Death Speaks Softly Read Free Page A

the same company. No wonder the bloke looked pleased with himself.
    God, he must have been mad, losing his cool that way over Susie. Having been married to her for eleven years, he should have known there was no chance in hell of their coming back together. Instead of which, he'd allowed the old chemistry to flare up again, and all three of them had been hurt. He and Susan had at least gone into it with their eyes open, but how could Hannah be expected to understand? And that was nearly eight months ago. Eight months of putting off contacting her, telling himself that, living in the same building, they'd be sure to bump into each other. But Hannah had taken care that they shouldn't, and who could blame her? So why should he be surprised, now, to see her with someone else?
    There was a tap on the door. He ignored it, and after a moment Alan called, 'Come in.'
    'Excuse me, sir—' Young Marshbanks, by the sound of
    it.
    'Yes?' He went on staring out of the window. 'Could I have a word?'
    With a sigh, Webb turned. The detective-constable looked across at him apologetically, his usually cheerful face subdued.
    'All right, Simon. What is it?'
    Alan Crombie pushed back his chair, murmured something about checking records, and left the room.
    'Well, sir, I don't want to speak out of turn, and strictly speaking this isn't our business—'
    'Suppose you start at the beginning?' Webb suggested heavily.
    'Yes, sir. Well, there's a French girl I know, sir, and she's very interested in horses.' Marshbanks flushed, noting his superior's raised eyebrow. 'She's been on at me for weeks to show her round the stables, so I fixed it with the station sergeant for Tuesday afternoon. And she never turned up.'
    'Simon,' Webb began warningly, 'if you're proposing to enlist me to sort out your love-life—'
    'No, sir, really. The point is, she should have arrived on the two-thirty from Steeple Bayliss, but she didn't, and no one's seen her since. Her landlady's daughter's just been on, asking if I know where she is.'
    'I hope you advised her to get in touch with their local station?'
    'Yes, sir, but—well, there are one or two things we could do more easily at this end. I don't want to butt in on their territory, but—'
    'And exactly what could we do better at this end?'
    'She told her landlady she might stay Tuesday night with a friend in Shillingham, an au pair. But they don't know the name of the family. All Iris could tell me was that they live near the Golf Club and have a little boy called Ben. I thought perhaps if we contacted the playgroups or primary schools in the Lethbridge Road area—'
    'Is this an official inquiry?' Webb interrupted.
    'No, sir. Not yet.'
    Webb sighed. 'Then you know as well as I do that our hands are tied. What's this French girl of yours doing over here, anyway?'
    'She's at the university, sir, working for her Ph.D. But she also takes conversation classes, and does a bit of coaching.'
    'Well, leave it with me.' He looked at his watch. 'It's twelve-twenty now. I'll phone SB after lunch and see if they could use a bit of help. That satisfy you?'
    'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.'
    Lunch in the Brown Bear raised Webb's spirits marginally, and, noting Marshbanks's carefully bent head as he returned to his office, he decided to give Chris Ledbetter a buzz as promised. Anything to postpone a return to the paperwork.
    'Dave! Talk about coincidence! Were your ears burning?' 'No, why?'
    'I was just wondering if I could justify getting in touch with you. I don't know if you heard, but I broke my ankle a couple of weeks back.' He brushed aside Webb's expressions of concern. 'Oh, I can hobble to work—just. Happy calls for me and drives me home afterwards, but once here, I'm pretty well desk-bound, which is bloody frustrating, as you can imagine.'
    'And where do I come in?'
    'Well, a case has just cropped up and I'm not sure I like the smell of it. Girl seems to have vanished—and a French girl, at that.'
    'Well, well!' Webb