That Summer He Died by Emlyn Rees Read Free Book Online Page A

spoke.
    ‘He committed suicide. . . I’m sorry to be so abrupt. People normally know things like this before they come to see me about an estate. I’m terribly sorry.’
    James breathed in deeply. It was what he’d dreaded hearing from the moment he’d read the letter. But it was obvious really. How else would Uncle Alan have bidden the world goodbye?
    ‘When?’
    McCullock named a date. It was a few weeks before Dan had been killed. ‘What happened? How did he do it?’
    McCullock replaced his glasses and shuffled through the papers on his desk. ‘I have the Coroner’s report. I can email you a copy, if you want?’
    ‘No, just tell me.’
    McCullock selected a clutch of stapled papers. He read as if he were presenting the news on television, as if the words weren’t his and he had no responsibility for the information they conveyed: ‘He shot himself. With a twelve-bore shotgun.’ He met James’s eyes. ‘Death would have been instantaneous.’
    ‘How long was he there?’
    ‘I’m sorry?’
    ‘How long was it after he shot himself before he was found?’ McCullock licked his forefinger and leafed over a couple of pages. His eyes continued to traverse the print as he spoke, then his cheeks reddened. ‘The estimated time before discovery is two weeks.’
    This came as no surprise either. Alan had followed the script he’d written for himself even after he’d died. Kept himself to himself. Had even denied the world the final intimacy of witnessing his death.
    ‘Who discovered him?’
    McCullock continued to examine the document. ‘Two young boys from Grancombe. It appears that they thought the farm was deserted.’ He glanced up for a moment. ‘As I said, the property is in an extremely dilapidated condition.’ He continued to read. ‘They broke into one of the barns adjacent to the main property. They saw him there, sitting in an old armchair, and started to run, thinking that he’d accuse them of trespassing. It was dark in there. But when he didn’t shout out or chase after them, they went up to him and had a closer look. Neither of them had a phone, but they called the police from the museum further down the lane.’
    ‘What museum?’
    McCullock consulted the paper again. ‘The Jack Dawes Museum.’ He looked up. ‘The artist, I believe.’
    ‘There’s a museum named after him?’
    McCullock checked the paper again. ‘It would appear so.’
    ‘What about the kids?’
    ‘I’m not sure I follow?’ the lawyer said.
    ‘The boys who found him. Are they all right?’
    ‘Well, yes, I think so.’ He read over the remains of the document. ‘There’s no further mention of them.’ He rubbed at his nose again. ‘There’s no question of them having been responsible for the death, if that’s what you’re thinking. The report makes it quite clear that—’
    ‘No, that wasn’t what I meant.’ But what had he meant?
    McCullock stared.
    ‘It’s just,’ James said, ‘having to see something like that. . . I wanted to know they were OK.’
    McCullock checked the report again, before concluding, ‘I’m afraid I can’t be much help on that, Mr Sawday. I could give you the telephone number of the police officer who dealt with the matter.’
    ‘No,’ James said, ‘that won’t be necessary.’
    Standing on the landing outside the office, waiting for the lift to arrive, he shook McCullock’s hand and said, ‘Thanks for all this.’
    The other man nodded. ‘I’ll let you know, then – when all the paperwork’s sorted out. I’ll need you back for some signatures.’
    ‘Fine.’
    ‘Have you decided what you’re going to do with the property? It shouldn’t take long to get ownership transferred to you.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘No, of course not. All in good time, eh?’
    ‘Yes, all in good time.’
    The lift door opened. James stepped inside.
    Outside the building, he breathed in the cold air and watched it leave his mouth in clouds and drift towards the sky. McCullock had a point.