The Bone Garden Read Online Free PDF Page A

into the area and has been taking quite an interest in the project. Nice chap. He’s set up a garden design consultancy,
     so he’s been doing quite a bit of work for us.’
    ‘So if the plinth has been there since the early eighteenth century, the skeletons probably date from the time of the Lantrists?’
     said Wesley. He always like to be sure of his facts.
    ‘It certainly looks like it. Bit of a mystery, eh?’
    There was nothing more to be done at Earlsacre Hall. Gerry Heffernan strode on ahead to the car, anxious to get his hands
     on a warming cup of tea, and Wesley followed, looking around, taking inhis surroundings. He put his hands in his pockets. The summer was drawing to an end and there was a chill in the air.
    ‘Anything the matter, Wes?’ the inspector asked as they climbed into the car. ‘You’ve gone very quiet.’
    ‘I was just thinking that it was a coincidence.’
    ‘What was?’
    ‘The name Lantrist. It’s unusual. I’ve never heard it anywhere else before. It’s my mother’s maiden name.’
    ‘Well, it’s a very small world,’ Gerry Heffernan pronounced philosophically as they drove out of the gates of Earlsacre Hall
     and on to the winding lane.
    Craig Kettering stared at the fruit machine, then at the solitary coin in his hand.
    Perhaps he had been too hasty when he had fled from the caravan. He was sure he had spotted some cash on top of the cupboard
     by the door. Maybe he should have stayed and searched the place, taken what he could. Somehow the hours that had passed since
     his grim discovery had lessened the horror. There in the gaudy safety of the amusement arcade, with its cheery flashing lights
     to lure in the unwary punter, the stench of death and the staring dead eyes seemed a world away. Perhaps he should go back
     and take a look – after all, the man was dead, so he could hardly complain.
    He put the coin into the slot and punched the button. No luck. Why was it always the same? Farther down the arcade he heard
     the solid clunking of a machine paying out. He looked over at the expressionless recipient of this good fortune – a man around
     his own age with a shaved head and a silver stud through his top lip – and felt a pang of envy.
    But sometimes you make your own luck. Maybe he would go back.
    Craig walked the fifty yards to where his rusty white van was parked in a hotel carpark (for residents only) and drove out
     to the Bloxham View Caravan Park. A dead man couldn’t hurt him.
    Gerry Heffernan pushed open the door to Tradmouth police station, letting it bang dramatically behind him, and made his entry
     into the foyer with his usual panache. ‘Hi, Bob,’ he called to the large sergeant on the desk. ‘How are things? All quiet?’
    Bob Naseby drew himself up to his full height and stroked thebeard he was cultivating. ‘It was till you came in, Gerry.’ He grinned. ‘Not much happening at all. Still, it gives us a chance
     to catch up on the old paperwork, doesn’t it, and I don’t expect it’ll last for long – never does. Is Wesley not with you?’
    ‘He’s just parking the car. Why?’
    ‘Oh, I just wanted a word with him,’ said Bob, sounding cagey.
    At that point Wesley appeared, shutting the door gently behind him. Bob Naseby’s eyes lit up. This was it. The final challenge.
     Ever since Wesley had told him in casual conversation that his great-uncle had played cricket for the West Indies. Bob – trusting
     in the hereditary principle – had longed to recruit him for the divisional team. In recent weeks he had sensed that Wesley’s
     resolve was weakening so, like any predator, he prepared himself for the kill.
    ‘Wesley,’ he began with an appealing smile, ‘it’s the next-to-last match of the season on Saturday. We’re a man short. It’ll
     only be in the afternoon from one till five: limited overs. I wouldn’t ask but we’re really desperate.’
    ‘I don’t know, Bob. I haven’t played since school.’
    ‘That doesn’t