The Corpse's Tale (Trevor Joseph Detective series) Read Online Free PDF Page B

about it.’ Rita set Sarah’s tuna salad in front of her. ‘Dai Helpful was born weak in the head and he did for her.’
    ‘Bloody law,’ Tom swore between bites of pork pie. ‘Dai got off on a technicality and now they’ve let him out it’ll be too late for the next poor girl he tops.’
    ‘Just let him show his face near me, that’s all I say,’ Bob threatened.
    ‘David Morgan is back in the village, isn’t he?’ Peter asked.
    ‘Aye, but he hasn’t had the gall to step out of doors because he knows what’s waiting for him if he does,’ Bob said darkly.
     

C H A P T E R F I V E
     
    R I TA J A M E S G A V E T R E V O R directions to the Morgans’ cottage. The quickest route was across the churchyard. Trevor knew he was following the exact same path Anna had taken the night she’d been killed.
    He walked out of the car park on to the pavement. He crossed the quiet road, to the church notice board, depressed the latch on the roofed gate and closed it behind him. The churchyard was still, the air buzzing, alive with insects. It was hot even for July, just as it had been ten years before for Anna Harris. The reports he had read had been thorough. A full moon, clear sky, the temperature 26 degrees Centigrade, warm for a summer’s day, let alone night.
    He noted the dates on the tombstones. Like most churchyards still in use, there was a mix of ancient, old and new. The most recent were closest to the path. Low plain stones in black or white marble, with simple inscriptions and even simpler decorations. A cross or abstract pattern alongside or above the name. But he failed to find Anna Harris’s grave. The more elaborate Victorian memorials were massive in comparison, some six feet high and more. A few were decorated with classical sculptures and Gothic lettering.
    He had seen photographs of the churchyard taken on the day of Anna’s murder. They had shown gleaming, scrubbed gravestones, neatly trimmed shrubs and bushes and cut grass. Now, the grass was higher in places than the ancient Celtic crosses and Victorian monuments and the shrubs were unkempt and covered in dead flower heads. The stalks of the spring bulbs had dried to straw. Weeds poked through the gravel on the paths and the older tombs were covered in moss.
    The churchyard reminded him of so many other cemeteries he had seen in England and Wales. Forlorn, neglected, it was the reason he had added a clause to his will requesting that his body be cremated and his ashes scattered from the nearest cliff top to his parents’ farm in Cornwall.
    He spotted the shed he had seen in the scene of crime photographs. It, too, was dilapidated. The wood was rotting at the base of both the shed and the door and the roof felt was torn. If David Morgan had left any tools in it, they’d be useless. He tested the lock on the
    door. It was sealed solid with rust.
    ‘Can I help you?’
    Trevor eyed the man who had walked out of the back door of the church. The police habit of outlining a description was ingrained. Height, five feet ten inches, age, 40-ish, slim, athletic build, dark hair flecked with grey, styled to disguise the fact that it was thinning, grey eyes. He was wearing a dog collar on his lightweight grey summer shirt, grey slacks, black socks and slip-on loafers. He also looked familiar. Trevor was certain he had seen him before.
    Trevor held out his hand. ‘Inspector Trevor Joseph. I’m with the police team who are reexamining the David Morgan case.’
    ‘Tony Oliver, vicar of St David’s.’ He shook Trevor’s hand. ‘Poor Anna Harris. That was a bad business.’
    ‘Murders generally are.’ Trevor looked at the shed. ‘Is this where David Morgan kept his tools?’
    ‘Yes, but the police took them when they arrested him.’
    ‘They weren’t returned?’
    ‘To be truthful, Inspector Joseph, I didn’t ask for them. I couldn’t have brought myself to use them and I doubt anyone else in the village could have either.’
    ‘Who has looked