Was there any wonder the Yardâs reputation had receded over the years if this was how many men they determined were required to question the scullery maid, Alexa, and her husband, Albert? It seemed inconceivable, even for Inspector Varcoe, to have mucked up such a straightforward task.
âThey cannot still be here from yesterday,â I grumbled into the early morning chill.
âNo,â Colin muttered. âThey arenât.â
I turned to scowl at him, annoyed that he could be so certain at this hour, and thatâs when I spotted the coronerâs wagon parked on the far side of the house. The opposite side from where the bloodied shed stood. Not a word was spoken between us as we cut across the front of the property, Colinâs eyes set rigidly on that gray wagon with its seven black letters etched across its side: CORONER. What, I began to fear, was Denton Ross doing here?
Colin and I skirted around the corner of the house and noticed a cluster of police along the tree line. Most seemed to be milling about, some with their arms crossed and others with their rounded navy caps pushed back on their heads, but there were several kneeling in the grass beneath a tree as though foraging amongst the roots for truffles or mushrooms. Inspector Varcoe was one of them.
âWhat can they possibly be up to . . . ?â I started to say, but let my voice fade out as I caught sight of the twisted legs lying prone there.
âItâs Albert,â Colin said, the astonishment in his voice unmistakable as he suddenly rushed ahead.
I hurried to catch up, the sight of Albertâs misshapen and bloodied body coming into view as I drew closer. He was lying on his stomach, though his head was turned to one side, his visible eye staring toward the horizon as though fixed on the blossoming dawn.
âPendragon!â Varcoe barked as he stood up and brushed his hands along the sides of his slacks. âYou investigating every ruddy accident now? âCause I got a boy stubbed his toe a couple houses down. Perhaps you could do some of your fine work on that situation,â he snorted.
Colinâs brow curled into a tight frown. âWhat are you talking about?â
âThis dumb sod who fell out of this tree!â he snapped. âWhat the hell do you think Iâm talking about?â
âFell out of the tree?!â Colin repeated with stark disbelief.
Varcoeâs face went dark, which was offset by the blinding whiteness of his hair. âThatâs what I said, you pompous shitheel.â He glared at Colin a moment before abruptly stepping back, crossing his arms over his chest, and allowing a crooked grin to slide onto his face. âWhy donât you tell these two tossers what youâve determined so far, Mr. Ross.â
My stomach clenched as Denton Ross stepped forward, his pasty complexion, stringy hair, and unkempt form maintained in defiance of anything good or proper. âMust I?â he groused.
Inspector Varcoeâs smile faltered slightly as he gritted his teeth. âIf you please, Mr. Ross.â
An irritated sigh escaped his blubbery lips as he began clipping off his official report as though under duress. âIf you must know, my preliminary determination is that this man fell out of this tree from a height of some fifteen feet as evidenced by the contorted position of his body, the multiple fractures to his left arm, and the complete dislocation of the same shoulder. It wasnât the fall that killed him, however.â He glowered smartly at Colin. âIt was a blow to the left temple sustained from a rock when he struck the ground. In short, an accident,â he added with disdain.
âI see,â Colin sniffed. âAnd do you have this murderous rock? I certainly donât see it by his head.â
âWhat?â
Colinâs eyes flashed darkly. âWhere is the wretched stone upon which your supposition lies? Or are you merely
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