Time and Tide: A DC Smith Investigation

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Time and Tide: A DC Smith Investigation Page 40

by Peter Grainger


  ‘Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir.’

  When he had gone, Julie Shapiro said, ‘You’re not fooling me and you’re certainly not fooling Detective Constable Waters. He isn’t frightened of you at all.’

  ‘That’s just one of the problems with the young of today. No respect for age and authority.’

  ‘Today? I doubt whether it has ever been any different. Would you like another cup of tea?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  Perhaps it was the knowledge that Jacobs had gone, but some of the tautness had left her face. She stared down at her hands and then up towards Smith.

  ‘Is Mark going to prison?’

  ‘I really can’t say, Julie.’

  ‘No, but you seem like a very experienced sort of policeman to me. You could give me your opinion, without prejudice, obviously.’

  To be fair, it was a question he had been expecting at some point.

  ‘He has been arrested this afternoon, as an accessory after the fact. Do you know what that means?’

  She nodded, and he could see that she understood enough. She said, ‘And this is to do with the man whose body was found at Barnham?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are other people that I know involved?’

  ‘Almost certainly.’

  It was a long time before she said, ‘All those years ago and still it goes on. I was born with a voice, that’s all, and it leads to this. How is that possible? Why does the past always become a curse?’

  Smith didn’t know her well enough to attempt an answer. Instead, he said, ‘It’s my guess that Mark will be given police bail tomorrow or the day after, once certain operations have been concluded. He’ll be here with you for several months at least. If he does receive a prison sentence, it shouldn’t be a long one.’

  ‘Thank you. He didn’t want any of this. It’s not his fault. He was a rugby player, a really good one. When he was injured, he started coaching, and he was good at that, too. He gave it up to come here for me. My brother’s son, you know…’

  Her voice trailed away, and he could see that she was exhausted. He looked from her out through the window. The sun was close to the level horizon of the marshes, and the fringes of the clouds above it had caught fire – it was going to be a spectacular sunset.

  He said, ‘Julie, sit in the comfortable chair and watch the sun go down. Constable Waters and I will be around until Marjorie gets here.’

  She smiled at his apparent faith in the goodness of others, but she got up and he took her arm as she walked unsteadily to the chair that faced the western sky.

  When he heard Waters coming up the stairs again, he went out to meet him on the landing. Waters told him that the arrests had been made, and that Fisher had broken down almost immediately – he was already talking to Detective Inspector Terek as they drove him back to Kings Lake. There was now a patrol car outside with two officers from Hunston, and Marjorie Harris was on her way.

  They went down and waited for her in the bar. When she arrived, and still in her raincoat, she went straight up to Julie Shapiro, followed by Smith. From the doorway, she spoke Julie’s name quietly but there was no answer. She went across the room to the chair by the window, looked and then whispered to Smith, ‘Asleep.’

  She knew where to find a blanket and placed it over the sleeping figure. When they were back downstairs, Marjorie Harris said, ‘I’ve brought my things. She can’t be left alone with what’s going on, and her starting the treatment only this week as well.’

  Smith looked at Waters and said, ‘Treatment?’

  ‘She didn’t tell you? No, of course not. Too proud. But didn’t you notice how pale she is? Chemotherapy, for leukaemia. I’ve told her, it’ll get worse before it gets better but she doesn’t listen – still off wandering about the marshes every day. Anyway, I’ll do what I can.’

  With a shake of the head, Smith said to her, ‘Dear God, as if the poor woman hasn’t suffered enough. It’s a good thing you’re here.’

  Marjorie Harris was taking off her raincoat now.

  ‘Well, if you believe in that sort of thing at all, sergeant, I expect it was the Dear God who told you to send for me…’

  Smith glanced at Waters, a little taken aback by the thought that he had become a divine instrument, but before he could respond, Marjorie was speaking again.

  ‘Now, there’s good food going to waste in the kitchen, and the time’s getting on. Can I get you gentlemen anything to eat?’

  © Peter Grainger 2017 All rights reserved

  If you have enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a short review at Amazon, where you first found it. As I do not market or promote my writing in any way, it stands or falls entirely by the readers’ opinions of it.

  Details of my other novels can be found at http://www.petergrainger.com/

  If you would like to know more, you could email to [email protected] Alternatively, you might like to try this:

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  As ever, thank you for reading,

  Peter Grainger

  TOCTable of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty One

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  Chapter Forty

 

 

 


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