Death at Rainbow Cottage Jo Allen (digital book reader .TXT) 📖

but people-centred. ‘We’ll need to find someone to give a positive ID.’

‘There’s nothing in his profile to suggest he has family. But we’ll find someone.’

‘Get on to that, would you?’

‘Right away.’ She folded the cover on the tablet.

Jude allowed himself another moment to check over the scene, to make sure that everything was running smoothly so that he could move on. ‘DI Dodd is coming over. He’ll be here any minute and he’ll take over.’ Doddsy, his best friend and deputy, lived in one of the new houses that had blossomed behind Temple Sowerby’s medical centre. ‘One last thing. The woman who found the body. What was she doing?’

‘Jogging.’

‘And she was the one who called the police.’

‘No. Her husband called them. She didn’t have her phone with her, so she went home.’

So he’d been right, and that would explain the bloodied footmarks. ‘Did she move him?’

‘I don’t know for sure.’ The policewoman turned to look at Len Pierce, sprawled on the floor, and her mouth twisted a little, as if she was fighting to keep a severe expression in front of a senior officer. ‘No-one’s interviewed her yet.’ She held up a quick hand as if to justify a failure in procedure. ‘I tried to get a statement out of her but she was barely coherent. I thought I’d better let her calm down. Didn't want a breakdown on my hands. Poor woman.’

Jude spotted Doddsy striding past the Blackwells’ cottage. ‘Okay. I’ll speak to her. You carry on.’

Leaving those on the scene to get on with what they were doing, he headed towards the building, intercepting his friend halfway. ‘One day we might get a whole weekend off,’ he said to him, by way of greeting. ‘You can take over here. I’m going down to chat to our only witness.’

Pausing by the wall, Doddsy snatched at the opportunity for a quick cigarette. It would be a while before he had the chance of another. He was in his suit on a Sunday afternoon. ‘A Lent lunch after church,’ he said, spotting Jude looking at him. ‘Up at Skirwith. Or I’d have been here sooner.’ He unclipped a cross-shaped lapel pin from his jacket and slipped it into his pocket. ‘We have an actual witness?’

‘Not a witness to the deed. The woman who found him. She lives in that cottage.’

‘Natalie Blackwell?’ Doddsy said, nodding. ‘Ah. Okay.’

‘You know her?’

‘I know of her. The Blackwells are recent arrivals in the area. I’ve met her husband, in passing. Interesting couple, if you believe the local gossip.’

‘Oh?’

‘Half of what I hear won’t be true.’ Doddsy looked at his half-smoked cigarette with obvious regret. ‘Folk think they’re a bit odd. The village gossip is that she used to be a ballet dancer.’

‘Is there a lot of talk about them?'

'Not a lot, but they came up in conversation over lunch. He’s a bit of a crusader. I get the impression he likes to take people out of their comfort zone. That never goes down well.’

For a moment Jude had toyed with the idea of handing the witness interview over to Doddsy but at the mention of the Blackwells’ oddness he decided against it. Doddsy was an organiser par excellence, but sometimes he missed the clues that hid under people’s idiosyncrasies.

‘It’s a pity Ashleigh isn’t here.’ Doddsy must be thinking the same. ‘She’s always good with interesting people.’ He ground out the cigarette on the wall.

Doddsy’s sly smile brought a matching smile to Jude’s lips. Ashleigh O’Halloran was one of those rare detectives who seemed somehow to charm confidences out of the least willing of witnesses, to persuade the most stubborn of people to part with secrets they never even knew they possessed. Quite how she did it even she didn’t seem to know, asking the same questions as her colleagues and yet reaping greater, and often instant, rewards. ‘She’ll be back in tomorrow. We’ll get her straight on to the case.’

‘Missed her, have you?’

Even under the sombre circumstances, Jude allowed a beat of pleasure to creep under his guard at the prospect of Ashleigh’s return. She was his girlfriend as well as his colleague, and they hadn’t been together long enough for him to regard her long-planned family holiday as a chance to do his own thing. It wasn’t love — God knew, neither of them was prepared to take that kind of risk — but the relationship worked just fine without it, and he’d felt her absence more than he’d thought he would. ‘She’d certainly be some use to us today.’

‘And in the meantime we’ll have to make do with you. Right. I’ll get on.’

‘When I’ve spoken to Mrs Blackwell, I'll go back to the office. Let me know what resources you think you'll need.’

‘Sure.’ Doddsy strolled off up towards the buzz of activity in the lane, unruffled.

Rainbow Cottage stood at the end of the rutted track from Temple Sowerby, a track whose vehicular capability petered out at the Blackwells’ cottage though the route itself stuttered on into the path on which they stood. The pedestrian link it offered to the dead end where Len Pierce had been slain, and so directly to the A66, was so frail that it wasn't marked on the map, and no-one could have used it from that direction without passing the cottage. The Blackwells could only reach the main road by car by going through the village. As Jude had walked past it earlier the nervous twitching of curtains told him the occupants were watching and waiting to play their part in the investigation.

The cottage was a century or so old, built in traditional style but with a modern glass extension on two sides. The sign announcing it as Rainbow Cottage was new and boldly carved on green Coniston slate. The garden was well tended, its borders a carpet