Murder at Vanmoor Village by Peter Jay Black

Author:Peter Jay Black [Black, Peter Jay]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-10-08T16:00:00+00:00

15

In the bistro’s kitchen, Sergeant Fry motioned for Ruth to turn around. “Hands behind your back.”

“Is this necessary?” Although, she did as he asked, not wanting to aggravate the situation further.

By his tone, Sergeant Fry wasn’t in any mood to muck about. “You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention now something which you later rely on in court.” He cuffed her. “Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

Unable to think of some immediate and clever way out of the predicament, and fighting not to let her cleithrophobia send Ruth into a blind panic, she allowed Sergeant Fry to lead her from the bistro.

As they headed down Vanmoor High Street, passersby muttered and pointed. No doubt they already had their suspicions that one of the strange visitors had murdered Bill, and now this walk of shame confirmed it in their minds.

As if to drive the point home, Ruth caught the odd word, like “killer,” “guilty,” and “hanging.”

What a charming bunch.

One elderly gentleman in a flatcap, his stooped form propped up with a walking cane, eyed Ruth and said in a sage tone, “I knew it. Makes perfect sense.”

She’d never laid eyes on the fellow, let alone given him cause to suspect her of a heinous crime.

Sergeant Fry kept a tight grip on Ruth’s arm, as though he expected her to break away in a desperate bid for freedom.

If she could escape the cuffs and disappear in a puff of smoke like David Copperfield, Ruth would have done that back in the kitchen, rather than being dragged through the street like a common criminal from the Dark Ages.

Quentin Strange, AKA Flamingo, stepped from the art gallery and glared at Ruth as they approached. “At it again? What has she done this time?”

“Never you mind.” Sergeant Fry led her past and then stopped dead in his tracks. He turned back. “What do you mean, again?”

Ruth cringed and gave Flamingo an imploring look.

“She tried to trick me,” he said. “Then stole something.”

“I most certainly did not.” Ruth was scandalised. “I would never—”

“Explain.” Sergeant Fry’s grip tightened on Ruth’s arm, but he kept his focus on Flamingo.

The art gallery owner lifted his nose into the air and sniffed. “I saw right through her subterfuge. You must wake up pretty early to catch me out.”

“Yes, yes,” Sergeant Fry said in an exasperated tone. “And what did this little sneak thief do, exactly?”

“How dare you,” Ruth said. “I never sneak.”

“She feigned illness. Preyed on my kind nature.” Flamingo glowered at her. “Tried to take something from my desk. I caught her red-handed.”

“I stole nothing,” Ruth said. “Check for yourself. I was looking for tissues. Preferably ones infused with balsam. Four-ply. Ultrasoft. I have a sensitive nose.”

Flamingo snarled, “A likely story.”

“I do,” Ruth said. “It goes all bright red and—”

“Come by later and fill out a report,” Sergeant Fry said to Flamingo. “We’ll add it to her list of charges.” Then he led Ruth away before she could argue.

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