Murder by Magic Read Online Free PDF

armed with similar information, Leonid
Pavlenko might naturally have reached an identical conclusion.
    ‘I
suppose so, Guv.’
    ‘Maybe
he didn’t – but I think it made sense to look first.  If that
wording means Black Beck, it’s not such a long shot.’
    ‘Why
stay at Keswick though, Guv – why not Ambleside or Coniston?’
    Skelgill
shrugs.
    ‘Keswick’s
easy to get to – handy stopping-off point – he only took the room
for one night.  He might have a contact in the town – someone who could
have given him a lift.’
    DS
Jones begins to read the small print on the information board.  There is
mention of helmets, head-torches, ropes and harnesses.
    ‘Guv,
it’s hardly a regular tourist attraction – and by the sound of it he was
wearing ordinary clothes.’
    Jeans,
t-shirt, leather jacket and trainers had been the description provided by his
landlady; none of these items were among the possessions left in the holdall. 
Skelgill nods, and casts about with a rather dejected air.
    ‘There’s
a couple of properties we can ask at on the way down.  If he came here
looking for something – or someone – then he might have knocked on
doors.’
    ‘When
do you think he left the B&B?’
    Skelgill
exhales somewhat resignedly.
    ‘It
could have been any time between five yesterday afternoon and eight this
morning – but there’s no indication he hung about – yesterday seems
more likely.’
    ‘What
time would it have got dark, Guv?’
    Skelgill
folds his arms and looks to the heavens.
    ‘Sunset
last night was more or less bang on seven.  But it was clear – it
was light until about eight.’
    DS
Jones is pulling down her lower lip with her middle finger.
    ‘Still,
he wouldn’t have had a lot of daylight, Guv.’
    ‘Maybe
not.  Look – he might turn up yet, Jones, wanting his bag –
for all we know he went out in Keswick, met someone, got lucky –’ 
Skelgill hesitates as he gauges his colleague’s reaction.  ‘It’s not
unknown.’
    DS
Jones turns away and takes a few steps towards the rock face.  She puts
her hands on her hips and leans back to look up the cliff.
    ‘Or
unlucky.’
    Skelgill
stoops and picks up a rhombus of slate.  He regards it for a moment before
skimming it left-handed into the opening of the mine.  There is a hollow
echo as it skips over the floor of the stone passageway and comes to a silent
halt.  His arms drop down by his sides, and for a moment he seems lost for
what to do next.  But DS Jones has gathered her thoughts and pirouettes to
face him.
    ‘The
thing is, Guv – if he has done a runner from the B&B, why would he
leave his passport?’

4. BLACKBECK CASTLE
     
    ‘This
is private property.’
    ‘It’s
mainly Access Land.’
    ‘It
’int where tha’ be standing.’
    ‘Aye,
well, maybe I’ve got a reason for that.’
    Skelgill
fishes his warrant card from his hip pocket and pushes it close to the man’s
face.
    ‘I
take it you’ve got a licence to use Larsen traps?’
    The
man eyes Skelgill suspiciously.  A couple of inches the shorter, he is nevertheless
of a muscular build, shaven headed, his demeanour hostile.  Though
probably in his mid-forties he wears faded combat fatigues and a soiled olive
t-shirt with dark patches of perspiration at the armpits, army surplus boots in
need of polish, and an oily bandana around his forehead.  His complexion
is swarthy, and an ugly scar beneath his left eye combines with features
– nose, lips, teeth and ears – that are too big for his face, suggestive
of a caricatured goblin from fantasy fiction.  He still wields the hammer
with which he was crossly knocking in staples, as the two detectives rounded the
side of his stone-built gamekeeper’s cottage.  There is a stack of ten or
so traps – rough wooden frames about the size of a rabbit hutch, covered
in wire mesh.  The property itself sits on the eastern fringe of the expanse
of woodland through which they earlier climbed, perhaps a furlong from