Murder on the Short List Read Free

Burberry raincoat?”
    â€œOn the scarecrow.”
    â€œI mean, where did your daughters find it?”
    Mooney flapped his hand in a southerly direction. “About thirty yards off.”
    â€œShow me.”
    The afternoon was the hottest of the year so far. Thousands of bees were foraging in the rape flowers. Mooney didn’t mind disturbing them, but the inspector was twitchy. He wasn’t used to walking chest-high through fields. He kept close to the farmer using his elbows to fend off the tall plants springing upright again.
    Only a short distance ahead, the bluebottles were busy as well.
    Mooney stopped.
    â€œWell, how about this?” He was stooping over something.
    The inspector almost tumbled over Mooney’s back. “What is it? What have you found?”
    Mooney held it up. “My kids’ ball. They’ll be pleased you came.”
    â€œLet’s get on.”
    â€œDo you smell anything, inspector?”
    I n a few hours the police transformed this part of Middle Field. A large part of the crop was ruined, crushed under the feet of detectives, scenes of crime officers, a police surgeon, a pathologist and police photographers. Mooney was depressed by all the damage.
    â€œYou think the coat might have belonged to the owner of the cottages across the lane, is that right?” the inspector asked.
    â€œI wouldn’t know.”
    â€œIt’s what you told me earlier.”
    â€œThat was my wife’s idea. She says it’s a posh coat. No one from round here wears a posh coat. Except him.”
    â€œWho is he?”
    Mooney had to think about that. He’d put the name out of his mind. “White, as I recall. Jeremy White, from London. He bought the tied cottages from the developer who knocked them into one. He’s doing them up, making a palace out of it, open plan, with marble floors and a spiral staircase.”
    â€œDoing them up himself?”
    â€œHe’s a townie. What would he know about building work? No, he’s given the job to Armstrong, the Devizes firm. Comes here each weekend to check on the work.”
    â€œAny family?”
    â€œI wouldn’t know about that.” He looked away, across the field, to the new slate roof on the tied cottages. “I’ve seen a lady with him.”
    â€œA lady? What’s she like?”
    Mooney sighed, forced to think. “Dark-haired.”
    â€œAge?”
    â€œYounger than him.”
    â€œThe sale was in his name alone?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œIf you don’t mind, Mr Mooney, I’d like you to take another look at the corpse and see if you recognise anyone.”
    From the glimpse he’d had already, Mooney didn’t much relish another look. “If I don’t mind? Have I got a choice?”
    Some of the crop had been left around the body like a screen. The police had used one access path so as not to destroy evidence. Mooney pressed his fingers to his nose and stepped up. He peered at the bloated features. Ten days in hot weather makes a difference. “Difficult,” he said. “The hair looks about right.”
    â€œFor Jeremy White?”
    â€œThat reddish colour. Dyed, isn’t it? I always thought the townie dyed his hair. He weren’t so young as he wanted people to think he were.”
    â€œThe clothes?”
    Mooney looked at the pinstripe suit dusted faintly yellow from the crop. There were bullet holes in the jacket. “That’s the kind of thing he wore, certainly.”
    The inspector nodded. “From the contents of his wallet we’re pretty sure this is Jeremy White. Do you recall hearing any shots last time he was here?”
    â€œThere are shots all the time, specially at weekends. Rabbits. Pigeons. We wouldn’t take note of that.”
    â€œWhen did you see him last?”
    â€œTwo weekends ago. Passed him in the lane on the Sunday afternoon.”
    â€œAnyone with