Dead Calm (A Dylan Scott Mystery) by Shirley Wells Read Free Book Online

dreadlocks.”
“I haven’t noticed them.” Dylan buried his hands deep in his pockets. “So what have you dragged me out here for?”
“Don’t ask me why, but I went for a swim this morning. Heated pool? It was freezing. Their definition of heated is employing someone to break the surface ice.”
“That’s fascinating, Mum.”
“It is. You see, I came out of the shower afterwards and, while I was in the cubicle getting dressed, I overheard a conversation between a couple of women.” She lowered her voice. “They were talking a mix of English and Norwegian, Norwegian mainly, but I caught enough to learn that they both knew Hanna Larsen. I got dressed quickly and was in time for a chat with them. Well, it seems that quite a few people stand to benefit from her death.”
“Like who?” Dylan felt a ripple of curiosity stirring.
“Your Hanna Larsen lived outside Bergen,” she explained. “Some company, and I couldn’t catch the name, wanted to put a road across her land to make access to a factory easier and cheaper. There were four houses affected so the company decided to buy them out. Three of the owners were happy to take the cash. They sold up and moved into the village.”
“But not Hanna Larsen?” Dylan guessed.
“No. They offered her a fortune for her home but she wouldn’t budge. Apparently there’s been a bitter battle going on for quite a while.”
“That’s interesting,” Dylan said.
“There’s sure to be something on the internet about it.” Bangles and beads chinked as she leaned in to whisper. “That’s not all. The company is owned by a chap named Jorstad, right? Well, his sons are on board this very ship. Right now.” She blew cannabis-laden smoke in his face. “That’s a bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?”
A huge fucking coincidence.
“I couldn’t find out any more,” she said, “because they were getting a bit annoyed by all my questions. One of them was especially snooty. She kept asking me if I worked for Jorstad’s company and why I was so interested. I didn’t really have any plausible answers. I just said you were interested because you’d met Hanna Larsen.”
“Well, well. I’ll see what I can find out from the internet.”
“It’s like that film, isn’t it?” she said. “The Hercule Poirot one. You know the one I mean, Dylan. Lauren Bacall was in it too.”
“I haven’t the remotest idea what you’re talking about.”
“ Murder on the Orient Express, that’s it.”
“What?” Christ, he despaired. “That took place on a train. There’s a clue in the title.”
“Well, yes, but it’s similar. Wasn’t Poirot approached by someone who’d been receiving death threats?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“I’m sure that’s the one.” She was enjoying this. “Poirot refused to help and, bingo, the chap’s found dead.”
“So there are no similarities at all,” Dylan said. “Unless Hanna Larsen had been receiving death threats.” Which perhaps wasn’t as farfetched as it sounded. “Right, while you dice with hypothermia, I’m going to find a computer.”
“Hypothermia’s right. I don’t understand why they can’t have a small area inside the ship for people to smoke.”
Dylan left her complaining to herself about how unhealthy it was to venture into the cold air when she could pull evil smoke into her lungs in warmth and comfort.

Chapter Nine
     
Killing someone was easy. There were hundreds of different ways to do it. It was simply a case of choosing the most suitable method.
His first kill had been—no, his first real kill had been the cat. That always made him smile. A neighbour had allowed her mangy tabby to treat their garden as its personal toilet. He’d taken a few shots at it with his air rifle while it was having a shit, but he always missed. So one day he’d caught it, soaked it in petrol and set fire to it. He’d thrown the burned body in the bin and it had been taken away the next morning.
The stupid woman had spent weeks calling