Murder of a Dead Man Read Online Free PDF

thing that means anything in his life.’ Peter wanted to but didn’t dare dry the tears that were falling from her eyes. ‘And, I guarantee that while Trevor is living with you he’ll never look at another woman.’
    ‘How can you be so sure?’ She wondered if he suspected the scenarios of “the other woman” she imagined every time Trevor stayed out all night.
    ‘You came after four years of celibacy. You might not have realised it, being so much younger than him, but ardour isn’t normal for a man of his advanced years, it’s the result of living like a monk.’
    ‘You’re incorrigible.’ Despite the derisive tone in her voice, her tears turned to smiles as she picked up the dishcloth and wiped down the work surfaces.
    ‘He used to worship women from afar from time to time, but after Mags that’s all it was.
    Admiration from a distance. He may have even spoken to one or two, but if he did, I swear it was only in the line of duty.’
    ‘You’re not as bad as I thought you were.’
    ‘Tell me where the Hoover is and I’ll clean up the living room and redeem myself even more.’
    ‘It’s three in the morning.’
    ‘The wall between you and next door is solid, isn’t it?’
    ‘Yes, but…’
    ‘I hate to see a mess, woman.’ He opened the broom cupboard in the hall. ‘I’ve found it.’
    Ten minutes later Lyn and Peter’s combined efforts had returned the house to pristine condition, and Peter was walking down the beach road to his flat. He’d unbent enough to peck Lyn on the cheek when he’d said goodbye, but only when the door was open, and they were public enough to remove his temptation to grab her, and give her what Trevor should have – if he’d had any sense.
     
    After Peter left, Lyn walked around the house switching off lights, checking doors, moving objects already set in their allotted places. Eventually she could find no more excuse to linger. Climbing the stairs she went into the master bedroom. The present she’d intended to give Trevor at bedtime was lying on his pillow, where she’d put it before laying out the buffet. She picked up the small box, plumped out the blue velvet ribbon that held the silver wrapping paper in place, and laid it on his bedside table. In the bathroom she stripped off the short black dress that left little to the imagination and stood under a hot shower for half an hour. She wouldn’t have admitted it to Trevor, but she was spinning out time, hoping she’d still be awake when he returned.
    When she finally slid beneath the duvet on the king size bed, she picked up a book from Trevor’s side of the bed. It was a guide to the West Country.
    She realised that he must have bought it with the trip to his mother’s farm in mind. Perhaps he was aware of the way she felt after all.
    She tried to read but in the end sleep overtook her, and when the alarm went off at six-thirty, the first thing she saw on opening her eyes was the silver and blue package. She had spent yet another night alone.

    ‘Is that the last one?’ Trevor asked Tom Morris, the social worker seconded from the council to the voluntary organisation that ran the hostel. He had been impressed by Tom’s gentle handling of the inmates and the respect he commanded from even the most difficult of them, despite his youth. No more than twenty-five or so, Tom was good looking and personable. Fond references to a wife had made Trevor wonder how well Mrs Morris coped with a husband, who, on his own admission, slept out six nights of every week. Judging by the smile on Morris’s face, better than Lyn.
    He watched Morris run his finger down the list of names in a grease-stained ledger. ‘Twenty-seven.’
    Trevor shuffled through the papers in front of him. ‘Twenty-seven,’ he reiterated.
    ‘Then that’s it.’
    No one had expected to get anything from the inmates of the shelters other than their identities, but Dan had insisted that they take a hostel each and check everyone who’d slept the