Death of an Old Git (The Falconer Files - File 1) by Andrea Frazer Read Free Book Online

Warren-Browne had slumped into one of the chintz-covered armchairs, and made no effort to speak. Her husband, ever protective, moved to fill the silence. ‘Kerry lives in Jasmine Cottage, next door to Crabapple Cottage, and has been there since just after her marriage broke up. In fact, we secured the cottage for her so that we could help out with babysitting and suchlike.’
    ‘More’s the pity, the trouble it’s caused the poor dear, living next to that monster.’ Marian Warren-Browne lapsed back into silence again after this brief rally, laid her head back against the embroidered antimacassar and closed her eyes. Her skin looked grey in the north light from the sash window.
    ‘That wicked old man has had it in for her since the day she moved in.’ Alan Warren-Browne continued the explanation. ‘The fact is, he just doesn’t – sorry, didn’t – like children. Made her life a misery over them playing and laughing, and then let that dog of his bark when he knew they were asleep, and let him get through the hedge and do his business in their garden. That’s downright dangerous – a positive health hazard – with young children around.’ He ground to a halt and looked across at his wife as if seeking guidance, but she was still sunk in post-migraine misery and did not notice his look.
    With an expression of resolution on his face he continued, ‘Anyway, there was something yesterday evening that I suppose you ought to hear about from us.’ Marian’s head began to rise. ‘We’d been outside all afternoon, and it was getting on.’
    ‘What time yesterday evening?’ Falconer interrupted him as he sensed a change in the atmosphere.
    Marian was now fully alert and cut in urgently, ‘No, no, you mean yesterday afternoon, darling. Really, you’re getting so muddled of late, I despair of you.’
    Alan Warren-Browne’s forehead creased, then relaxed slightly as he agreed. ‘Silly of me, of course. What time was it, sweetheart?’ For some reason Marian Warren-Browne was definitely in the driving seat now.
    ‘When that dreadful noise was coming from the garage, you remember? So we couldn’t really hear very clearly.’
    ‘Of course. My wife’s spot on. Heard Kerry having a good old harangue, but no idea what it was all about. Might just have been her shouting at the kiddies, I suppose.’
    This was an abrupt volte-face, from ‘something they ought to know’, to ‘just shouting at the kiddies’, and Alan Warren-Browne looked as if he had had only a brief and very recent glance at the script. Something was being concealed, and Falconer would find out what it was, either from them or from someone else, and he did not care which. 

Chapter Four
    Monday 13th July – early afternoon
    I
    Back out in the early afternoon sunshine, Falconer and Carmichael walked the few short yards from the post office to Crabapple Cottage, where they found Constable Proudfoot still on guard at the front door, his face crimson in the heat, perspiration dripping from his nose and chin.
    ‘Scene-of-Crime people been?’ enquired Falconer.
    ‘Yes, sir. And the police surgeon. Search just completed. Just need your authority to seal it off now.’
    ‘By the way. Was there a little dog here this morning when you arrived?’
    ‘Indeed there was, sir. Yappy little thing it was too, but seemed friendly enough.’
    ‘And where is that friendly little dog now, Constable Proudfoot. You seem to have omitted to inform me of its whereabouts.’
    ‘Miss Cadogan took it, sir. Old schoolmistress from Sheepwash Lane. She were here first thing, harassing me to let her take it and collect its things. I didn’t know what else to do with it, so I let it go with her,’ he blustered.
    ‘Put it in your report, Proudfoot,’ sighed the inspector, scandalised at this lax attitude. ‘By the way, you’ve had a quick scout around. Anything worthy of mention?’
    ‘No signs of forced entry. No signs of any search being made by person or