The Fifth Grave by Rob Jones

Author:Rob Jones [Jones, Rob]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-12-30T22:00:00+00:00

*

“No alibi,” Innes said. “Significant?”

“She has an alibi,” Jacob said, “just no one to confirm it.”

“You think she had anything to do with it?”

He weighed it up. “Spargo said the impact on the back of the skull was pretty hefty. She looked pretty fragile to me.”

“Not sufficient upper body strength, you mean?”

“I don’t mean just that. I meant mentally fragile. Smashing in the back of someone’s skull is not something just anyone can do, or even be driven to in a moment of rage. And remember the post-mortem report said a weapon was used. Some kind of metal bar, so a woman or a man with weak upper body strength would be physically capable of doing what we all saw yesterday up in Four Sisters.”

They were walking deeper into the woods, moving south as the landscape began to slope upwards to the ridge beyond. Another few minutes of mulch and bracken and ivy and mud they turned a corner in the dense pine forest and spied two more lodges either end of a fork in the path.

“That’s Wickham’s to the right and Everett’s to the left,” Jacob said, turning to the keen, aspiring detective. “We’ll split and save some time – crooked Harley Street surgeon or washed-up druggy TV star?” He looked at her with sharp, cobalt eyes. “I know, I know… the agony of choice.”

“He’s not washed-up,” she said defensively. “I was a big fan when I was younger.”

“You still are younger,” he said. “And that’s exactly why I don’t want you to interview him. You speak with Wickham and I’ll talk with Everett.”

She looked disappointed. “I was hoping to meet Richard!”

“The very fact you refer to him by his first name is enough for me. Off you go.”

He watched as she pushed her hands into her coat pockets and padded away through the chilly air to Wickham’s lodge, head tucked down in her scarf and obviously upset not to be meeting one of her favourite television stars. Turning away from the icy wind he made his way carefully through the final stretch of woods before reaching Lodge No. 6. As he drew nearer, an eddy of wind whipped around on the path, lifting a cloud of dead leaves up over the path and blasting him with another wave of icy air.

When Everett opened the door, Jacob barely recognised him from his TV work but had to ask the familiar question all the same.

“Mr Richard Everett?”

He scowled at him. “If you’re press I’ll ruin this place.”

Jacob suppressed a sigh and showed his ID. “Can we have a word?”

The burnt-out star was gaunt and unshaven. Some silver in the stubble. Stone-washed jeans with a rip in the right knee and a casual black shirt. He leaned against the doorjamb and sighed. “What the hell about? I haven’t done drugs for years.”

“A man was murdered very close to here yesterday morning and I was hoping I could speak with you about it for a moment or two.”

“One moment.” He leaned away from the door so Jacob could enter.

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