Cherringham--Still Dead by Matthew Costello

Author:Matthew Costello [Costello, Matthew; Richards, Neil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-3-7325-5316-7
Publisher: Bastei Entertainment
Published: 2020-10-19T16:00:00+00:00

*

Two hours later, and Jack knew a lot more about birdwatching –even the names of some of the birds that adorned the walls.

But Pettifer’s secrets?

Seemed — outside of this passion for birding — Arnold Pettifer really didn’t have any. Or, at least, if he did he was damn good at hiding them.

The bookshelves were a classic library of bird-identification: the Helm guides in various editions, and more recent books, including Princeton’s Birds of Southeast Asia.

Many of the books and magazines dated back to the sixties when Jack guessed Arnold had taken up the hobby.

One of the filing cabinets contained box after box of slides, prints and negatives — all photos of birds that Arnold himself had clearly taken all around the world. From the backgrounds, they seemed to be mostly from North Africa and the Middle East.

Other fat folders contained detailed and well-used maps and guides to Morocco, Egypt, Tunisia — even Syria and Iraq.

Certainly, this all showed another side to Pettifer.

Jack flicked through the files, revealing what appeared to be an excessively well-organised collection of receipts and handwritten itineraries.

A quick look at some of the brochures for tours and hotels showed that Arnold liked to combine his work trips with extra weeks staying in specialist “birders” hostels, usually alone. But occasionally, as the photos revealed, he was in the company of what must have been local guides or birdwatchers.

The other filing cabinet was filled with personal papers — from passport applications to insurance and medical papers.

But then, flipping through what appeared to be mundane stuff, Jack saw travel documents for a trip to Germany a few months back. Below it, a medical clinic’s name.

Had there been a problem? Why go all the way to Germany?

Jack made a note to pass the information to Sarah to check online.

Otherwise, there were only local tax assessments, and utility bills for the last ten years. Expenses. A couple of thick files of correspondence — but all of it either work- or bird-related.

Absolutely nothing at all that indicated Arnold had either friends or family. And certainly nothing that threw any light on his death.

Jack got up from the desk, rolled the executive chair back into position — just as Arnold would have left it, he thought — and took one final look around the room.

Despite this glimpse into Pettifer’s world, Jack felt disappointed. Two hours — not quite wasted, but hardly fruitful.

But then he stopped.

His eye drawn to the carriage clock. Unlike everything else in the room, it was modern, shiny, ornate. And not wood, but clearly a shiny plastic.

Kind of an odd choice for a man who preferred simplicity, functionality.

And for this room, filled with prints and files about his travels, it seemed out of place.

Unless perhaps it had been a gift? An award from the distillery?

He walked over to it, lifted it from the mantel. It was no award: it was cheap, and dime store.

It had a tiny door panel at the back. He opened the door.

Inside — the compartment for a battery.

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