The Coniston Case Read Free Page A

suspect!’ he crowed. ‘You’ve lost someone who’s on bail or tagged or something. Wow! Whoever said life in Cumbria was dull? It’s a thrill a moment aboot these here fells.’ His accent was recognisably local, albeit exaggerated for effect. In general he used standard English as insisted upon by his mother. Simmy, as an incomer, spoke with none of the Lake District tones, while Moxon and Melanie were detectable as Cumbrians as soon as they opened their mouths.
    ‘No, he is not a suspect,’ said Moxon firmly.
    ‘What then?’
    ‘If you must know, he’s a friend of a friend of mine. I believe his family when they say this is a real cause for concern.’ He turned to Simmy. ‘You definitely can’t say who ordered the flowers?’
    ‘No. Sorry. I really have no idea, and we’ve thrown the letter away. Melanie makes me log everything on the computer and not keep any paper.’
    Moxon rubbed his face and made a resigned grimace. ‘I’d better let you get back to work, then. Although it would appear that I’m not the only interruption.’ He gave Ben a severe look.
    Simmy waited for him to go, but he made no move. She felt an odd mixture of resignation and apprehension. ‘I do hope he’s all right,’ she offered.
    ‘So do I. Does this happen often – orders with no indication of who they’re from?’
    ‘Hardly ever, usually, but we’re getting a few this week, which Melanie thinks is probably quite normal for Valentine’s. Anyway, it was fully paid up, so I wasn’t worried. Lots of people don’t use banks. I thought maybe it was a child, actually – although the message didn’t sound like that, I suppose.’ She spoke jerkily, trying to justify herself at the same time as seeing the whole business through Moxon’s eyes.
    ‘Whoever it was got the wrong florist,’ said Melanie.
    Everyone looked at her. ‘Pardon?’ said Moxon.
    ‘There’s a florist in Coniston. People sending flowers to someone living there should use the nearest shop. It stands to reason.’
    ‘Establishment,’ said Ben softly.
    ‘It doesn’t, though,’ Simmy realised. ‘The letter was delivered by hand. I found it on the floor when I opened up on Monday. It’s a bit like booking a taxi, isn’t it? I mean – you’re never sure whether to call one from near where you live, or near where you’re going. Either way, they have todo the trip twice. It’s the same when you choose a florist, unless you do it online or by phone.’
    ‘Which almost everyone does,’ Melanie pointed out with dwindling patience.
    ‘All of which demonstrates that there was something very unusual about that order,’ said Ben.
    Simmy sighed. ‘I just thought it came from someone who isn’t in the system. Someone old-fashioned but quite ordinary. And because it’s Valentine’s, everybody wants to keep their identity a secret. The usual rules don’t entirely apply.’
    ‘Dream on, Sim,’ scorned Ben. ‘This wasn’t a Valentine, was it? It’s obviously someone who didn’t want to be identified for totally unromantic reasons. And you can’t pretend it’s ordinary at all. Ordinary things are not investigated by detective inspectors, for one thing. And even if he is a friend of a friend, grown men going missing don’t warrant any police involvement at all without something really suspicious to attract their interest.’
    Simmy saw Moxon’s hands twitch, as if he would very much like to put them around the boy’s neck and squeeze.
    ‘Hush, Ben,’ Simmy warned him. ‘You don’t know anything about it. And why are you here, anyway?’ she asked him. ‘It’s Wednesday.’
    He gave her a withering look. ‘Free period, then some bod giving us more climate propaganda. I should stay and ask awkward questions by rights, but I didn’t fancy it.’
    ‘Propaganda?’ Simmy blinked.
    ‘Oh, he doesn’t believe in man-made climate change. Surely you knew that,’ Melanie explained. ‘Haven’t you heard the story about his mum and the solar