Dead at Third Man by G R Jordan

Author:G R Jordan [G R Jordan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Carpetless Publishing
Published: 2020-07-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Hope spun the wheel and let the car slide around the corner and down the narrow road to the set of grey council housing situated in a cul-de-sac. In its day, the little enclave might have been a catch, a smart home for those who did not have much in the way of money but a lot of ambition. Now, the lustre of fresh exterior pebble dash was gone, the metal railings to the door faded, and the rooves were green with algae.

Number sixty-two was indicated with an upside down six, but Hope could tell it was the house of Alice Degg, a wicket logo stuck above the letterbox. Trying the bell, she resorted to a loud knock with her fist when the ringer did not sound. But no one answered. Hope looked around before seeing the figure arriving along the road, legs pumping hard as the young woman sprinted.

Alice popped an earphone from her left globe and said, ‘Hi,’ before thrusting a key into the front door. She was breathless and simply waved at Hope to follow her. Inside, Hope heard a tap running and water being taken on. Unsure what to do, she remained in the hall and stared into the small living room where she saw pictures of men in cricket gear from around the world. And then above the mantel piece she saw a woman, blonde-haired, holding a helmet complete with grill. It was dark blue and had three lions as a logo.

‘Sorry,’ said Alice, ‘go in, find a seat. I was just keeping the exercise going. It’s not easy to know what to do but I thought a little run would help. I hear there’s to be a memorial service tomorrow night. Did anyone tell you? I don’t know if you guys go to that sort of thing or not. Happens in the movies, doesn’t it? You stand there looking to see who flinches.’

Hope smiled, realising that the girl had got to the end of her ramble. She was also standing, sweating, in the middle of the room like she did not know what was expected next. The room itself was tidy, everything in its place, from the iPod dock to the smart television in the corner. There was a two-seater sofa which Hope occupied and felt she was possibly the first to try it, and a single armchair, aimed at the screen.

‘We sometimes attend,’ said Hope, ‘but it’s not usually that dramatic. In this case we probably will because tensions are high, and a memorial service is no place for trouble. I take it you live alone.’

‘I live with Brian Lara and all the other cricketers. Who needs more?’

‘I’m afraid I have some distressing news,’ said Hope, ‘maybe you should take a seat.’

‘Why, what’s happened?’

Hope stood up and gently pushed the girl into the armchair. Once she was seated, Hope knelt in front of her, fixing her eye. ‘Jackie is dead.’

‘What?’

‘Jackie is dead. He was murdered today.’

‘No!’ The quiet demeanour was broken by

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