The Armada Boy Read Online Free PDF

over here in the
war for the D-day landing practices?'
     
    'Yeah... How do you ... ?'
     
    She got up and walked over to a pile
of school books on the dining table. 'Here' She threw one over to Wesley and he
opened it The handwriting was good ... a credit to the teacher. 'It's a project
my year sixes are doing. Local history. The whole of the area round Bereton was
evacuated late in 1943 and 1944 ...people were thrown out of their homes, pets
put to sleep, livestock moved to farms in different parts of the county. It was
quite an operation. Just like poor Sue really ... you're told to get out of your
home and you have no choice.'
     
    'But it was only temporary, wasn't
it?'
     
    "Some didn't come back and those
that did found their houses and farms had been damaged by shelling and overrun
with rats. The Bishop of Exeter left a notice on the church gate at Bereton asking
the Americans not to damage the church ... it received a
direct hit which blew out one of the walls. They all got compensation   but imagine leaving your house and coming back
to find it's been shelled to bits.'
     
    'You know a lot about it.'
     
    'I asked the kids to talk to their
grandparents. It's surprising how many remembered the evacuation and were keen
to talk about it. There were some stories...locals creeping back to poach rabbits,
girls being taken to the deserted villages for a bit of courting with the
Yanks. There was even a murder.'
     
    'I'll have to read that stuff when
I've got time. You've not got anything there on the Spanish Armada, have you?'
     
    Pam looked at him with the envy
teachers feel for those unfamiliar with the National Curriculum. Tudors are
next term ...hopefully I won't be there.' She blew him a kiss and went into the
kitchen to make an omelette.
     
    He followed her. 'I met Neil this
morning. He discovered the body.
     
    'Not like Neil to do anything so
dramatic.'
    'It was on the site of a dig he's doing... something to do with
the Spanish Armada.'
     
    Pam knew the danger signals. She had
met Wesley at university where she had been studying English and he
archaeology. She knew by now that once he became interested in a dig,
especially with Neil Watson fuelling his enthusiasm, he wouldn't rest until every
question was answered, every mystery solved. She had often wondered why he had
chosen the police as a career: his parents were both doctors, so it must have
been his grandfather who put the idea in his head - he had been a senior
detective back in Trinidad. She supposed archaeology and detection had some- thing
in common: both involved painstaking sifting of evidence, back-breaking routine
until a clear picture emerged. For all her complaints about unpredictable
hours, Pam was resigned to being
a policeman's wife.
     
    'So you'll be lending Neil a hand,
will you ... when Gerry Heffernan lets you off the lead?'
     
    'I might drop in from time to time
if we're going to be in Bereton. Might be interesting." He saw a look of
reproach in his wife's eyes. 'But I won't spend a lot of time there . ..
promise. After all, you need looking after." He patted her swollen belly. 'And
this one too.'
     
    I'll give you a special dispensation
to have a drink with Neil tomorrow night. I've got a parents' evening. But
you'll have to be back by ten."
     
    'Can't you make that half
past?"
     
    'Shut up and eat your omelette.'
     
    Wesley obeyed. He knew it was best
to quit while he was
ahead.
     
     
    Litton Boratski - former Sergeant
Litton Boratski - lowered himself carefully into the venerable chintz-covered
armchair, explaining apologetically that his arthritis was playing up. Wesley and
Heffernan made sympathetic noises and waited while the tall,
thin man arranged his limbs.
     
    He looked at them with ice-blue eyes.
'Sorry about old Norman. I heard he was murdered... is that right?"
     
    'I'm afraid it looks that way, sir,'
     
    'Who shot him? Do you know?'
     
    Wesley looked at his boss. 'He
wasn't shot. He was stabbed.'
    Boratski