Act of Murder by Alan J. Wright

Author:Alan J. Wright [Wright, Alan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780857901996
Publisher: Birlinn

So, nothing unusual about the mixture Richard Throstle had obtained for his wife. The slightly excessive chloroform might explain why Georgina Throstle lay undisturbed while her husband was being butchered. Perhaps it was a blessing that she had lain senseless during that time.

But what was he to make of the asbestos dust found in the nose and around the throat? Had the murderer held something covered in asbestos to his face, ensuring the suffocation before mutilation? The suffocation hadn’t apparently been sufficient to kill the victim, just render him unconscious so that the villain could go about the ghastly operation freely.

He felt sure there hadn’t been anything remotely composed of asbestos in the room – but he would have the room checked once more.

He left the office and walked down the short flight of steps that led to the canteen. There he found Constable Bowery seated at a table drinking a mug of tea, holding court – as he usually did – with the younger and more impressionable constables.

‘Constable Bowery!’

Bowery spilled some of the tea on the wooden table. ‘You made me jump, sergeant.’

‘Good. Perhaps we can conclude the interviews with our main musketeer.’

Within minutes, they once again faced Billy Cowburn, who was by now looking cold and miserable.

‘Look,’ he said, putting his blackened hands together as if in prayer, ‘I chased the swine, an’ if I’d have caught him I’d’ve wrung his bloody neck. No question, mood I was in. But what would you’ve done, sergeant, eh? You come home an’ you find a bloody toff in your daughter’s bedroom an’ her half-naked! What did you think I’d do? Go down an’ make him a bacon butty?’

Slevin, hiding his amusement at the unlikely scenario, gave a grave shake of the head.

‘So I chased the bugger, halfway to Wigan. Then he jumps on a passin’ tram an’ all that swine does is give me a wave. Imagine that, eh? A bloody wave! I’d’ve shoved his arm up his arse sideways if I could’ve reached him. But I couldn’t.’

‘What about last night?’

‘I . . . give them bobbies the slip. Then I went up to Scholes like I said. We went on a bender, me an’ George an’ Rodge. I told ’em about the bastard I’d caught with our Vi.’

‘Where did you go?’

He let out an exasperated breath. ‘Started off in t’Windmill, then t’Roebuck, then th’Harp, then t’Crown an’ Sceptre, then t’Shamrock, then th’Angel . . . .then I lost track after that. Might’ve tried one in t’Clock Face farther down, but I’m not all that sure. I was a bit oiled by then.’

With over seventy public houses in Scholes, the three of them had no shortage of opportunities not only to get very drunk indeed, but also to devise some sort of brutal and bloodthirsty revenge on the defiler of Violet Cowburn. What was also significant was the drinking route these men took – they had started at the farther end of Scholes, but with each subsequent port of call they were moving closer to the town centre.

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