Irrefutable Evidence by David George Clarke

Author:David George Clarke [Clarke, David George]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781912406135
Publisher: Gupole Publications
Published: 2016-02-02T22:00:00+00:00

She had decided to try the address for Amelia Taverner first. Her satnav guided her through the village and out onto a quiet road that followed a meandering stream. After about half a mile, when the soft-spoken male voice announced that she had reached her destination, she stopped the car and looked up to see three detached cottages set back from the road. They were on rising ground that would give them plenty of protection from flooding if the nearby stream developed ambitions of becoming a river, and well separated from each other by substantial and picturesque gardens. Number seventeen, Amelia Taverner’s home according to Jennifer’s searches, was the middle cottage of the three.

She had decided against knocking on the door and asking for directions. That seemed a bit lame when there was a perfectly good visitors centre back in the village, although if Amelia Taverner turned out to look like a serial killer, she could always revert to that story. The problem was she didn’t have any clue as to what a serial killer might look like, especially a female one. Piercing blue maniacal eyes? A bloodthirsty leer? Jennifer shuddered and put on the plain-glass, black-rimmed spectacles she’d decided to wear to help with the navy-blue suit that she hoped made her look like the bank employee she was going to claim to be. She was carrying a soft briefcase slung over her head and shoulders with a long strap — she wanted to keep both hands free, just in case.

The entrance to number seventeen was straight out of every painting of an English country cottage and garden. A metal trellis covered in large pink and red roses formed an archway that led onto a paving stone path bordered by more rose bushes, the blooms spectacularly large, the soft yellows and creams alternating with vivid, crisp whites. Their perfume hung in the air as the morning sun, filtered through the abundant foliage of nearby trees, painted a dancing light across them. Jennifer gazed at the scene in disbelief, doubts about the accuracy of her online research increasing by the second. This setting was totally incompatible with a cold-blooded killer, so despite what the search engines had told her, there must be another Amelia Taverner somewhere else in the country. However, now she was here, she might as well rule this one out.

She was about to knock on the cottage’s powder blue front door when it opened and an old lady appeared, a wicker basket over her left arm and a pair of pruning secateurs in her right hand. Jennifer eyed the secateurs with some alarm.

The old lady stopped abruptly and looked up at her.

“Oh, my dear, you gave me a fright; I didn’t hear the gate. I told Martin not to oil it; the squeak was quite useful, you know, announced any visitors I might have, not that there are many. May I help you? You look rather puzzled.”

Jennifer stared at the woman in surprise. She was slightly built and appeared to be well into her eighties.

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