Murder on the Short List Read Free Page A

him?”
    â€œThat dark-haired young lady I spoke of.”
    The inspector produced the wallet found on the body and took out a photo of a dark-haired woman in a blue blouse holding up a drink. “Is this her?”
    Mooney examined it for some time. He eyed the inspector with suspicion, as if he was being tricked. “That wasn’t the lady I saw.”
    There was an interval when the buzzing of insects seemed to increase and the heat grew.
    â€œAre you certain?”
    â€œPositive.”
    â€œTake another look.”
    â€œHer with the townie was definitely younger.”
    The inspector’s eyebrows lifted. “How much younger?”
    â€œA good ten years, I’d say.”
    â€œDid they come by car?”
    â€œThere was always a sports car parked in front of the cottages when he came, one of them BMW jobs with the open top.”
    â€œJust the one vehicle? The lady didn’t drive down in her own?”
    â€œIf she did, I’ve never seen it. When can I have my field back?”
    â€œWhen I tell you. There’s more searching to be done.”
    â€œMore damage, you mean.”
    M oney met Bernie Priddle with his dog the same evening coming along the footpath beside the hedgerow. Bernie had lived in one of the tied cottages until Mooney decided to sell it. He was in his fifties, small, thin-faced, always ready with a barbed remark.
    â€œYou’ll lose the whole of your crop by the look of it,” he said, and he sounded happier than he had for months.
    â€œI thought you’d turn up,” Mooney said. “Makes you feel better to see someone else’s misfortune, does it?”
    â€œI walk the path around the field every evening. It’s part of the dog’s routine. You should know that by now. I was saying you’ll lose your crop.”
    â€œDon’t I know it! Even if they don’t trample every stalk of it, they’ll stop me from harvesting.”
    â€œPeople are saying it’s the townie who was shot.”
    â€œThat’s my understanding.”
    â€œGood riddance, too.”
    â€œYou want to guard what you say, Bernie Priddle. They’re looking for someone to nail for this.”
    â€œMe? I wouldn’t put myself in trouble for some pipsqueak yuppie. It’s you I wouldn’t mind doing a stretch for, Mooney. I could throttle you any time for putting me out of my home.”
    â€œWhat are you moaning about? You got a council house out of it, didn’t you? Hot water and an inside toilet. Where’s your dog?”
    Priddle looked down. His Jack Russell had moved on, and he didn’t know where. He whistled.
    Over by the body, all the heads turned.
    â€œIt’s all right,” Mooney shouted to the policemen. “He was calling his dog, that’s all.”
    The inspector came over and spoke to Priddle. “And who are you exactly?”
    Bernie explained about his regular evening walk around the field.
    â€œHave you ever seen Mr White, the owner of the tied cottages?”
    â€œOn occasion,” Bernie said. “What do you want to know?”
    â€œEver seen anyone with him?”
    â€œLast time – the Sunday before last – there was the young lady, her with the long, black hair, and short skirt. She’s a good looker, that one. He was showing her the building work. Had his arm around her. I raised my cap to them, didn’t speak. Later, when I was round the far side, I saw them heading into the field.”
    â€œInto the field? Where?”
    â€œOver yonder. He had a coat on his arm. Next time I looked, they weren’t in view.” He grinned. “I drew my own conclusion, like, and walked on. I came right around the field before I saw the other car parked in the lane.”
    The inspector’s interest increased. “You saw another car?”
    â€œNice little Cherokee Jeep, it was, red. Do you want the number?”
    â€œDo you remember