Dying in the Dark Read Free

it was.
    â€˜It’s Beresford, isn’t it?’ Woodend asked the senior of the two.
    â€˜That’s right, sir.’
    â€˜Well, Beresford, let’s get on with it.’
    The constables shone their torches over the body. The woman’s skirt was hiked up around her waist, and her knickers had been dragged down around her ankles. From her general physical condition, it was possible to estimate that she was somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-five. But there was no clue to her age to be gained from her face. That was just a mess!
    â€˜Who found her?’ Woodend asked.
    â€˜A tramp,’ Beresford said. ‘He’s well known to most of the bobbies on the beat. Wally the Wanderer, we call him, though nobody’s got any idea what his real name is.’
    â€˜What was he doin’ here?’
    â€˜Accordin’ to him, he was seein’ if there was any way he could get into the mill, so he could doss down for the night. I don’t blame him. It’s goin’ to be a cold bugger.’
    It was, Woodend agreed silently. The wind was blowing in hard from over the moors, and there would be ground frost in the morning.
    â€˜Do we know who she is?’ he asked.
    â€˜No, sir. She hasn’t got a handbag – or at least we haven’t found one yet – an’ there’s nothin’ in her pockets.’
    Woodend forced himself to look at the dead woman’s face again. Whoever had killed her had gone to work on it with something sharp and heavy – an axe, he would guess, by the depth and width of the cuts.
    â€˜Do we have any idea how long she’s been dead?’ he said.
    â€˜Couldn’t have been too long, sir. She was still warm when we arrived.’
    â€˜How many of you were there?’
    â€˜Three of us, sir.’
    â€˜So where’s the third now?’
    â€˜I told him to go an’ get a cup of tea, sir.’
    â€˜Did you, now?’ Woodend said. ‘How did you approach the scene of the crime?’
    â€˜Same way you did, sir. Along the concrete strip. I didn’t think there was much chance of there bein’ any footprints – the ground’s rock-hard tonight – but I didn’t want to take any chances.’
    â€˜Good lad,’ Woodend said. ‘An’ make sure that goes down in your report – that I said you were a good lad.’ He sniffed. ‘I can smell somethin’ unpleasant. Puke, at a guess. Was it her, while she was bein’ attacked, do you think? Or was this bloody mess too much for even the feller who did for her to stomach?’
    Beresford looked uncomfortable. ‘It … er … it was the lad I sent off for a cup of tea who vomited, sir,’ he admitted. ‘He tried to restrain himself, but he just couldn’t hold it in. He got as far from the crime scene as he could, before he threw up. Will he be in trouble?’
    â€˜Not if I have anythin’ to do with it,’ Woodend promised.
    He crouched down to examine the corpse. The woman’s skirt was a brown and white check; her blouse was white cotton. She was still wearing her heavy cloth coat, but her attacker had obviously ripped it open before he began his grisly work. Both her feet were naked, but her left shoe was lying beside her body.
    â€˜Any idea where her other shoe might be?’ Woodend asked.
    â€˜It’s over there, sir,’ Beresford said, redirecting the beam of his torch for a moment to a spot a couple of yards distant.
    So the attack had occurred where the body was found, Woodend thought. And when morning came, and it was light enough to do a proper search, they’d no doubt find the buttons from her coat.
    He stretched forward and ran the edge of the woman’s skirt through his thumb and forefinger.
    Acceptable quality, he decided. Not too cheap, yet not too expensive.
    There was nothing flashy about the clothes, which there certainly would have been if the woman had