With a Narrow Blade Read Online Free PDF

was always something particularly sad about the old meeting a violent end. They always seemed so ill-equipped to deal with it. Especially the women. She’d probably been someone’s mother and grandmother. Had she been looking forward to spending Christmas with her family? Had she been busy knitting sweaters that embarrassed family members would only ever wear when they knew she was going to be around?
    Hillary shook her head. This was pointless, and only making her feel depressed. She turned instead and left them to it, walking to the front door and then stepping out into a light drizzle. Even the wind seemed to be dying down. She glanced around the tiny rectangle of bare winter garden, and across a ragged privet hedge, and saw an old man in the house immediately abutting on the right, staring out at her from his window. She saw Keith Barrington start up the pathway, and on impulse called him back. ‘It’s OK, I’ll take this one. Try the next.’
    ‘Guv.’
    The old man had the door open by the time Hillary got there, and instantly stood aside to let her in. ‘Something’s happened to Flo then?’ he asked flatly, as she passed.
    Hillary nodded, watched him close the door, and glanced around. The tiny corridor was an exact replica of next door, and when the old man indicated she was to go in through the first door, she wasn’t surprised. Inside, a single comfortable armchair was pulled up close to a gas fire. Sleeping on the mat in front of it was a large black cat. Hillary took a hard-backed wooden chair and moved it forward, careful not to disturb the slumbering feline, and looked around. Pale apricot-coloured walls and a somewhat dirty beige carpet blended together and was soft on the eye. An original but not very good seascape was the only painting on the wall, and a large-faced clock ticked ponderously from over the fireplace. On the mantelpiece were two pictures – one of a couple on their wedding day, their style of dress straight out of the forties. The other was a group picture of men in uniform. Commandos, by the look of them. One of them, no doubt, was now the current home owner.
    ‘She dead then?’ The old man slowly lowered himself into his chair. He had sparse white hair and was wearing a heavy grey knitted cardigan, a clean white shirt, and a pair of dark grey trousers. He looked neat and smelt clean. Obviously a man fully in charge of both his faculties and his living conditions. Good. Such people usually made excellent witnesses.
    Hillary got out her notebook. ‘Can I have your full name, sir?’
    ‘Sure. Walter Mitchell Keane.’
    ‘You’ve lived here long?’
    ‘Since the council built ’em back in 1948.’
    ‘So you knew Mrs Jenkins well?’
    ‘Course I do. Her and Clive moved in same time as we did. Clive was her old man, dead now twenty years. My own gal, Phyllis,’ he nodded at the wedding picture, ‘went a few years after. Why are you lot here, then?’ he asked sharply. ‘She didn’t die in her sleep, did she? Not with you lot out in force.’
    While his words might have been belligerent, Hillary didn’t think they were meant to be. Walter Keane was just one of those men who spoke in a simple and forthright manner that was probably leftover from his army days. Someone who had little time for the pleasantries in life. ‘I can’t discuss an ongoing case, sir,’ she said, but showed her ID. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Hillary Greene from Thames Valley Police, and I’m the Senior Investigating Officer here. I’d appreciate it if you could answer some questions for me.’
    She had an idea he’d respond automatically to authority, and wasn’t disappointed. He was a tall, thin, stoop-shouldered man, the kind who’d be unexpectedly wiry and tough, and as expected, his back straightened a little at her crisp, no-nonsense tone.
    ‘Do all I can to help,’ he said gruffly.
    ‘Did you hear anything odd from next door, within, say the last forty-eight hours?’
    ‘No. I heard