A Wreath for my Sister by Priscilla Masters Read Free Book Online

Tuesday.’
    Joanna nodded. ‘On Tuesday,’ she said. While Tom and I were dancing someone was killing this girl and dumping her body. It was an ugly thought. She turned her attention back to the farmer. ‘There won’t have been much traffic that night.’
    â€˜Near enough none at all. And yesterday there weren’t a lot, though the snowplough shifted the snow off the road. Town folk. They steers clear.’ He gave a toothy chuckle. ‘The moors frightens them so they sticks to them ’omes.’
    â€˜At what time did you find her?’
    â€˜Eight thirty. It were dark before then.’ He glanced around at the empty moor. ‘Gloomy sort of place, ain’t it?’
    She agreed. And yet it had a wild charm. Raw and cold. The moor felt challenging.
    â€˜Were you here at all on Tuesday evening?’
    The farmer thought. ‘Not after six,’ he said. ‘We stayed in.’ He looked around. ‘The weather were rough. The snow were threatenin’. I knew the sheep would find shelter.’
    â€˜I suppose they have to?’
    â€˜Aye,’ he said. ‘Or they die.’
    He had the matter-of-fact acceptance of life and death that she had met before here on the edge of civilization.
    â€˜Could she have been there earlier on on Tuesday evening?’
    â€˜I don’t think so.’ He scratched his woollen bobble hat. ‘No, I’m certain she weren’t. I would have noticed it for sure. Anything different.’ He glanced around. ‘You see, I know these moors well.’
    Joanna nodded. It was true. These people did know every inch of this wild, wind-blasted place.
    So the body had almost certainly been dumped after six p.m. on Tuesday night but before the snow fell heavily. Joanna thought for a moment. The snow always reached the high ground first. It had been nearly two a.m. when she and Tom had driven home. So that made it after six p.m. and before two a.m., when the snow was too thick for traffic to pass. As far as she had been able to see, there had been no snow underneath the girl.
    She looked back along the road. The bright headlights of the maroon BMW announced Matthew’s arrival. He had wasted no time.
    She walked to his car and opened the door. ‘Hello,’ she said.
    His eyes warmed as he looked at her and he smiled. ‘I told you you wouldn’t be able to avoid me completely. I just didn’t think it would be so soon. What have you got for me?’
    â€˜A young woman,’ she said. ‘All done up for a night out. Matthew ... I think she’s been strangled.’
    He nodded, took his case out of the boot.
    Mike was walking towards them. ‘Photographer’s here,’ he said, giving Matthew the briefest of nods, which was scarcely returned.
    The three of them picked their way along the narrow, taped corridor which led to the body. Timmis and McBrine had cleared the path.
    Matthew pulled on surgeon’s gloves and knelt down by the girl. ‘The rectal temp’ll be a waste of time,’ he said. ‘It’s been so cold up here. But that’ll have delayed putrefaction anyway.’
    She felt her usual queasiness confronted with Matthew’s cheerful facts.
    â€˜Still stiff,’ he said, lifting one arm. ‘Probably been dead less than forty-eight hours. Very difficult to tell in these conditions.’
    â€˜From what I can work out the body was placed here before the snow fell.’
    He looked up at her. ‘Tuesday night?’
    â€˜I think some time after six ... The farmer uses this road fairly regularly. He doesn’t think she was here late on Tuesday afternoon.’
    Matthew nodded thoughtfully. ‘Tricky circumstances,’ he said, ‘with the snow, but I think Tuesday night’s about right.’
    He looked closer at the girl’s neck. ‘Looks like strangulation,’ he said, and leaned forward to finger the dark marks. He stopped