Walking with Ghosts - A Honey Driver Murder Mystery (Honey Driver Mysteries) by Jean G. Goodhind Read Free Book Online Page B

absolutely still up until now. His voice shook in time with his body.
    ‘Mr Jim Porter. Builder and decorator,’ explained Karen Sinclair. Karen was Steve Doherty’s new assistant. She was young, keen, and he’d admired her before her promotion when she’d still been in uniform. Now she was plain clothes. Jeans and black sweater weren’t exactly the stuff of fantasy, not like the uniform, but she could still fill a wet dream or two …
    ‘I only came to give an estimate for some work,’ blurted out Jim Porter.
    Steve Doherty could see that poor old Jim’s blood pressure was at steaming point, the colour of his cheeks almost matching his hair. ‘I didn’t know her,’ he added shakily, though no one had questioned whether he had.
    ‘You had a key?’ Doherty asked.
    ‘Yeah. They told me to let meself in and take me time.’
    ‘They?’
    ‘The owners. Wallace and Gates.’
    ‘You came through the front door?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Was it locked?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘You’re sure?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Jim Porter looked away as the body of the woman was laid carefully in a body bag.
    ‘Didn’t expect to see this,’ he murmured. ‘I was only ’ere to quote for a bit of glass in the back window and a lick of paint down in the shop.’
    The sound of the zip being pulled made him jump.
    ‘How about the skylight?’ asked Doherty. ‘Was it leaking?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘You had no reason to cover it with tarpaulin?’
    ‘No, I didn’t, and whoever did it done it only recent. It weren’t there two days ago when I came to fix the sink.’
    Steve Doherty jerked his chin in understanding. Already his mind was placing square pins into square holes and round into round. The skylight had been covered purposely. The woman had been lured here and everything had been prepared in advance. But why?
    Jim Porter asked if he could go.
    ‘Leave your name and address. You’re more than likely to be called as a witness.’
    ‘Most definitely dead,’ said the medical examiner before closing his smart black bag. ‘But what else would she be after being strangled with a length of wire. Simple but clever. She put her head in a noose as she walked up the stairs. Our boy pulled it tight from up there.’ He pointed at the length of wire looped over a roof truss.
    Sample bags were filled, body temperature taken, the fine toothcomb scenario carefully carried out.
    Doherty held up a bag containing the murder ‘weapon’ – what looked like a length of brown electrical cable.
    He inhaled a pleasant hint of perfume. Karen was standing behind him.
    ‘So, what do you think?’
    ‘I think it’s Conex.’
    She looked at him blankly.
    This was his chance to impress. ‘Conex is used on computers and more especially on television and satellite boxes. It’s a communications cable rather than electrical.’
    ‘My, you’re so knowledgeable.’
    She had a sugary tongue. He looked away. Hell’s bells, she was too young for him!
    ‘Experience,’ he replied tartly. ‘No one saw or heard anything?’
    Karen shook her head. ‘No.’ Her hair was blonde and fitted her head tightly like a rubber swimming cap. ‘We’ve enquired of the residents in the building opposite. It’s divided into student lets. Not all of them are back from the Easter break. We tried the shop next door, but there’s no reply. It’s a lock-up like this one with no living accommodation. They’re mostly let to antique dealers and other arty-farty types.’
    Doherty grunted and unzipped the body bag for one last look. Great effort was needed to keep his eyes fixed on the body. His nose was out of control, twitching in response to Karen’s perfume.
    ‘That perfume you’re wearing  …’
    Karen’s fresh-faced complexion blossomed into a deeper shade of pink. She was so polished, so self-assured. ‘It’s French.’
    ‘Don’t wear it again.’
    ‘Oh  …’
    ‘Strong scents are likely to contaminate the crime scene.’
    He sensed her mouth clamping shut and could