills?’
    She arched her dark brows in surprise. ‘Joe? Don’t you know?’
    ‘Know what?’
    ‘He wrote that book, Indian Summer . You must have heard of it, it won some big prize, the – what’s it called?’ She clicked her fingers in the air, then shook her head. ‘My memory’s terrible. Anyway, it’s selling like hot cakes, or so he said.’
    He made a note. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t get much time to read.’
    ‘Me neither. I lent my copy to a friend, otherwise I’d show it you. Anyway, it was a big success. I think Joe was a bit flummoxed by it all. Before that, I think he had a job as a teacher at some posh boarding school.’
    ‘We’re trying to trace Mr Logan’s movements over the past few days. When did you last see him?’
    ‘Only yesterday. That’s why this is all so sudden. One minute he’s here, full of the joys of summer, then bang, he’s gone.’ She sighed heavily and hugged her knees.
    ‘What time was this?’
    ‘Just before five, I think.’
    ‘How sure are you?’
    ‘Positive.’
    This brought forward Logan’s death to within the last twenty-four hours. He made a note, then asked, ‘Do you have any idea where he was going?’
    She shook her head. ‘I was coming home and I met him on the towpath. He was on his way out and he was whistling. He seemed pretty cheerful. He had his bike with him so I assumed he wasn’t just going down to the shops.’
    ‘He had a bike?’
    ‘Yes. That’s how he got around. He didn’t have a car and he said he hated buses and the tube, they made him feel claustrophobic.’
    ‘Where did he keep the bike?’
    ‘Chained to the railings or on the roof of the boat. But it’s not there now. I checked.’
    ‘Can you describe it?’
    ‘Sorry, I’m the wrong person to ask. It was just a bike to me, nothing special