Читать книгу Exham-on-Sea Murder Mysteries 1-3 - Frances Evesham - Страница 19

‘Mrs Thomson?’ Libby rapped on the door. The light was on in the house and she could hear the TV. Mrs Thomson must have turned the sound up. Libby banged again, harder, and pressed the bell, keeping her thumb on the buzzer, but no one came.

Mandy spoke from behind Libby's shoulder. ‘I'll go around the back.’ She disappeared. Libby kept up the banging and ringing, but no one came. Where was Bear? He should be barking his head off by now.

Maybe Mrs Thomson had gone away. She might be visiting a friend, or a sister.

‘Libby. Get help.’ Mandy was back, panting. ‘I looked through the window. I think she's had a fall.’

Libby dialled 999, hand shaking, remembering the last time she'd had to ring the police, on Tuesday. ‘Fire, police or ambulance?’

‘Ambulance. Police. Both.’ Heart pounding, Libby ran with Mandy to the back of the house and peered through the kitchen window. The room gave nothing away: clean, neat and as tidy as before; plates stacked on the draining board; tea towels folded over the sink to dry. Mandy grabbed Libby's arm and pointed. The door to the hall stood ajar, and through the gap, Libby caught a flash of green. She groaned. Mrs Thomson's slippers. She'd been wearing them when Libby visited.

The door was locked. Libby shook it, but it held fast. She stood back, struggling to stay calm and sum up the problem. A pane of glass ran down the middle of the door. Libby gripped her phone in both hands and smashed it hard, into the panel. Broken shards clattered to the kitchen floor. She elbowed jagged fragments inwards, pulled the sleeve of her jacket down round her wrist, and slipped her arm through the door. The tips of her fingers touched the key. Grunting, she forced her shoulder further in, more splinters tinkling to the ground, until she could grasp the key between thumb and finger and turn it in the lock.

Praying Mrs Thomson hadn't shot the bolt across from the inside, Libby leaned on the handle. To her relief, the door swung open. She crunched across glass and pushed open the inner door. The old lady lay at the foot of the stairs, the back of her head angled against the wall. Mandy whispered. ‘It looks as though her neck's broken.’

Another body. A wave of nausea struck Libby. She swallowed it down. No time for that, now. She felt Mrs Thomson's neck for a pulse, and fingered her wrist, horribly aware she'd done exactly the same for Susie.

‘I think she's dead.’

Mandy's hand clamped to her mouth, muffling her voice. ‘She must have fallen down the stairs.’ She tugged Libby's elbow. ‘Can't we do anything? Shouldn't we put a blanket over her, or something?’

‘It's too late for that.’ A news programme still blared from the television, echoing through the house. Libby's head pounded. She strode to the sitting room, found the remote control and switched off the set. Silence fell. A cup of tea, half finished, sat in its saucer on the table, next to one of Libby's walnut brownies. No steam rose from the cup. The tea must be cold. Libby knew better than to touch anything. Tears misted her eyes. Mrs Thomson had been alone, with no one nearby to help when she fell. Libby hoped she'd died instantly. The thought of the old lady lying in pain was unbearable.

The house was quiet: too quiet. What was wrong? Bear. Where was the dog? Why hadn't he barked when his mistress fell? A cold hand tugged at Libby's chest. She stepped with care around Mrs Thomson and set off up the stairs.

‘Where are you going?’ Mandy squeaked.

‘The dog's missing.’ Libby went through the house, opening one door after another. ‘Bear, where are you? Come on out, it's me.’

Mandy sat on the stairs, transfixed by Mrs Thomson's body. ‘Maybe he's outside?’

Before Libby could search the garden, horns blared, lights flashed, and the emergency services arrived in force. Joe Ramshore was first. ‘Mrs Forest. What are you doing here?’

Mandy said. ‘We found Mrs Thomson.’

‘Did you?’ He frowned at Libby, eyes narrowed, suspicious. The ambulance crew whispered in his ear. ‘Another body,’ he said. ‘And once again, you're on the spot.’ He took Libby's arm. ‘Might I ask what you were doing here?’

The wooden chair at the police station, designed for utility rather than comfort, made Libby's back ache. She stared ahead at uninviting walls, bare of pictures or notices, painted dull grey. Mandy sat next to her at the plain wooden table, swirling cold, undrinkable tea inside a paper cup. Detective Sergeant Ramshore tilted his chair back, until only two legs touched the floor, waiting blank faced for an explanation.

‘We went to the house to look at a photo,’ she said. ‘Mrs Thomson showed it to me earlier when I visited. To walk the dog.’

His expression didn't change. ‘You were looking after Bear?’

‘Max – your father – he's away.’

Joe raised one eyebrow in disbelief. ‘And he asked you to take over the dog walking?’

Libby held his glance. ‘Why not?’

He shrugged. ‘So, you came back here in the evening, to visit an old woman? Didn't you realise you'd frighten her at this time of night? It looks like she tried to get to the door, wearing her ragged old slippers, and tripped on the stairs.’

‘What?’ Furious, Libby leaned forward. ‘Are you saying it's my fault?’

‘Have you got a better idea?’

‘The dog's missing. Maybe she was going out to look for him?’

Joe crossed an ankle over the other leg, tapping his cup with a long finger. ‘In the dark? We'd know more about that if you hadn't broken in, making such a mess of the back door, wouldn't we?’

‘We had to get in.’ Libby was indignant. ‘We could see her at the bottom of the stairs. She could still have been alive?’

‘OK.’ He uncrossed his legs. ‘Fair enough, I suppose. Anyway, I'm afraid the poor old soul's gone. She must have been almost ninety, and she lived all on her own. Something like this was bound to happen one day.’

‘You think it's another accident, then?’

The detective laughed. ‘Mrs Forest, please don't start imagining someone murdered Mrs Thomson. Old ladies fall all the time. It's amazing she lasted so long, alone in this place. No one broke in. The only damage is to the kitchen door, thanks to you.’

‘Can we go home, then?’

When Joe smiled, he looked like his father. ‘I'll get one of my men to drive you.’ Tired, Libby and Mandy trudged along the drab corridor of the police station. ‘And Mrs Forest.’

She stopped. ‘Yes?’

‘Try not to find any more bodies for a few days.’