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

persons unknown. Key still on the inside of the back door. Oh, and about nine thousand pounds in a box under the bed, mostly in old fivers.’
    ‘What?’
    Proudfoot gave him a ‘not my fault this time’ look, and turned his gaze skywards to follow the lazy course of a pigeon towards the oak trees on the green.
    II
    Carmichael had the good sense to keep quiet, as they walked next door to Jasmine Cottage. As they approached it, a figure hurried up to it, handbag slung casually over one shoulder. Although recognisable as the subject of the photographs on her godparents’ mantelpiece, there had obviously not been a recent addition to their collection. The bloom had gone from Kerry Long’s skin, she was a little too thin, and her features had become sharp, her expression harder. Maybe this was a result of the harsh realities of the breakdown of her marriage and single-parenthood, or maybe it was from the strain of a protracted battle with her unpleasant elderly neighbour. Falconer did not know the answer to this, but he meant to find out.
    ‘Mrs Long?’ he enquired.
    ‘Ms Long,’ she corrected him. ‘Who wants to know?’
    ‘Inspector Falconer – and this is Acting DS Carmichael. It’s about Mr Morley next door.’
    ‘If you find out who did it, let me know so I can buy them a drink.’
    ‘I beg your pardon?’
    ‘Sorry. That wasn’t a very nice thing to say, was it?’
    ‘Can we have a word?’ he asked.
    ‘I was just on my way back for a few minutes’ break: I work over in Allsorts. Left the kiddies over there for a few minutes, so I can catch my breath. The rush has calmed down a bit now, as you lot haven’t carted anyone off in handcuffs. The Punch and Judy show loses its shine when the puppets don’t perform,’ and with this somewhat enigmatic turn of phrase she held the door open for them to enter.
    Although the cottage was the same age, size and design as its counterpart next door, it could not have been more dissimilar in its interior. Crabapple Cottage had been dark, grimy, uncared for and neglected. The tiny front room in Jasmine Cottage, into which the young woman now conducted them, was bright and cheery with white walls and woodwork. Sensible washable covers in a royal blue and jade zigzagged pattern on the two-seater settee and single armchair, and a vase of scarlet roses on the polished mantelshelf lifted the spirits; there were cream curtains at the tiny windows, and pale washable rugs on the uneven floor completed the picture of a well-cared for home.
    Falconer nodded approvingly and Carmichael positively beamed. He could do with just such a little gem as this place when he was ready to spread his wings. Seeing their expressions of approval, their hostess asked, rather shyly as if expecting a rebuttal, if they would like to see the rest of the downstairs, and Carmichael’s enthusiastic, ‘Please,’ brought a smile to her face that dispelled the hardness that had sat there at their arrival.
    A second door off the hall led to a tiny dining room which overlooked the back garden. Here, a cheap, white plastic patio set had been transformed with a tablecloth tie-dyed in yellow, orange and red, the chairs draped with crimson cotton. The same colour hung at the windows, and the old floorboards were (with young children in the house) sensibly bare and well-polished. So bright were the colours that Carmichael blended in splendidly, and Falconer looked as if he had suddenly faded to monochrome in comparison.
    Kerry Long nodded towards the dining set next to which Carmichael was standing and murmured, ‘It’s amazing what you can do with some jumble sale sheets and a bit of imagination,’ leaving the policemen in some doubt as to whether it was her own homemaking, or the younger man’s peacock appearance, to which she was referring. And with that ambiguous remark, she led them out to the tiny kitchen at the back of the cottage.
    It, too, was immaculate, the cupboards home-made many years ago,