next door.’
‘Thanks. Did you know the woman yourself?’
‘Miss Souter, sir? Oh yes, everybody knew her, and nobody liked her very much. She was a regular besom, sir.’
‘What was the state of her finances, would you say? Was she well off?’
‘Absolutely loaded, sir, but she wasn’t a free spender. She knew the right side of a penny, sir.’
Callum McGillivray smiled. ‘Most people with money do, lad. That’s why they have money. And money makes more money – the more you have, the more you get. Not fair, eh?
Well, if you tell us how to get there, we’ll be on our way to . . . Ashgrove Lane, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, sir. Your car’s facing in the right direction, so it’s just straight up the High Street and third turning on the right. You can’t go wrong, sir. If you go any
farther, you’ll be out of the village altogether. There’re three houses at this end of the Lane, that’s Honeysuckle Cottages, and Miss Souter’s is the middle one. If you
leave your car in the parking place in the Lane, you’ll be going in by her back door.’
‘Thank you. That seems straightforward enough. Your directions are very clear. There’s just one thing, Constable . . . um?’ The inspector’s voice rose, in
interrogation.
‘Constable Paul, sir.’
‘Well, Constable Paul, when someone walks into a police station and finds the person left in charge lolling all over the front desk, it doesn’t give a very good impression. Smarten
yourself up, lad, otherwise you’ll never get anywhere in the Force.’ McGillivray turned and walked to the door.
‘Yes, sir, I’m sorry, sir.’ Derek Paul wondered if that would be the last he’d hear about his indiscretion, or if the inspector would report it to Sergeant Black. The
sarge would give him hell if he found out. Anyway, that chief inspector was one to talk about people not being smart. He looked like something out of a ragbag himself, and that hadn’t stopped
him from getting where he was.
The young man sighed at the injustices of life, and started on the crossword again.
When the green Vauxhall drew away from the kerb, DS David Moore said, ‘This shouldn’t be a long job, sir. Rich old ladies are usually knocked off by their
relatives.’
‘Quite. And this one was loaded, according to the PC, but things are not always what they seem, Moore. There might be more to this than meets the eye.’
‘There’s the police car,’ Moore remarked in a few minutes, indicating right and waiting until an oncoming car had passed. ‘The middle cottage, I think.’ He turned
the steering wheel and entered Ashgrove Lane.
They had almost reached Janet Souter’s back door, when it opened and the local sergeant came out. ‘Detective Chief Inspector McGillivray?’
The inspector nodded. ‘And this is Detective Sergeant Moore, who’ll be helping with the investigation. I gather there’s been a bit of a problem?’
John Black caught the almost imperceptible cautioning look in McGillivray’s eyes, and said, ‘Yes, sir. When I questioned Mrs Wakeford, next door, she told me a most peculiar story,
and that, along with one or two other things being said in the village, is the cause of the trouble. It’s going to be a most complicated case, as far as I can make out, much more difficult
than was anticipated at first, sir.’
‘Where exactly was the body found, and who found it?’
Sergeant Black did not need to consult his notebook, the facts were printed indelibly on his mind. ‘Miss Souter was found lying dead on her kitchen floor, just there.’ He pointed to
the spot as they went in.
The two detectives looked at the chalk mark on the floor. ‘She didn’t have much choice about where to fall,’ Moore observed. ‘There was just room for the body, and no
more.’
The inspector surveyed the tiny room. From the back door, working clockwise, there was a deep porcelain sink under the window, a wooden draining board over a cupboard, then a set of wooden
‘Thanks. Did you know the woman yourself?’
‘Miss Souter, sir? Oh yes, everybody knew her, and nobody liked her very much. She was a regular besom, sir.’
‘What was the state of her finances, would you say? Was she well off?’
‘Absolutely loaded, sir, but she wasn’t a free spender. She knew the right side of a penny, sir.’
Callum McGillivray smiled. ‘Most people with money do, lad. That’s why they have money. And money makes more money – the more you have, the more you get. Not fair, eh?
Well, if you tell us how to get there, we’ll be on our way to . . . Ashgrove Lane, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, sir. Your car’s facing in the right direction, so it’s just straight up the High Street and third turning on the right. You can’t go wrong, sir. If you go any
farther, you’ll be out of the village altogether. There’re three houses at this end of the Lane, that’s Honeysuckle Cottages, and Miss Souter’s is the middle one. If you
leave your car in the parking place in the Lane, you’ll be going in by her back door.’
‘Thank you. That seems straightforward enough. Your directions are very clear. There’s just one thing, Constable . . . um?’ The inspector’s voice rose, in
interrogation.
‘Constable Paul, sir.’
‘Well, Constable Paul, when someone walks into a police station and finds the person left in charge lolling all over the front desk, it doesn’t give a very good impression. Smarten
yourself up, lad, otherwise you’ll never get anywhere in the Force.’ McGillivray turned and walked to the door.
‘Yes, sir, I’m sorry, sir.’ Derek Paul wondered if that would be the last he’d hear about his indiscretion, or if the inspector would report it to Sergeant Black. The
sarge would give him hell if he found out. Anyway, that chief inspector was one to talk about people not being smart. He looked like something out of a ragbag himself, and that hadn’t stopped
him from getting where he was.
The young man sighed at the injustices of life, and started on the crossword again.
When the green Vauxhall drew away from the kerb, DS David Moore said, ‘This shouldn’t be a long job, sir. Rich old ladies are usually knocked off by their
relatives.’
‘Quite. And this one was loaded, according to the PC, but things are not always what they seem, Moore. There might be more to this than meets the eye.’
‘There’s the police car,’ Moore remarked in a few minutes, indicating right and waiting until an oncoming car had passed. ‘The middle cottage, I think.’ He turned
the steering wheel and entered Ashgrove Lane.
They had almost reached Janet Souter’s back door, when it opened and the local sergeant came out. ‘Detective Chief Inspector McGillivray?’
The inspector nodded. ‘And this is Detective Sergeant Moore, who’ll be helping with the investigation. I gather there’s been a bit of a problem?’
John Black caught the almost imperceptible cautioning look in McGillivray’s eyes, and said, ‘Yes, sir. When I questioned Mrs Wakeford, next door, she told me a most peculiar story,
and that, along with one or two other things being said in the village, is the cause of the trouble. It’s going to be a most complicated case, as far as I can make out, much more difficult
than was anticipated at first, sir.’
‘Where exactly was the body found, and who found it?’
Sergeant Black did not need to consult his notebook, the facts were printed indelibly on his mind. ‘Miss Souter was found lying dead on her kitchen floor, just there.’ He pointed to
the spot as they went in.
The two detectives looked at the chalk mark on the floor. ‘She didn’t have much choice about where to fall,’ Moore observed. ‘There was just room for the body, and no
more.’
The inspector surveyed the tiny room. From the back door, working clockwise, there was a deep porcelain sink under the window, a wooden draining board over a cupboard, then a set of wooden
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