The Plague Maiden Read Online Free PDF Page A

his ponytail with mud-caked fingers.
    ‘If it’s a leper hospital there’ll probably have been some sort of chapel with a graveyard. Why? What have you found?’
    ‘A large bone. Looks human.’
    Neil picked his way through the mud to where Matt was standing protectively over his discovery. The two men stood together
     and looked down at the pale brown object standing out against the darkness of the soil. It was a bone, all right. But human?
     He squatted down and took his trowel from his jacket pocket. Two worked quicker than one.
    As they scraped away at the damp soil Neil heard excited voices drifting across from the other end of the trench. A female
     voice called his name and he turned round.
    One of the younger diggers, a large, dark-haired young woman fresh from university, had stood up and was waving at him excitedly.
     From her expression Neil guessed that she had found something more interesting than another piece of medieval pottery.
    ‘I think we’ve got at least one complete skeleton down here … maybe more.’
    ‘I’d better take a look,’ Neil said calmly, smiling as he thought of the delay this could mean to the construction of Huntings’
     new store. A spanner – or rather a bone – in the works.
    There was no word from Huntings that afternoon, which meant there had been no further threats and no demands for money. As
     Gerry Heffernan had said, the letter had probably been sent by some poor inadequate with a grudge, trying for his fifteen
     minutes of anonymous fame; hoping to see the panic he had caused reported on the local news … or even on the national bulletins
     if he struck lucky and it was a slow news day. The letter had gone to Forensic to be checked out for fingerprints but, other
     than that, there was little else they could do until there were more developments.
    As things were quiet Wesley took a stroll down to the station basement where the old case files were kept. He was looking
     for 1991 – the Shipborne case. If he was going to pay a call on Mrs J. Powell it would be wise to familiarise himself with
     the details of what had gone on all those years ago. With the help of a ginger-headed young constable who seemed to know his
     way around the station’s records, two large and dusty box files were found and Wesley made his way back upstairs, bearing
     his trophies. When he reached his desk he let go of them and they fell with a loud thud.
    Rachel looked up when she heard the noise and wrinkled her nose at the musty smell that was wafting towards her. ‘What are
     you doing with those?’ she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
    ‘I thought I’d look up that case. The vicar who was murdered back in 1991.’
    Rachel shrugged and returned her attention to a statement from a witness to a more recent crime. If Wesley wanted to waste
     his time on yesterday’s wrongdoings it was up to him. He was the inspector and she was the sergeant, although to give him
     his due, he never used the fact to his advantage and always behaved towards her with polite propriety. She glanced up at him.
     There were times when she wished he were less of a gentleman.
    Wesley, unaware that he was the focus of Rachel’s thoughts, began to flick through the files, giving each sheet of paper a
     cursory read. As Gerry had said, it seemed to be an open-and-shut case. An intruder forced the French window of the Reverend
     Shipborne’s study. The vicar, a widower, was found dead on the floor by his cleaner, a Mrs O’Donovan. He had died of severe
     head injuries inflicted by the traditional blunt instrument but the weapon was never found. Mrs O’Donovan made a statement
     to the effect that a silver chalice and paten – vessels used in the communion service, given to the church by some wealthy
     medieval benefactor and carried to the vicarage after each service for safe-keeping – were missing, along with thevicar’s wallet. The stolen silver was found hidden at Chris Hobson’s flat a