Murder at Bunting Manor by Mosse Greg

Author:Mosse, Greg [Mosse, Greg]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781399715164
Google: G3TFzwEACAAJ
Amazon: B0C4XYFGVD
Barnesnoble: B0C4XYFGVD
Goodreads: 152262085
Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton
Published: 2023-11-09T06:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-FOUR

Maisie got rather breathless trudging up the hill – much more so than on her previous visit. She found her handkerchief and dabbed at her nose. It was beginning to run and her eyes felt scratchy.

‘Damn,’ she said, aloud.

She plodded on and found Jack and two other police officers at the scene of the tramp’s encampment. They must have been there for some time because the place had been entirely dismantled, the different elements set out in tidy piles. One of the policemen was taking photographs of individual items, using a camera equipped with a powerful flash. Jack was crouched down by the remains of the fire in its ring of stones. The second officer was working alongside him with a sieve to remove unconsumed objects, setting them aside in a cardboard box.

Jack must have heard her because he looked up and smiled. Just for a second, Maisie felt it was only the two of them there, smiling at each other. Then he spoke, gesturing to the scene.

‘Don’t come too close,’ he told her.

The spell was broken.

‘I won’t,’ she replied.

He stood up, moving lithely towards her, as if he had been up for hours and was full of the energy of the day. Maisie felt weary just watching him.

‘Jack, I think I have a cold. Better to keep your distance, perhaps,’ she told him. ‘Are you finding gruesome things?’

‘No,’ he said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Did you think that we would?’

‘I don’t know.’ Maisie sneezed.

‘Whisky, hot water, lemon juice, honey,’ he told her.

‘Good idea.’

‘And back to bed.’ Maisie felt a jolt. There was something rather too intimate in his suggestion and she didn’t know how to reply. Happily, Jack went on: ‘I was going to drop in on you both shortly. Is Mrs Pascal in?’

‘No, she’s gone out to the shop in Framlington. I don’t imagine she’ll be very long.’

‘I wonder . . .’ He stopped, looking at her meditatively. ‘I did promise, I suppose.’

‘Promise what?’

‘To bring you the preliminary results of the post-mortem examination.’

‘Yes?’

‘But do you really want me to tell you? Wouldn’t you rather wait for your aunt?’

‘Because she’ll hold my hand and make sure I don’t cry?’ asked Maisie, more abruptly than she meant.

‘No, I just thought we . . .’ He frowned. ‘Never mind. You’re not yourself.’

‘I’m quite myself, thank you. I just have a cold. I’m not a wilting flower.’

‘No,’ said Jack. ‘You’re not that.’

There was a moment of awkward silence.

How does he keep doing this, Maisie thought, making me feel unsure of who I am and what I want?

‘Sir?’ said the officer who was sieving the remains of the fire. ‘I think that’s everything.’

‘Excuse me.’ Jack walked away to look at all the objects in the cardboard box. Maisie followed him.

‘It’s what we thought it was, sir. And also, there’s this.’

With a pair of oversized tweezers, the officer held up the remains of a knife with a short wide blade, the handle entirely burnt away.

‘Is that the weapon used to kill her? Was she stabbed?’ she asked.

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