Dead Shot by Wendy M Wilson

Author:Wendy M Wilson [Wilson, Wendy M]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wilson
Published: 2018-11-30T22:00:00+00:00

He left Ernest with his head in his hands, sitting on the front row of seats in the stands and ran back towards the tent. The smokers were still gathered outside, and the show inside continued. He could hear a choir now. What had happened to the man he’d seen? The Australian? Was he Bernard? What the hell was he going to do now? Wait for them to contact him?

“What’s up, Sergeant Hardy?” asked Todd. “You look sick. Do you need our help? All of us are sporty types. If you need us to chase someone down, just ask…”

“They’ve got my wife,” said Frank. “Someone has taken my wife…”

Mr. Todd dropped his cigarette and ground it out with his heel.

“Where? What can we do?”

He was at an impasse. He had no idea where else to start looking for Mette and it was too dark to do much anyway. A black cloud of grief was taking hold of his mind and he fought to keep it away. He knew one thing: if anything had happened to Mette it would all be over for him. He would shoot himself. He would go up to the blind in the high paddock, put his revolver in his mouth and pull the trigger. There was not point living without her. He’d scarcely been able to bear the death of his brother, had struggled with it for years; this would overwhelm him. He felt physically ill thinking about it.

In the tent, a man with a deep bass voice was singing a solo version of Men of Harlech, the words replaced by temperance language - something about ‘rally temperance men’. He felt a surge of strength from the music.

“Sergeant Hardy?” said Mr. Todd. “We’re here to help…just ask…”

He fought back from the depths. He had people here to help him. An army of his own against the bastards from Australia, or whoever it was who wanted a horse so much they’d taken his wife to get it. Why? What was so important about this particular horse? Had Mr. Milroy not told him the full story? Did Milroy even know the full story himself?

From the tent came a round of applause, followed by the singing of the national anthem. Crowds started to stream out, laughing and talking, many clutching blue ribbons.

The smokers had gathered in a semi-circle in front Frank, looking worried.

“What can we do?” asked Todd. “Should I fetch Constable Gillepsie?”

Frank nodded. Someone should. He pulled himself together. “Yes, if one of you wouldn’t mind. And Inspector James as well if you can find him. I sent him a note earlier but he can’t have received it. Start at the Clarendon Hotel. He’s staying there. And when you find him, tell him there’s a body in one of the houses out at the Scandi clearing. An old woman had her neck broken. A murder…”

“Phew. It’s a war,“ said one of the cricketers. “I’ll go. I’m the fastest runner on the team.”

“True,” said Todd, watching him leave. “Faster than me.

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