The Knocker On Death's Door by Ellis Peters

Author:Ellis Peters
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: England, Mystery & Detective, Police, Fiction, George (Fictitious character), Large type books, Felse, Traditional British
ISBN: 9780786247448
Publisher: Chivers Press
Published: 2003-02-15T14:19:49.480000+00:00

They had to wait two hours more for the report on the recovered bullet. Sergeant Moon had been dispatched home for a well-earned rest and a brief look at his more regular responsibilities, and it was Detective Sergeant Brice who answered the telephone and handed the receiver across the table. “Here’s ballistics on the line, sir.”

“Hullo, what have you got for us?”

“It’s what you had for us,” corrected the cheerful, enthusiastic voice of the distant expert. “We don’t get many fired bullets in that sort of condition. Whoever fired it might have been deep-freezing it for posterity. What did you say it was in?”

“About six inches of medieval oak,” said George.

“Yes—splendid! If you were buried in that, George, you’d be there in good condition to hear the crack of doom and bob up fresh as a daisy. Well, this little job ought to penetrate about three inches of soft pine board at fifteen feet, which makes it pretty clear that it was fired from closer than that in this case—say not more than six to eight feet from the door. It’s a .25 ACP—6.35 millimeters—and fired from an automatic pistol. I think it ought to be good enough to identify the gun, with luck, supposing you ever find the right one out of the thousands there must be running around loose with this type of ammo in—even this long after the war!”

“I take it we’re lucky he—or they—didn’t just dig it out and dispose of it on the spot.”

“Hell’s own job getting it out of that lot. No, if it had to be covered up, then the knocker was probably the easiest way, as well as the most thorough. I bet your boy didn’t have any easy work recovering it. But odd, in a way, going to all that trouble, when you consider that this little fellow never was guilty of anything except being fired into a door.

No crime there—except maybe retaining a war souvenir without any legal right.”

“No,” agreed George, “no crime there. Yet we’ve got a couple of ’em now, murder and attempted murder, all because people got too inquisitive about that bit of misdated camouflage. Thanks, anyhow! Let us have it in writing when you can.”

“Right away. So long, George.”

George hung up, and sat back in his chair. “All right, then, that’s it. Come on, we’ll pick up Reynolds and make a move. The way things are developing, it’s high time we paid a formal visit on Robert Macsen-Martel, and took an official look at that cellar of his.”

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