Joint Enterprise (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Wilkie said they might have something more for me when this is over. I hope so. My pension isn’t going as far as I hoped it would. I could do with some extra work.’
    Romney could imagine that carrot being dangled before all the employees who were looking for work after the project. Perhaps there was some truth in it, but he couldn’t see Gerry enjoying the staple of l ocal and little security firms: standing outside the seedy and violent Dover nightclubs bouncing on a Saturday night.
    ‘What do you know of the death?’
    ‘One of the soldiers – not sure which side. Apparently, he’s been bayoneted, but I’m not positive about that.’
    ‘Bayoneted?’ said Romney.
    ‘That’s what Peter said. He’s one of our blokes down there. He used to be in. So when he says it looks like the poor man’s been bayoneted I, for one, believe him.’
    They walked in single file o n a narrow, well worn path that discouraged conversation, and through a small band of trees which separated the field from the immediate surrounds of the castle.
    Stepping out of the cover and onto the field was like stepping back in time. Dotted around everywhere were men in uniforms of the period sitting and chatting. Little pyramids of rifles were propped up outside pitched tents. Some smoked replicas of the old clay pipes characteristic of the time. Horses grazed, their coats gleaming. People were eating and drinking and looked to be having a good time. One wouldn’t have thought they’d been in battle and that a man lay dead somewhere amongst them. Perhaps, they just didn’t know.
    They threaded their way through the groups and canvas and were soon afforded an uninterrupted view of the battlefield where, apart from one who had possibly taken the field feeling murderous, hundreds of men had converged in mock battle.
    Aspects of the logistical reality of the situation crowded in on Romney and what he realised depressed him. As they walked across the trampled and gouged turf towards where a small group of men stood looking down on a fallen comrade , he understood that if there was foul-play involved in this passing of life then he would have more suspects to interview than he had ever remotely come close to: literally hundreds. He also realised with a further sinking of his spirit that, this being Friday afternoon, his plans for the weekend would be ruined.
     
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    2
     
    Gerry led the police the hundred metres or so across the open farmland-cum-battlefield towards the corpse. As they approached, Romney counted four people standing near a covered hump on the turf – presumably the body. Someone had considerately, if not particularly helpfully from a forensic point of view, thrown a military greatcoat over whoever lay expired.  As the four faces turned towards them came into focus Romney saw that two wore downcast, uncomfortable expressions, one a haughty condescension tempered with what looked like a grim superiority, and one looked over expectantly to greet them like a faithful old dog: Detective Constable Grimes. An immaculately turned out horse which probably cost more than Romney’s car stood idly by nibbling at the turf. Its reins were held loosely by the haughty one. The matching pair wore the day-glow vests of Samson Security. The other stranger was kitted out in a uniform that was not the same as Grimes’, but, one could be forgiven for thinking, was of the period. As Marsh continued on, trailing Gerry to the group, Romney hung back and signalled Grimes over with a twitch of his head.
    As Romney predicted, Grimes was indeed sweating like the proverbial sow in his costume. His puce features and voluminous neck spilt out over the collar of his military jacket. Beads of sweat ran from his temples and on down his chubby , ruddy cheeks. Romney felt uncomfortable just looking at what he perceived to be a faintly ridiculous figure. The uniform was clearly too small for the man. No doubt it was bought some time before Grimes lost