THE FIRE BABY an absolutely gripping and unputdownable crime mystery by JIM KELLY

Author:JIM KELLY [KELLY, JIM]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Joffe Books Mystery, Crime Thriller, Suspense Fiction
Published: 2024-09-11T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Four

Dryden stood alone in the graveyard of St Matthew’s, and looking at his shoes in the dust, observed that he had no shadow. The sun beat down vertically on Black Bank Fen for Maggie Beck’s funeral. Despite the discovery of the corpse in the pillbox the fen was deserted. Andy Newman’s team had finished their trawl for clues and were now out interviewing Johnnie Roe’s friends, relatives and lovers. The pillbox body lay in a mortuary at Cherry Hinton, its chest torn open by the pathologist’s knife, its dull eyes sightlessly open to the white-tiled ceiling.

The funeral cortège had left Black Bank Farm a few minutes earlier. He could see it now zigzagging towards St Matthew’s. A brief ceremony had been held on the farm first — he’d checked the details with Samuel H. Gotobed; Undertakers. Private burial. No flowers. Donations to Cancer Research. Humph had parked the Capri under a stand of lime trees by the churchyard gates and stood beside the cab, a mark of respect only Dryden could truly appreciate.

By the time the hearse crunched to a halt a thin layer of red peat dust had taken the shine off the immaculate paintwork. The heat was pulsatingly intense. A trickle of cool sweat set out across Dryden’s forehead from the thick black hair above. He thought it was a good day to bury Maggie Beck. No splash. No clawing slurp of dark peaty water over polished pine. It was the first burial at St Matthew’s since Maggie’s husband, Don, more than twenty years earlier. The newly dug grave lay open next to those of Maggie’s mother and father, which, according to the stone, also contained the small corpse of Matty Beck, aged two weeks. ‘Even stone can lie,’ said Dryden, touching the warm marble.

Estelle rode in the first limousine, alone, her black, tailored shirt the only concession to funeral etiquette. Her shoulders were hunched in a silhouette of sadness. The second car carried a woman who had to be helped into a wheelchair. She wore a small pillbox black hat and veil, which had been fashionable in at least three different decades. The rest of the funeral party walked behind the cars led by a priest in white and black. A dozen farm workers followed in ill-fitting suits, their heads bowed by the heat rather than grief. But no Lyndon. Dryden considered his emotional state. The last time they’d talked, the anger had been visible. Anger at Maggie for giving her son away. Bewilderment as to the reason for that betrayal. Determination to find some sort of justice amidst the mess that his life had become. And Estelle? What part did his half-sister have to play in the rest of his life? He’d felt a distance between them, a fracture opened up by Maggie’s deathbed confession.

Estelle saw Dryden as she walked to the graveside and seemed to shrink further into herself at the sight. At their first meeting Dryden had detected anxiety and anger; now she

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