Read The Ellie Hardwick Mysteries for Free Online Page A

was placed with precision and left in the wound. It’s a skilful job, a surgical job, not a wild, crazed stabbing. But perhaps it was just a lucky stroke?’ He shrugged. ‘At any rate I don’t think we’re going to find any blood-drenched overalls in the graveyard dustbin.’
    â€˜But how do you get a girl to just lie there while you plunge a dagger into her heart? Or was she killed somewhere else and the body brought here and arranged like this? And where on earth would you come by precisely the same dagger as the old man’s got at his side? That’s a misericorde, isn’t it? It’s all so deliberate! Look at her hair. It’s been arranged to fall like that. Her dress—someone’s folded it. And what would Taro Tyler be doing wearing an outfit like that anyway? It looks medieval!’
    I gasped as the connection struck me.
    â€˜Only just caught on?’ he asked acidly.
    â€˜She’s meant to look like—be a replica of—the original figure . . . the figure I was supposed to be inspecting with you this morning.’
    â€˜I think so. Your firm sent some chaps last week to remove Sir John’s alabaster wife, Lady Aliénore. She was in need of remedial treatment. We called your boss who said, ‘‘Awfully sorry, I shall be away on holiday in Puglia but—tell you what—I’ll send you my assistant. She’s young and highly qualified, sound art historian. Pretty girl too,” ’ he added. ‘Recognise yourself? I had the remains of the first Lady Brancaster placed over there in the corner on that tarpaulin.’
    He nodded towards the bell tower and to an ordered pile of pale-gleaming fragments rising from which I could make out a single white hand pointing forlornly heaven-wards.
    I had looked calmly enough at the dead girl but, unaccountably, the sight of the dismembered stone limbs made me shudder.
    â€˜I think I’m going to be sick,’ I muttered and for a moment it seemed horribly likely.
    â€˜No you’re not!’ he said. ‘Have a thought for the Suffolk Constabulary! They’ll have quite enough bodily fluids to put under their microscopes without being distracted by extraneous and irrelevant contributions from the visiting architect. Pull yourself together, Miss . . . er . . .!’
    He’d said it again! No one had told me to pull myself together since primary school. I breathed deeply, beginning sincerely to dislike Edward Hartest.
    â€˜Ellie, call me Ellie,’ I said impatiently.
    â€˜Fine. And you might as well call me Edward. Now look here, Ellie, I want you to note a few things before the police get here. I’m certain that we can rely on them to use the full range of their forensic techniques but . . .’
    â€˜I know what you’re getting at. Not straightforward is it? It’s as though someone’s left a challenge. If it weren’t such a gruesome thought I might even say—someone’s playing a game.’
    â€˜Yes, and I have a feeling I may know the identity of this joker! Do you see, over there, just below the scrolled edge—don’t touch it for God’s sake!—there’s a smudge.’
    â€˜A finger print,’ I said firmly. ‘In blood!’
    My fingers may have strayed unconsciously to my camera because he looked down at me and glowered. ‘Don’t even think of it!’ he said repressively. He paused, eyeing my Nikon. ‘You haven’t already, have you? I’m afraid I must insist you hand over the film.’
    â€˜Film?’
    â€˜You know what I mean!’ He waved an imperious hand at my camera. ‘Do whatever you have to do to disarm that contraption.’
    The authoritative voice was one which was used to being obeyed.
    â€˜Give me one good reason why I should!’
    â€˜I’ll give you two. You could sell the negative of this scene to the gutter press for thousands and the family can do