Recalled to Death: A Martha Gunn Police Procedural (A Martha Gunn Mystery) by Priscilla Masters

Author:Priscilla Masters [Masters, Priscilla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781780106809
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2015-09-30T14:00:00+00:00

NINETEEN

Martha’s office had a formal, slightly sombre feel to it: mahogany bookshelves, a leather-topped mahogany desk, a large, bowed window which overlooked the town from afar, the spire of St Mary’s standing like a trophy tower. Her vibrant colouring – a throwback to Celtic roots – Welsh father and Irish mother – was at odds with both her position and the formality of the room. As Randall stood just inside the door, that was his thought. And he suddenly felt he would rather be meeting her somewhere else, somewhere less formal, where they would be on an even footing and could talk about subjects other than murder and death.

She caught his hesitation and bit her lip, uncertain what to say. She took a step towards him. He caught a waft of Chanel No. 5 and smiled. Not quite the non-conformist then.

‘Any news?’ she asked. ‘Have you found out who your man is yet?’ She stopped herself. ‘Or should I call him our man? He is our joint responsibility, Alex.’

He nodded. ‘I need a walk,’ he said, hardly realizing what he had just suggested. ‘Can you play hooky for a while?’

Slowly she nodded, perfectly aware that this was quite a step, something very much other than work. ‘It’s a lovely day, Alex,’ she said. ‘Why don’t we walk through The Quarry?’

The people of Shrewsbury were lucky enough to have their very own park right in the middle of town. Known as The Quarry, it contained an exquisite sunken garden planted by their ex-parks attendant – a man called Percy Thrower.

She gave Jericho a brief explanation of her departure and watched his face tighten in disapproval, but he said nothing.

And twenty minutes later, each clutching a Costa coffee, they found themselves on the wide path at the side of the sparkling Severn River, lime trees providing dappled shade, the waters shining silver, reflecting trees, the boat house and the Porthill footbridge, scene of many a school dare and responsible for two deaths that Martha had presided over. She shook herself. Must she connect everywhere with death, tragedy or felony?

They sat, like Derby & Joan, on the warm grass, not caring that it was slightly damp. And Alex Randall started unburdening himself about the case, telling her the latest development, describing the characterful woman who had told them all she knew about their tramp, that he had spent time living in her shed, that he’d dug her garden competently, that he had seemed to her to be cultured, that he appeared to have deliberately withheld his name for an unknown reason, as well as his cryptic phrases about having more than one life and being happy to remain nameless, amongst the dead. As he spoke he was aware that the murdered man was gradually being coloured in, coming to life, becoming a person, someone three-dimensional.

Moving, speaking, humming, living, working.

He looked at her. ‘How can he have had two lives?’

‘Well, it makes sense,’ Martha said. ‘In a way he has had two lives. His first as someone who went skiing, probably with family or friends, and the second as a lonely hobo.

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