Murder is in the Air by Frances Brody

Murder is in the Air by Frances Brody

Author:Frances Brody
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CROOKED LANE BOOKS


Chapter Twenty-Eight

The speedy arrival of the fire brigade took us by surprise. Sergeant Moon must have told them not to have their bell ringing.

Five men got down from the engine. They were wearing heavy duty protective clothing and boots. We watched them put on gasmasks before entering the building.

Phil simply stood and stared. He then came walking towards me. ‘It’s Joe isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

He put his hands to his head, as if he might tear out his hair. ‘Joe, Joe, what have you done now?’ He followed the firemen to the door.

‘Wait!’ I stopped him. ‘Let the firemen do their work.’

‘Does he need a doctor, the ambulance?’

‘The ambulance is on its way.’ The image came back to me of the body. I did not like to tell him that it was far too late for a doctor, but I saw from Jopling’s face that he already knew that.

Moments later, Sergeant Moon came from the building. He spoke to Jopling. ‘Is Mrs Finch at the garden party?’

Phil said, ‘No. Yvonne isn’t one for garden parties.’

‘Right. I’ll go and see her.’

‘Let me come,’ Phil said. ‘Joe’s dead?’

‘Wait here for the ambulance, Phil. I’ll break the news to Mrs Finch.’

Phil and I waited in silence. I need not have stayed but it seemed right that we should be there, to see Joe brought out.

The ambulance drew into the yard alongside the fire engine. Two stretcher bearers climbed out of the back.

‘Where will you take Mr Finch?’ I asked.

The older one answered, ‘Harrogate Infirmary.’ He put on a mask.

The younger one said, ‘It’ll be Ripon. Pathologist is there today.’

The driver turned the ambulance around, ready to leave the way he had entered.

Phil and I went to stand by the door. After a few minutes he went inside saying, ‘I’ll hold it open for them.’

Joe’s body, covered by a heavy tarpaulin, was lifted into the ambulance. One of the bearers sat alongside the stretcher. The other went round to sit beside the driver. Slowly, the ambulance drove out of the gate and into the lane. It came to a sudden halt. A woman had leapt out in front of it.

She had dark curly hair and wore a blue dress with a square neck. Now that woman was bashing the vehicle’s bonnet hard enough to crack her knuckles.

‘I want to see my husband! You’re not to take him away.’

I hurried towards her. The driver was visibly shaken. He clutched the steering wheel and stared ahead. His mate got out of the passenger seat and walked round.

The woman was sobbing now and shaking. I put my arm around her. Where was everyone? Who had let her come rushing from the house like this?

The ambulanceman spoke softly. ‘Sorry, Mrs Finch. We have to take Mr Finch to hospital.’

She made a bitter sound from somewhere deep inside, a cry of rage or pain. ‘To make him better?’

‘We have to find out how he died. You’ll be able to see him.’

‘I want to be with him. You’re not taking him from me.



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