When the Devil Drives

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Book: When the Devil Drives Read Online Free PDF
Author: Caro Peacock
it.
    â€˜My woman had a birthmark on the inside of her left wrist, pale brown, about the size of a farthing,’ I said.
    â€˜Left, was it?’ He said it as if that made the thing more serious and came to a decision. ‘Want to come and have a look at her?’
    I nodded, heart sinking. He signalled to another constable standing on the corner to come and take his place and pointed to the church of St Magnus the Martyr at the bottom of the hill.
    â€˜That’s where we took her.’
    As we walked, I tried to steel myself. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d had to look at a dead body, but it seemed to be harder rather than easier with repetition.
    â€˜The thing is . . .’ the constable said, and hesitated. ‘The thing is, her left arm got torn off. It must have caught on the railings as she came down.’
    We stopped at a side door of the church.
    â€˜If you liked, I could go in and have a look first,’ he said. ‘Then if she hasn’t got the mark on her wrist, you won’t have to see her, will you.’
    Cravenly, I thanked him and waited outside for what seemed like a long time. He came out, shaking his head.
    â€˜No mark there. Was your friend married?’
    â€˜No.’ (Not unless she’d married in the past week.)
    â€˜This one’s got a ring on her wedding finger.’
    â€˜Is it very new?’
    â€˜Might be. Funny looking thing for a wedding ring. Any road, we had a good look, me and the beadle, and there’s no birthmark inside her left wrist or anywhere near it. So whoever she is, she’s not your friend.’
    We walked back to the Monument, where Tabby was chatting to a workman. He had a chisel in his hand and his jacket was grey with stone dust.
    â€˜He found her,’ she said.
    The workman nodded. ‘I was on my way in to work. Nearly fell over her.’
    â€˜Does anybody know when she climbed up there?’ I said.
    The workman glanced towards the entrance to the Monument, where the attendant seemed to be refusing to let more people in.
    â€˜I reckon she spent the night up there. Mr Jenkins says he always checks the top gallery . . .’
    â€˜Mr Jenkins being the attendant?’
    â€˜That’s right. Says he looked as usual before he locked up and she wasn’t there, only he would say that, wouldn’t he?’
    â€˜So you think she hid up there and waited?’
    â€˜Can’t see otherwise.’
    Waited for what, I wondered. For the streets to be quiet? For the first glint of light on the cold Thames?
    â€˜What time did you find her?’
    â€˜Half past six.’
    â€˜And nobody heard her fall?’
    â€˜Not that I know of. It must have been after midnight, because a man I work with was going home this way from the public house, and she wasn’t there then.’
    I wished him good afternoon and walked away, Tabby trailing after me.
    â€˜Aren’t you going to ask anybody any more questions?’
    â€˜There’s no point,’ I said. ‘She’s not Miss Tilbury. She’s too tall and her hair’s the wrong colour and there’s no birthmark on her wrist.’
    â€˜You saw her then?’ She sounded envious.
    â€˜I didn’t need to. The police constable told me.’
    â€˜Oh them.’
    A vagrant’s contempt for the police in her voice, I sensed that my apprentice had found me wanting, so I spoke severely. ‘We do the work we’re paid to do. Whatever happened with that poor woman is no business of ours.’
    But as we walked away I couldn’t help looking back at the Monument and its bright coronet of flames against a grey sky. There seemed something indecently triumphalist about it – as if it were exulting over another victim. I thought of the girl, alone and high up in the dark, hearing voices and seeing lamplight as people went on with their lives below, but her no longer being a part of their world any
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