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

abruptly. ‘God.’ He turned to the photographer. ‘Get a picture of this.’
    â€˜Strangled?’Joanna asked.
    â€˜Garrotted.’
    â€˜What?’ Mike was frowning.
    â€˜I think it’s a wire ligature,’ he said, ‘but so deeply embedded in the neck I can’t tell until I get her to the mortuary. Look.’ He moved the girl’s hair away from the back of her neck to expose a piece of wood knotted into thin wire. ‘Looks like a piece of broom handle.’
    Mike touched Joanna’s arm. ‘You all right?’ he asked gruffly.
    She gave a weak smile.
    Matthew was absorbed in his work, directing the photographer to the face, the hands, the neck, the position of the body.
    â€˜She’s been neatly placed,’ he said. ‘Laid to rest.’
    He worked steadily for half an hour before he stood up and issued instructions. ‘I’ve finished,’ he said. ‘For now. Get her moved to the mortuary.’
    Mike glanced at Joanna and she knew exactly what he was thinking. His dark eyes watched her with concern. Matthew’s insensitivity. She closed her mind to it.
    â€˜Anything else, Mat?’ she asked.
    He faced her and smiled. ‘You were right, Jo. She was put here just before the snow started. I think she was garrotted somewhere else – possibly in a car – probably from behind not long before she was driven here and dumped late on Tuesday night.’ He started peeling his gloves off. ‘I’ll be able to tell you much more after the PM but it looks as though she was raped first.’ He stopped and grinned, remembering her weakness. ‘You are coming to the PM?’
    Mike was clearing his throat and Matthew shot him an amused glance. ‘Unless you fancy coming, Korpanski.’ He paused. ‘Or do they make you feel ill too?’
    Mike flushed.
    â€˜Do we know who she is?’ Matthew said as he headed back to the car.
    Timmis was walking towards them holding a sodden black handbag.
    â€˜I think we’re about to find out,’ she said. ‘Thanks, Timmis.’
    She opened the bag. A typical woman’s jumble ... keys, make-up, Tampax, red plastic purse. And a name. Joanna glanced back at the plastic tent erected over the body and at her colleagues already searching the area.
    â€˜Sharon,’ she said. ‘Sharon Priest.’
    She spoke to Mike then. ‘Forty-five Jubilee Road.’ She paused. ‘Can you take over here while I attend the PM?’
    She grimaced. ‘You know what Matthew’s like. He wants to do it straight away. We’ll meet back at the station at lunchtime and go round to Jubilee Road this afternoon. See what we can glean.’ Then she looked around at the bleak scene. ‘Let’s bag the rest of the stuff up.’
    Mike gazed around the moor. ‘I wonder where her other shoe is?’ he said.
    Joanna settled into the passenger seat of Matthew’s car. For the first part of the journey Matthew chatted easily about the circumstances of the woman’s death. Joanna half listened, her mind racing with the pleasure of being with him and with thoughts of all she had to do ... arrange a press conference ... inform relatives ... unearth suspects.
    It would probably turn out to be one of those ‘domestic’ crimes. The woman killed by someone she already knew – a husband, a lover, a boyfriend. A jealous man. A complete stranger. A sex crime.
    She became aware that Matthew had stopped talking and had turned to look at her.
    â€˜Jo ...’ His voice was gentle. He was watching her with a half-smile, his green eyes warm and shining.
    â€˜What?’
    He rested his hand briefly on her arm. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘I just want the chance to talk to you.’
    She looked not at him but out of the window, to the honest, damp green on the moor. ‘Matthew,’ she said in a calm, even voice. ‘There isn’t anything to