childrenâs blood. At the morgue sheâd seen that they werenât.
An alternative explanation was that the same knife had been used on both Hoad and Angela by a third party, and the children killed first. It wasnât the sadly familiar pattern of a family massacre, where the enraged husband went first for his wife, then the children â usually by smothering â finally killing himself. From his complex wounds, it was quite clear that Frederick Hoad had been totally incapable of that last act. Heâd been shot dead with a single .22 bullet which sheâd watched being removed from the body. His stabbing was post-mortem, as indicated by the amount of blood loss. But apparently the little girls had been stabbed in between.
Yes, she decided: a) Hoad is shot dead; b) the children are stabbed; c) the killer returns to stab Hoad. It must have been in that order. So where did the barn killing and mutilation fit in? As the mad, grand finale?
Hoad killed by a single small-calibre bullet. So was that a skilled shot, or a lucky one? With a small-bore gun, rifle or target pistol, using a bullet suited to pinging tin cans rather than murder, youâd expect the killer to empty his gun into the victim
to make sure. But he hadnât. Heâd gone away on a stabbing spree, then come back to mutilate the body. Unsure he was dead? Or as an act of frenzied hate?
Nothing in this hideous case made sense. Perhaps it was the wrong time to try. Have a nightcap, get to bed: your brains are blown, Z told herself.
She felt too weary to garage the Ford and left it outside to whatever ravages the weather might threaten.
Chapter Six
As the two sergeants made for their desks in the CID office next morning, they found Superintendent Yeadings there before them, in his shirtsleeves. âWeâve found family,â he told them as they came in together.
He paused. âOr rather, the familyâs found us. Mustnât underrate so formidable a lady as the late Mrs Hoadâs mother. Squadron Leader Anna Plumley, MBE, no less.â
âJoanna Lumley?â Beaumont couldnât resist mishearing.
Yeadings mouth quivered. âAn altogether different proposition.â
âAnd Daniel? Is he with her?â Z demanded.
âHeâs not. Thereâs regrettably no news on him. For which the ladyâs prepared to hold us liable. Iâve spoken with her on the phone and have an appointment with her at 9.15 a.m., after which I shall be passing her to DCI Salmon and then to yourselves. This is at her request. She has experience, it seems, of working through hierarchies. The Deputy Chief Constable was called out of bed to meet her at 3 a.m.â
âWow,â Beaumont breathed in awe. âBut formidable, man.â
âSo long as everyone understands.â The Boss regarded them evenly. âIâve read both your reports from yesterday. Is there anything overnight that I should be updated on?â
They disclaimed, so he nodded and left for his own office. âWhere can she stay?â Z asked herself aloud. âAlma Pavittâs booked in at the nearest pub. Itâs pretty cramped. Iâd better ring around for an alternative, in case they donât hit it off together.â
âIâve never met a RAF lady with clout,â Beaumont said wonderingly, âthough sheâs probably retired by now and just hanging on to her rank.â
âWhy not? Male officers do.â
âYes; most of them after some kind of war service. This one would have won no wings, flying a desk.â
âFor all we know she could be one of the Red Arrows. You should leave sexism to our Acting-DCI,â Z riposted.
He shrugged. âWell, if she needs chauffeuring, itâs up to you, Z.â
âYour new Toyotaâs classier.â But Beaumont had already left, bound for the Incident Room. She picked up her file and followed, to find Salmon there attaching fresh
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