Unti Lucy Black Novel #3 Read Free Page A

Had his death been suspicious, he would have been subject to a postmortem and his chest would have carried the telltale Y incision marks.
    â€œAnd no signs of violence on the body,” the doctor added. “The wounds we can see are consistent with those made during the embalming process.”
    Lucy moved across to where the man’s clothes lay piled on a chair next to the table. She lifted his jacket and, opening it, patted through the pockets. She folded back the jacket, examining the label protruding from the inside pocket.
    â€œLooking for his name? Is it not just schoolkids who have their names on their clothes?”
    Lucy nodded. “He’s old. My father is in here and they have his name written on all his labels so nothing gets lost or mixed up. I thought maybe it might’ve been the same with him, if he’s been in a home or something.”
    As she folded the jacket she noticed, for the first time, a small insignia on the breast pocket of a small golden castle, with, beneath it, two oak leaves. Under that were the letters “PC,” divided by a thin diagonal.
    â€œCity of Derry Golf Club,” Elma said, pointing to the logo. “He must have been a past captain. They give them a blazer when they finish their year. You see the PC?”
    Lucy examined it more closely now, seeing that the thin diagonal was, in actual fact, a golf club.
    â€œHow did you know that?” she asked, bemused.
    â€œI was a ladies’ captain in Donegal,” she said. “I know the logo. They’ll be able to tell you if any of their past captains have died recently. Being captain was clearly important to him, if he’d wanted to be buried in the club blazer.”

 
    Chapter Five
    L UCY CONSIDERED DRIVING up to the golf club on her way home; it lay just a few miles past Prehen Park on the road toward Strabane, but glancing at the clock on the dashboard display she realized it would probably already be closed for the evening. That, and the stench of the sediment mud still spattered on her clothes, drove her home for a shower instead. She reasoned that she would call in the morning, when she might have more luck in speaking to someone who would be able to help her. Then she would report it on to Mark Burns, the Chief Super of CID in the city. Let them deal with it then. Her curiosity needed only to know the dead man’s name, having been involved, in a manner of speaking, in his recovery from the river.
    The house smelt musty when she opened the door, a combination of the heat building inside all day and the aged furniture which had been bought by her father almost twenty years earlier, and which she had not replaced. She opened some of the windows downstairs to air the place out a little.
    She stripped off and, after bundling her clothes into the washing machine, climbed into the shower. She was just drying herself when she heard someone knocking at her front door. Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was already past eleven.
    Pulling on her dressing gown, she padded downstairs and peered through the peephole installed in the door. Standing outside was one of her neighbors, a man called Dermot who lived in a house opposite hers. She’d met him a few times; once he’d removed graffiti off her gable wall for her. Beyond that, and the occasional wave and smile as they passed in their cars, she didn’t really know him. She didn’t even know his wife’s name, or those of his children, of whom there seemed to be quite a number.
    She opened the door the few inches allowed by the security chain. Dermot smiled, in preparation of greeting, then seemed to notice that she was wearing her dressing gown and blushed. He wore a sweat-­darkened gray T-­shirt and running shorts.
    â€œLucy. I’m really sorry for bothering you,” he said.
    â€œIt’s fine,” Lucy said. “Is something wrong?”
    Dermot glanced across furtively at his own house, then