Western Approaches (Jimmy Suttle) Read Online Free PDF

moment, she stressed, the jury was out on Kinsey’s death. Nothing in the flat suggested anything but a man who had fallen off his own balcony. If the truth proved otherwise, it was up to Constantine to find out.
    There were very few questions. Houghton wanted the D/Cs working in pairs. She divided the house-to-house calls between them and sent the most experienced team to the Beach pub. She wanted a full account of Kinsey’s visit last night, plus names and addresses of fellow drinkers for follow-up.
    By the time Ellie returned, the detectives had gone. Houghton eyed the tray of coffees she was carrying and offered her apologies. Ellie put the coffees on her desk.
    ‘That nice young man I was talking to . . .?’
    ‘He’s gone to meet the club secretary.’
    ‘Ah . . .’ Ellie failed to mask her disappointment. ‘The Viking.’
     
    Molly Doyle opened the door on Suttle’s second knock. She was wearing a scarlet dressing gown, loosely belted at the waist, and her hair was wet from the shower. The blush of colour on her face, plus the muddy Nikes on the square of newsprint inside the porch, suggested recent exercise. He’d phoned ahead but she’d failed to pick up.
    ‘I’ve been out on the seafront.’ She was still looking at Suttle’s warrant card. ‘My Sunday treat.’
    After a moment’s hesitation, she invited him in. It was a neat house, warm colours, comfortable, lived-in. A line of family photos on the mantelpiece suggested a sizeable brood of kids and already, from somewhere upstairs, Suttle could hear a stir of movement.
    ‘So what’s going on? What’s this all about?’
    Suttle explained about Kinsey. The news that he was dead froze the smile on her face. She looked visibly shocked.
    ‘Dead?’
    ‘I’m afraid so.’
    ‘But how can that happen?’
    ‘I’ve no idea. That’s what we have to find out.’
    Suttle wanted to know about yesterday’s race. Kinsey, it seemed, had won himself a cup.
    ‘He did. He texted me. The Dart Totnes Head. First proper race of the season. His guys did well. Better than well.’ She frowned, knotting her hands in her lap. ‘ Dead? ’ She stared at Suttle, wanting him to change the story, to apologise, to explain that it was all some kind of joke.
    Suttle pressed for more details. ‘You’ve got names? This crew of his?’
    ‘Of course. Our events secretary is having a baby. I did the race entry form myself.’
    ‘You’ve got contact details?’
    ‘For the crew, you mean?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Absolutely. That’s my job.’ She hesitated. ‘You want me to get them?’
    Suttle shook his head. He’d collect the names and addresses before he left but right now he was more interested in Kinsey. What kind of man was he?
    ‘He was . . .’ she frowned, unhappy with the past tense ‘. . . different.’
    ‘How?’
    ‘Hard to say.’ The frown deepened. She seemed affronted as well as upset. Who was this man to barge into her house, into her precious Sunday morning, and throw everything into chaos?
    ‘The man’s dead, Mrs Doyle. And at this point in time we don’t know why.’
    ‘Christ, what else are you telling me?’
    ‘I’m telling you nothing. And that’s because we know nothing. Except that he probably fell from his own balcony in the middle of the night and ended up dead. There has to be a reason for that. Which is why I’m here.’
    ‘But you’re suggesting . . .?’
    ‘I’m suggesting nothing. You used the word “different” just now. What does that mean?’
    ‘It means that he wasn’t – you know – one of the usual crowd. We’re a club. Quite a successful club as it happens. How much do you know about rowing?’
    ‘Nothing,’ Suttle said again. ‘Tell me.’
    ‘Well . . .’ She gathered her dressing gown more tightly around her. ‘It’s a sport, obviously. It’s pretty physical, and it can be pretty challenging too, in our kind of water. People love that. It becomes a bond, a glue if you like. It sticks us together. When