Dead Old by Maureen Carter Read Free Book Online Page B

on about a baby. A week later when the gang struck again, it appeared
the allusion might have more significance than the ramblings of a confused pensioner.
    Bev interviewed Joan Goddard in hospital within a couple of hours of the assault. There was no doubt what caused the injuries; fist and footmarks were still visible. The old woman’s mind
was sharp, as her eyesight had been until the first punch detached a retina. Joan blamed herself for that, she told Bev. The yobs had been waiting for her when she returned from the shops: three
masked youths in the tiny sitting room, she may have heard a fourth upstairs. She’d snatched at the nearest one’s balaclava, caught a glimpse of his face. It was a costly move that
unleashed a rain of blows and a string of verbal abuse. They’d torn off her rings, stolen her purse. Joan kept her savings in the bank. She’d told them time and again but they still
tore the place apart and pissed in her bed.
    It was when Bev was leaving that Joan provided the first and slenderest of leads. It also added credence to Iris’s so-called blathering. The youth Joan glimpsed had a baby face: blond
hair, blue eyes, round cheeks. The E-fit was so vague, the guv had dithered about releasing it. Short of anything else, he’d authorised its issue to the media. There’d been no useful
response.
    The third victim, Ena Bolton, had no chance to snatch anything. Three, maybe four youths had been lying in wait when she returned home after an evening’s bingo. The fact they weren’t
wearing masks hadn’t mattered. They’d already smashed every light bulb in the house. Two gang members had bound, gagged and blindfolded her. The battering left her bruised, bleeding and
struggling to recall the tiniest detail to help identify her attackers. She didn’t care about the few pounds they’d stolen but they’d also taken her dog. Ena had shown Bev the
spaniel’s picture: head cocked to the side, one ear up, one down, an outstretched paw. Humph was deaf and a little lame. Ena had doted on him for fifteen years.
    Bev had dropped by Ena’s place a few times now. The calls hadn’t just been part of the inquiry; Ena was a sweet old dear. It was during the last visit that Ena had mentioned the
daffodils. A neighbour or friend had apparently left flowers in the house while she’d been in hospital. “Such a kind thought, don’t you agree, dear?” Bev had smiled and
nodded, and until that morning never gave it another…
    “Thoughts, Sergeant?”
    Byford was clearly waiting for an answer. The keys jangling in his pocket were as good an indication as the mild impatience on his face.
    Busk or bluster? Bugger it. “Sorry, guv, didn’t catch what you said.”
    Byford’s left eyebrow was in a mid-way arch, which according to Bev’s interpretation meant growing exasperation. It was confirmed in his voice. “Marty Skelton? Is he in the
frame?”
    She wished she could say yes. It would certainly lift a bit of pressure off the guv’s shoulders. She held out empty palms. “I’d say not. There’s a couple of checks
outstanding but the alibi looks sound. The barmaid at the Red Lion reckons Marty was so off his face he could barely focus.”
    “And how relevant is that? Exactly?” Danny Shields treated Bev to a thin smile. Her expression was one of polite interest, but the words, however softly spoken, were a challenge. A
challenge picked up by the entire team; backs straightened, ears strained. Everyone knew Bev had applied for the acting DI post. Now they watched the woman appointed uncross her long legs and lean
forward.
    “The pathologist estimates that the victim died early on Sunday evening,” Shields went on. “Skelton could easily have killed her, then gone to the pub to establish an alibi.
The man’s alcoholic intake could be entirely commensurate with his guilt.”
    The voice had class; must lecture a lot.
    “Yeah,” Bev drawled. “Except he got to the Lion at lunchtime and never