Murder in the Manse by Penelope Sotheby

Author:Penelope Sotheby [Sotheby, Penelope]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jonmac Limited
Published: 2018-05-15T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

The next morning, Inspector Crothers sat in his office, a cup of cold tea on his desk. He was lost in the details of the investigation of the murder of the Reverend Forsyth. He was calling it a murder because there could be no other explanation for the death. Forensics had issued a report that suggested that Reverend Forsyth had not slipped or lost his footing, but was pushed with considerable force down the stairs.

The report was not official and would require a full autopsy, but the clues were present denoting foul play. He reached for his tea and found it had grown nearly undrinkable. It was now as cold as ice tea, that wretched drink only Americans and hip Londoners seem to like. Still, he needed the caffeine so he drank it down quickly as he could as he read the report.

A knock at his office door interrupted his train of thought.

“Come in,” he said as he looked up from his laptop and saw Sergeant Bob Webster in his doorway.

“Inspector, sir, whenever you are ready, I have just finished the witness statements.”

“Good work Sergeant. Give me ten minutes.”

“Yes sir. I will be at my desk,” answered the Sergeant.

Inspector Crothers watched Bob leave and thought about his conversation with Diane. Diane never said a derogatory word about Bob, but he was able to derive her meaning from the few words she spoke about the man. Sergeant Bob Webster was reliable and a genuine man. His good nature put everyone at ease.

It was not possible to imagine him capable of hurting anyone or even getting angry. The Inspector knew well enough not to misjudge Bob’s easygoing demeanor. In a pinch, he was sure the man could be formidable; after all, he had served in the army. Inspector Crothers suspected that past Bob’s warm smile was a man capable of holding his own, although he hoped that would not be necessary.

The Inspector finished reading the report, then saved the file and powered off his computer. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and met Bob at his desk.

“Ready, sir?”

“Ready, but we must make one stop before we interview Mr. Kirkland.”

“What is that sir?”

“We must stop somewhere so I can get a decent cup of tea.”

“Yes sir, I could use one myself.”

An hour later, Inspector Crothers and Sergeant Webster drove into a posh section of Shrewsbury. The houses were large, with perfectly managed lawns facing small parks of tidy walkways, fountains and pruned trees. As they drove deeper into the neighborhood, the houses became grand and increasingly large.

Inspector Crothers turned the car into a circular drive in front of a French chateau-inspired residence. The light-colored stone and ornamental architecture were garish, and the house looked out of place as it stood beside Tudor and Georgian inspired homes. In truth, the house was frightfully vulgar, but he suspected it must have cost a fortune.

The two men walked up the carved front steps and rang the buzzer. The large wooden door opened to reveal a short, round woman wearing a maid’s uniform.

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