Making A Killing (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

said.
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Phillip. He didn’t come home last night. Don’t look like that. It’s not unusual.’
    ‘Mrs Emerson, it’s your husband we’ve come to speak to you about. I’m afraid it’s possible we do have bad news for you.’
    ‘Oh,’ was all she could manage.
    She led them into a large open plan kitchen – all polished granite, stainless steel and oak. The space, fixtures and fittings added to Romney’s belief that the Emersons were not short of money. Anyone with a home the size of a small private school in that street had either large amounts of cash, or huge debt facilities, probably both.
    ‘Who is William, Mrs Emerson?’ said Romney.
    ‘My boy. He didn’t come home last night either. Again not unusual. Like father like son. I don’t do suspense very well, Inspector. Can you just tell me why you’re here, please?’
    ‘A body was found this morning on the White Cliffs Golf Course. A man’s body. He was dead when discovered. A wallet was recovered from the scene. Your husband’s wallet.’
    Mrs Emerson’s high-pitched squeal of laughter took both officers by surprise. She cut it off as abruptly as it has begun. The hand back over her mouth. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m really sorry. It’s too funny.’ She shook her head as she fought to control herself. Romney and Marsh waited. ‘It’s what he wanted, you see. He loved his golf. He’d often joke that he could think of no better way to go than playing a round. That’s ‘a round’ by the way not ‘around’. You must think me a callous old bitch. That doesn’t matter. We were husband and wife in name only. Had been for years. We both lived rather separate lives. Our son kept us under the same roof most of the time. I’m happy for him. Not many of us can choose how we go, can we?’
    ‘Mrs Emerson,’ said Romney, ‘at this time we are not able to state categorically that the body is that of your husband.’
    ‘I understand. You need me to come and identify him, don’t you? Next of kin and all that.’ And then she began to cry. ‘Oh dear. Poor old Phillip. He wasn’t really old enough to die, was he? He could be a real bastard, but he kept his word – he never left us.’
    ‘Mrs Emerson, I think you should sit down. Please.’ She sat and reached for kitchen towel. ‘We are not certain yet that your husband is the man that was found because he did not die a natural death.’
    ‘A natural death? What does that mean, Inspector? Just spit it out would you.’
    ‘The body that was found died an extremely violent death. He died sometime last night. Whoever it is was beaten repeatedly around the head. The extent of the injuries will make any form of facial recognition impossible. I’m sorry to have to tell you that.’
    There was no trace of either the humour or irritation that the woman had shown so far. Both hands came up to her mouth and her eyes widened. She seemed suddenly emptied, meek and silent before them.
    Romney reached into his pocket and retrieved the gaudy ring he had borrowed from the deceased. He set it gently onto the counter in front of her. She reared up as though he had brought down a sledgehammer on the granite surface.
    ‘Is this your husband’s ring, Mrs Emerson?’ She nodded. ‘Again, I’m sorry, but does your husband have any distinguishing features that we might be able to identify him by? Birthmarks, moles, scars anything like that?’ The officers waited a long moment. ‘Mrs Emerson?’
    ‘Murdered then?’ she said.
    ‘Yes.’
    Two large beads of tears left the tracks of their progress down her powdered cheeks, stripping her foundation and giving her a clown-like appearance. She reached for more kitchen towel and dabbed at her face. She took a deep and stabilising breath. ‘An appendix scar. He also had a scar across the knuckles of his right hand and a group of moles on his back that reminded me of the constel lation, The Plough.’
    Marsh scribbled.
    ‘How tall was your husband?’