Murder in Admonishment: A Doyle & Acton Mystery by Anne Cleeland

Murder in Admonishment: A Doyle & Acton Mystery by Anne Cleeland

Author:Anne Cleeland [Cleeland, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-02-28T07:00:00+00:00


CHAPTER 21

He’d sent word to The Remnant; there would be no sales this week. Everyone stay quiet. Stay quiet and pray.

Once at the recycling center, Doyle and Williams approached the man who was slouched on a stool behind the battered counter—a lanky, tattooed fellow who looked as though he’d worn the same denim jacket every day for several years without a wash—and introduced themselves.

“What’s this?” the man asked with some alarm. “Never say there’s another complaint about the dogs? If you don’t want to get your arse bit, then don’t climb the fence.”

“No,” Doyle reassured him, and made a mental note to avoid the yard. “We’re homicide detectives, and we’d like to know if you recognize this woman.” She pulled-out Mallory Flynn’s photo, and turned it toward him.

“Nah—never seen that bird before,” he replied, after squinting at the photo. “Above my touch.”

In a firm tone, Williams said, “We think she may have been involved in a drug-running rig. Take another look—are you certain?”

“Hey, now,” the fellow said, much affronted by the insinuation. “I run a clean shop.”

“You don’t sell drugs?” asked Williams, for Doyle’s benefit.

“No,” the fellow repeated adamantly. “You lot shouldn’t be harassing me—I’m saving the environment, here.”

“And much appreciated,” Doyle assured him. She then showed him the photo of the other figure. “Can you help us identify this person?”

Again, the man squinted. “It looks a bit like Yandra, maybe?”

Doyle stared at him in astonished silence for a moment, and then managed to find her voice. “Yandra Corso?”

He shook his head, still scrutinizing the photo. “Dunno her last name. She’s started coming around, once in a while—wears that hoodie, when she comes in, like she’s ashamed to be seen. It does look a bit like her—hard to tell.” He flipped the photo back onto the counter. “I’d be surprised to hear she’s doing drugs, though—she’s a prim-and-proper type o’ bird.” He shot a glance at Williams. “Gave it a go, but she wasn’t having it.”

Doyle, however, was struggling mightily with this surprising revelation, and the rather ominous prospect that Corso may have been the last person to see Flynn alive—could she have killed her? Was that the reason Acton had called her in on the case—to cover-up her own crime? It would fit-in with the scolding, certainly; could it possibly be that Acton did have feelings for Corso, and was helping her off the hook?

Stop it, she commanded herself abruptly; for the love o’ Mike, lass, pull yourself together and act like a detective—Acton doesn’t know who killed Flynn, and so that theory is flawed six ways to Sunday.

In an attempt to put herself back on track, Doyle asked the fellow, ““Why does Yandra come ’round here?”

The man raised his brows at Doyle, and explained as though speaking to a simpleton, “She brings-in bottles, lady.”

There was a small silence, and then Williams stepped in, since he could see that Doyle was at a loss for words. “Does she live around here?”

The man shrugged. “Dunno. We don’t take personal information unless the person brings in hazardous materials.



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