The Salton Killings by Sally Spencer Read Free Book Online Page A

platform high in the salt store. They had been locked, just as he had instructed. The back of his neck tingled again. There was something about the place – he knew there was. He took the dog-legged path that led from the salt store down to the canal bank.
    Davenport knocked respectfully on the Thorburn’s back door. He had never been in the house before. Few villagers ever had, because the Thorburn’s were outsiders – Catholics. Not, he told himself, that they were actively disliked, but most folks in Salton considered papists just a little bit odd.
    The door opened, and a pale, haggard May Thorburn stood facing him. Davenport removed his helmet.
    â€œMy condolences, Mrs Thorburn,” he said. “Could I come in for a minute?”
    The woman backed away without speaking, and Davenport stepped inside.
    â€œEven Catholic
houses
are funny,” Davenport thought. “They smell different.”
    He looked up at the large, garishly coloured picture of Jesus on the wall, his feet bare, a halo glowing around his head, his heart, blood red, clearly visible through his brown robe. He couldn’t imagine that hanging in his own kitchen.
    Sid Thorburn was in an armchair, miserably hunched up. When he saw who had arrived, he rose shakily to his feet.
    Jesus Christ, Davenport thought, he’s aged twenty years!
    He rebuked himself for blaspheming in the presence of the picture, then said aloud, “It’s a sad day, Sid.”
    â€œWe always did our best for her,” Thorburn said, “always looked after her. An’ now this has to happen. Would you like to see her?”
    â€œAye,” Davenport said. “Aye, I would.”
    Thorburn led him into the front room, smarter than the rest of the house, used only for christenings, marriages – and deaths.
    The coffin was laid between two dining chairs. Candles burnt beside it. Davenport gazed down at the dead girl. They had done a good job on her at the undertakers. You couldn’t tell, looking at the body, that it had been ripped open and the vital organs removed. The hair had been arranged in such a way that you’d never guess that the top of the head had been sawn off, the brains taken out and the space filled with newspaper.
    The eyes were closed, and that changed the whole face. When they’d been open, they’d always made her seem . . . well, miserable was the only word for it.
    â€œShe looks very peaceful,” he said.
    â€œAye, she’ll be in heaven now,” Thorburn said, sighing heavily. Tears came to his eyes. “I know God’ll look after her, but couldn’t He have let us have her with us just a little while longer?”
    Davenport put his arm around the grieving man’s shoulders and led him back into the kitchen.
    â€œThere’s a few questions I have to ask,” he said gently.
    â€œWe’ve already talked to that Inspector of yours.”
    â€œThese are different,” Davenport explained. “I’ve been sent by a
Chief
Inspector – from London.”
    Thorburn shrugged his shoulders resignedly.
    â€œWhat d’you want to know?” he asked.
    â€œDiane’s friends. Who she used to knock about with. What she did in her spare time.”
    Sid Thorburn’s eyes suddenly gleamed, and Davenport realised that despite his grief, he was about to deliver a lecture.
    â€œWe’re Catholics,” he said. “Now I’m not sayin’ owt against the Church of England, there’s good an’ bad in all religions. But we do have certain standards. Our Diane is – was – only fifteen, and we didn’t allow her to go gallivantin’ round like some parents I could mention.” He waved his hands in a gesture of self-justification. “We weren’t over-strict, like; we did let her go out as long as we knew which girls she was goin’ with an’ as long as she was back home by eight o’clock.”
    Most girls of her