The Bones in the Attic Read Free

bee’s knees when I was living there. Sheer ignorance, I suppose. Now, are you the owner of this house?”
    â€œThat’s right. As of last Friday.”
    â€œWho was the seller?”
    â€œMan called Carl Farson. Son of the actual owner, Cuthbert Farson, who’s a man of nearly ninety.”
    â€œSo the son’s got power of attorney, has he?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œAny idea how long the father lived here, if he did?”
    â€œNo idea, but he did live here. I met the son briefly at the estate agents’. He’s a man of around sixty himself, and he said he didn’t grow up in the house, though he visited his dad here often.”
    â€œI see. Who were the estate agents handling the sale?”
    â€œSewell and Greeley, in Pudsey.”
    â€œRight. So you were just looking around, were you?”
    â€œYes, with a decorator, name of Tony Tyler. We were planning what needed doing, and wondering whether the attic could be used as a bedroom or a games room. I’m beginning to think we’d better put any plans like that on hold for a bit.”
    â€œYes. The kids are bound to find out.”
    â€œAnd children have very long memories,” said Matthew thoughtfully. “About some things, anyway.”
    â€œThey do. Looked to me, at a glance, as if the attic hadn’t been much used.”
    â€œThat was our impression. May be one end, near the trapdoor, had had a few tea chests there, or ordinary luggage, or just this and that. It was less dusty there. But anybody clearing them out wouldn’t necessarily go to the far end, where there’s no flooring, in fact, there’d be no reason for them to do that at all. We only went because we were wondering about this bedroom.”
    â€œI’m sure you’re right. Now—oh, that looks like the team.” Outside two police cars were drawing up in the lane. “There’s not much you can do here for the moment, Matt. Could I have a home and a work telephone number for you?”
    â€œSure. Home is 2574 945 and at Radio Leeds it’s 2445 738.”
    â€œRight. I’ll be in contact as soon as I know anything. If I get your partner, she’ll know about it, will she?”
    â€œAileen’s away at the moment. I plan to tell the children tonight if circumstances are right.”
    â€œFine.” Charlie opened the door to the forensics team and directed them up to the attic. He was silent until he was sure they were well out of earshot, then he turned to Matt.
    â€œIn confidence, Matt: if we’re right that this was a child, but the bones have been up there a long while, this is not likely to be a high-priority investigation.” A grimace passed over Matt’s face at the thought of the child’s brief life being considered of so little account, its death—its murder, or whatever it turned out to be—passed over so casually. “I know, I know,” said Peace. “It’s sad, and I know what I’d feel if I’d made the discovery. It’s a question of priorities, of the likelihood of getting results, of police resources and budgets. You’re into news gathering. You’ll know all about the pressures on us. I’d be willing to bet the best we can hope for is putting a name to him or her. OK, I hope we can do better than that, but I’d be wrong to make any promises.”
    â€œRight,” said Matt with a sigh. “I’ll be off.”
    â€œGood to have met you,” said Charlie, shaking hands. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I have any concrete information. And of course I’ll tell you the moment the forensics people have finished and the house is your own again.”
    Matt thanked him, but a flash through his brain asked the question whether the house would ever be his own. He put the thought from him. Of course it would. It would have to. He slipped out the back door, dodging another carload of