Dead Level (The DI Nick Dixon Crime Series Book 5) by Damien Boyd Read Free Book Online

was a diesel.’
    ‘Did you hear it again,’ asked Janice.
    ‘No.’
    ‘What happened then?’
    ‘I went back to sleep. Until the next time, about fourish,’ replied Grafton, shaking his head. ‘Bloody martyr to my bladder, I am.’

    Harry Unwin was standing under an umbrella, enjoying a cigarette and watching a large cattle truck trying to reverse in the narrow lane to allow three tipper lorries through, when Janice and Jane came out of Grafton’s bungalow. They ran across the road and sheltered under the lychgate. Harry saw them and walked over.
    ‘Anything interesting?’ he asked.
    ‘Small car or van, possibly a diesel. That’s it, really.’ replied Janice.
    ‘Shouldn’t we get some traffic officers down here?’ asked Jane, looking down the lane.
    ‘They’ll sort themselves out,’ replied Unwin.
    ‘Where next then?’
    ‘Edna Freeman. Moorland House. It’s the last one on the left down the lane.’
    ‘How far?’
    ‘About two hundred yards.’
    ‘We’ll drive down,’ replied Janice, looking at Jane. ‘Anyone get to that farm on the other side of the river, Harry?’
    ‘I’ll send someone over there now.’
    ‘Go yourself. It’s the nearest property to Waterside Cottage and the most important.’
    ‘OK.’
    Janice took her car keys out of her handbag, pointed them at her car in the lane opposite and pressed the button on the key fob.
    ‘Did that open?’
    ‘Couldn’t hear a thing,’ replied Jane.
    Janice pressed it again and this time the hazard lights flashed. ‘That’s it.’ She then ran across the road and jumped in. Jane followed.
    ‘Lazy bugger,’ said Janice. ‘I thought I’d give him something to do instead of standing around watching the world go by.’
    Jane smiled. Janice appeared to have got the measure of Harry.
    They drove along the lane and turned into the gravel drive of Moorland House. It was a large red brick house with sandbags across the front door and the double garage. Jane pressed the doorbell, noticing a small grey box mounted on the wall next to it.
    ‘A key safe. She has carers in by the looks of it.’
    Janice nodded. She was leaning in towards the door, trying to shelter under the small canopy above it. They waited, looking for any sign of movement behind the frosted glass in the front door.
    ‘Try it again,’ said Janice.
    Jane rang the bell again. Janice stepped back into the rain and looked up.
    ‘No lights on upstairs.’
    Then she walked across the lawn and peered in through the front window.
    ‘Oh, shit.’
    Janice ran back to the front door and tried the handle. The door swung open.
    ‘What’s up?’ asked Jane.
    ‘I think she’s dead.’
    Janice stepped over the sandbags into the hall. Jane followed. They peered into the lounge and saw Mrs Freeman slumped in her chair, her head tipped back and her mouth open. Jane walked over and leaned in close to her. Then she touched her on the back of the hand.
    ‘Mrs Freeman?’
    ‘Is she all right?’ asked Janice.
    ‘She’s asleep, you twit.’
    ‘Oh, for f . . .’ Janice was stopped mid-sentence by Mrs Freeman stirring.
    ‘Sorry, dear, I . . . I must have nodded off.’
    ‘That’s OK,’ replied Jane. ‘We’re police officers. We’ve come to have a word with you. Are you all right?’
    ‘Yes, fine. Would you like a cup of tea?’ asked Mrs Freeman. She pressed the button on her remote control chair, which tipped her forward slowly into the standing position.
    Jane frowned at Janice.
    ‘Yes, please.’
    ‘Let’s go and sit at the kitchen table.’
    They followed Mrs Freeman as she shuffled along the hall to the kitchen at the back of the house. Janice sat down and watched her struggling to hold the kettle under the tap.
    ‘Here, let me,’ said Jane.
    ‘Thank you, dear.’
    Mrs Freeman sat down at the head of the table, while Jane finished filling the kettle.
    ‘The mugs are in the cupboard in front of you.’
    ‘I understand you heard something last night, Mrs Freeman,’