Missing: Presumed Dead by James Hawkins Read Free Book Online Page A

reached The Colonel’s resting place and Bliss stood back to admire the statue soaring above the sarcophagus – a white marble winged chariot drawn by a team of flying stallions.
    â€œVery mythical,” said Daphne, following his eye-line.
    â€œThat’s strange. Jonathon mentioned something about Homer’s Iliad. I wonder if there’s some connection?”
    â€œWhat did he say?”
    â€œIt didn’t make any sense to me – something about letting fate choose. I don’t remember to be honest.”
    â€œProbably the bit about Hector and Achilles ... ” she started, then cried in surprise, “Oh look! His name was Wellington ... Wellington Rupert Dauntsey.”
    â€œDidn’t you know?”
    â€œNo. He wasn’t the sort of man who needed a name. He was just The Colonel. I suppose his family called him something, but I assumed Rupert – Major Dauntsey – called his father ‘Sir’ or ‘Colonel’ like everyone else.”
    â€œâ€˜Sir,’” repeated Bliss. “You think he called his Dad ‘Sir?’”
    â€œNot a Dad, Chief Inspector. People like that don’t have Dads. Dads are warm friendly creatures who cuddle their children, take them on picnics, play silly games and make funny noises ... People like the Dauntseys have fathers who totally ignore them for eight years, then pack them off to a boarding school saying, ‘Thank God for that – children can be such an inconvenience don’t you know.’”
    The ornately carved wooden door to the family tomb was locked, and the huge galvanised padlock demanded his attention. “I wonder who holds the keys,” he muttered, examining it carefully, noting that it did not look as though it had been opened recently.
    â€œThe family probably – The Major I expect,” said Daphne, peering over his shoulder. “The Vicar will know.”
    â€œI must ask him,” said Bliss with tepid intention, thinking it unlikely that Jonathon would have put his father’s body in such an obvious, albeit appropriate, location. “I’d better get over there,” he continued with a nod toward the knot of policemen still clustered around the open grave.
    Daphne’s eyes lit up. “Could I come and have a peek?”
    â€œThere’s nothing to see really, just an empty grave. The Major’s body wasn’t in it, just the duvet.”
    â€œI always reckoned he’d have trouble getting past St. Peter, but I thought he’d manage to get as far as the grave,” she whispered, as if fearful of being overheard.
    â€œWhy do you say that?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThat he’d have trouble getting past St. Peter.”
    â€œI don’t talk ill of the dead, Chief Inspector,” she said stalking off huffily. “I’m surprised you’d even ask me.”
    He caught up to her and tried flattery. “I just thought as how you’re so much part of the police here ...”
    â€œNot me, I’m not. All I do is clean up after the filthy beggars – you should see those toilets – piss all over the floor – young girls today wouldn’t do it. Most of them would throw up at the thought.”
    Bliss let her cool down for a few seconds then tried again. “So, without speaking ill, what can you tell me about him – the Major?”
    Daphne’s face blanked to an expression of deep thought as she put together a picture of the missing man, then she screwed up her nose. “He was nothing much to look at, certainly no oil painting, but then neither was his father, the old colonel. It was the chin mainly, or lack of it. I think his Adam’s apple stuck out further than his chin. He wasn’t a big man either, although his rank added a foot or so to his height. It’s a good job for Jonathon he took after his mother.”
    â€œWhen did you last see him – the