Murder in Hell's Corner by Amy Myers

Author:Amy Myers [Myers, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2018-06-14T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

‘I don’t believe in coincidence.’ Peter had obviously guessed her basic concern. ‘Was there something, anything, you felt Jack was holding back on when you first met him? I can’t see anything he told us at Tangmere that would have led to this.’

‘Yes. I still can’t pin down what or how. There was his outburst about Paul Stock at Tangmere, but Paul having made a pass at his wife hardly seems a motive for his killing Jack – especially since it happened years ago.’

‘But when you first met Jack?’

‘He answered my questions, more or less. But, as I told you, he was ambivalent. He was talkative about the pilots themselves, and encouraged us to meet them. Then he told me that they would be of more use over information on the aviation club members since the pilots could be discounted as suspects for Fairfax’s death.’

‘From your notes,’ he reminded her, ‘he hardly mentioned the club, although he must have researched that for his biography.’

‘What are you implying?’ she asked edgily.

‘That he was definitely trying to steer you away from 1940. All the more reason for your meeting with Sylvia Lee tomorrow, Georgia.’

Peter didn’t even glory in this small victory, but nevertheless Georgia was silenced. Had Jack done so purposely? And if so, why?

As she drove to Eynsford half an hour later, she found herself switching tack to Peter’s last comment hurled after her as she left. ‘Alan Purcell. Don’t forget him when you see Sylvia Lee.’ Or, she thought, Susan Hardcastle. Jack had given away that he’d at least met Purcell. Too fast, too fast, she warned herself. There should be speed cameras for case investigations as well as roads. First, concentrate on Jack himself. Somebody had killed him, and the priority was to discover why.

For once she wished she wasn’t on her own, as she drew up near Bramley House that Thursday morning. It looked all too familiar, except for the large mobile incident van parked opposite the house. Even the roses bloomed on regardless. There was no Susan popping up from behind the hedge now, however. Instead the door was open and a man, not scene-suited, which meant the main investigation must be over, was walking up to the gate. Thirties, weasel-faced, the sort who, like the cross-eyed terrier in Haden Shaw, would guard his territory.

‘Georgia Marsh? DI Pullman, Darenth Area. I gather you knew Hardcastle. You wrote that book about Wickenham, didn’t you?’

The eyes seemed to be drilling into her, and his tone of voice indicated that books were not only sidelines but full of fairy stories and a world away from his.

‘We did. My father was a Kent DCI, Stour Area.’ She needed to lay down credentials here. ‘Jack Hardcastle was helping us on a cold case we’re looking into.’

‘So Mike Gilroy said. Patrick Fairfax, 1975. I deal with facts like Gilroy. Have you any evidence that the Fairfax case has anything to do with his death, or is it just a hunch?’ He kept

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