None The Wiser: A Detective Mark Turpin novel by Rachel Amphlett

Author:Rachel Amphlett [Amphlett, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781916098893
Publisher: Saxon Publishing

Chapter Twenty-Five

A steady downpour had set in by the time Mark followed Jan out to the car park.

She dashed over to the pool car, threw her umbrella onto the back seat and started the engine as he opened the door, the vents in front of the windscreen on full blast while she tried to clear the condensation.

‘Why does it always have to rain when the boys have PE?’ she said. ‘I was hoping to get away with not having to do laundry after work tonight.’

He smiled, recalling the days he would collect his daughters from school with damp clothes bundled into school bags that would bear the stench for days afterwards, but said nothing.

Instead, he settled in for the ride as Jan pointed the car towards Upper Benham, the traffic lighter now that the commuter rush of the morning had passed, and he spent the journey consulting his notes from the morning briefing.

The car park of the White Horse had turned into a quagmire by the time she braked next to the side entrance to the pub, and Mark glanced across at the boundary in the hedgerow that led to the church.

Any remaining evidence would be washed away by now, but he had a feeling the team of CSIs wouldn’t have discovered anything further.

Their killer had been too well prepared.

He held open the door for Jan, then followed her through the maze of tables and chairs to the bar where Terry Benedict stood chatting to an older man perched on a stool.

A mottled greyhound clambered to its feet as they approached, and Mark held out his hand for the ageing dog to sniff.

‘She’s friendly,’ said the man.

Mark smiled. ‘Most greyhounds are, aren’t they?’

‘What can I do for you, detectives?’ said Benedict, reaching out for a glass and polishing it with a tea towel that had been draped over his shoulder.

‘Mind if we have a quick word?’

‘I’m serving at the moment. I’m here on my own until six o’clock.’

Mark raised an eyebrow. ‘It won’t take long.’

‘Go on, Terry. I’ll keep an eye on the bar,’ said the older man, and took a sip from his pint. ‘I’ll give you a shout if anyone comes in.’

Resigned, the landlord pointed at a table some way from the bar. ‘Have a seat, then.’

Mark waited until they’d settled, and then held out the photograph of Philip Baxter taken from his personnel file provided by the diocesan office that had been chosen for the media release over the weekend.

‘Recognise this man?’

‘Is this the other priest who I heard was killed?’

‘Yes. Did you ever see him and Seamus together?’

‘No. Not in here, nor over at the church – mind you, I wasn’t a regular visitor over there. Not Catholic, see?’

‘We’ve got a list of your regulars who were here that Saturday night, as well as some other people who were known to you and your staff, but was there anyone who you hadn’t seen before you might have gotten a name for?’

Benedict lowered his gaze and stared at the floor.

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