Wexford 10 - A Sleeping Life Read Online Free PDF

a pink pattern. On the white cotton counterpane that covered the single bed lay a freshly pressed skirt in a navy-checked synthetic material, a blue nylon blouse and a pair of tights still in their plastic wrapping. Apart from a wall cupboard and a very small chest of drawers, there was no other furniture. On the chest was a small suitcase. Wexford looked inside it and found a pair of cream silk pyjamas of better quality than any of Rhoda Comfrey’s daytime wear, sandals of the kind that consist only of a rubber sole and rubber thong, and a sponge bag. That was all. The cupboard was empty as were the drawers of the chest. The closets had been searched and the alcoves importuned in vain.

    Wexford said hotly to Crocker and Burden, ‘This is unbelievable. She doesn’t give her address to her aunt or the hospital where her father is or to her father’s doctor or his neighbours. It’s not written down anywhere in his house, he hasn’t got it with him in the hospital. No doubt, it was in his head where it’s now either locked in or knocked out. What the hell was she playing at?’

    ‘Possum,’ said the doctor.

    Wexford gave a snort. ‘I’m going across the road,’ he said. ‘Mind you leave the place as you found it. That means untidying anything you’ve tidied up.’ He grinned snidely at Crocker. It made a change for him to order the doctor about, for the boot was usually on the other foot. ‘And get Mrs Crown formally to identify the body, will you, Mike? I wish you joy of her.’

    Nicky Parker opened the door of Bella Vista, his mother close behind him in the hall. Again the reassuring game was played for the child’s benefit and Wexford passed off as a doctor. Well, why not? Weren’t doctors the most respected members of the community? A baby was crying somewhere, and Stella Parker looked harassed.

    ‘Would it be convenient,’ he said politely, ‘for me to have a chat with your - er - grandmother-in-law?’

    She said she was sure it would, and Wexford was led through to a room at the back of the house. Sitting in an armchair, on her lap a colander containing peas that she was shelling, sat one of the oldest people he had ever seen in his life.

    ‘Nana, this is the police inspector.’

    ‘How do you do, Mrs -?’

    ‘Nana’s called Parker too, the same as us.’

    She was surrounded by preparations for the family’s lunch. On the floor, on one side of her chair, stood a saucepanful of potatoes in water, the bowl of peelings in water beside it. Four cooking apples awaited her attention. Pastry was made, kneaded, and set on a plate. This, apparently, was one of the way in which she, at her extreme age, contributed to the household management. Wexford remembered how Parker had called his grandmother a wonder, and he began to see why. 

    For a moment she took no notice of him, exercising perhaps the privilege of matriarchal eld. Stella Parker left them and shut the door. The old woman split open the last of her pods, an enormous one, and said as if they were old acquaintances: ‘When I was a girl they used to say, if you find nine peas in a pod put it over your door and the next man to come in will be your own true love.’ She scattered the nine peas into the full colander, wiped her greened fingers on her apron.

    ‘Did you ever do it?’ said Wexford.

    ‘What d’you say? Speak up.’

    ‘Did you ever do it?’

    ‘Not me. Didn’t need to. I’d been engaged to Mr Parker since we was both fifteen. Sit down, young man. You’re too tall to be on your legs.’

    Wexford was amused and absurdly flattered. ‘Mrs Parker . . .’ he began on a bellow, but she interrupted him with what was very likely a favourite question. ‘How old d’you think I am?’

    There are only two periods in a woman’s life when she hopes to be taken for older than she is, under sixteen and over ninety. In each case the error praises a certain achievement. But still he was wary.

    She didn’t wait for