Read The Ellie Hardwick Mysteries for Free Online Page B

without the publicity. Secondly, if you don’t I shall take it out anyway and, clumsy as I am with modern equipment, I might well do your toy irreparable damage.’
    With a display of truculence, I slowly removed the memory card and handed it over.
    â€˜What on earth’s this?’
    â€˜It’s what we use instead of film in the twenty-first century. There’s nothing on there but exterior shots of Mendlesett . . . crumbling buttresses and worm-eaten woodwork. Only of value to me. Still, if it’ll keep your hands off my equipment, the sacrifice is worth it.’
    We looked at each other in silence for a moment until outside in the real world, one by one, cars crunched to a halt.
    * * *
    A Detective Inspector Jennings accompanied by a detective sergeant and a uniformed officer marched aggressively in through the door and up the aisle. He made his way towards us, holding up his credentials for our inspection, unnecessarily it seemed as The Hon Edward greeted him with an easy, ‘Oh, hallo there, Richard!’
    After briefly establishing who I was and my role in the discovery of the body, the inspector courteously invited us to get out of the church by the fastest route and to avoid treading again on the carpet. I noticed that he spoke to Edward Hartest formally but with an underlying deference and I remembered—not only Honourable but also J.P.—Justice of the Peace, a local magistrate. This heir of an ancient family moved smoothly into action and, replying with just the right blend of formality and charm, informed the Inspector that we would leave the scene of crime clear for the investigating officers and go to await his questions in the comfort of the library at Tilbrook Hall where he trusted Richard would be able to join us later for coffee. Edward picked up my briefcase, put a chivalrous arm around my shoulders and led me out into the sunshine.
    Through the thin cotton of my overalls I could feel the solicitous arm shaking perceptibly.
    * * *
    As we left, uniformed policemen were cordoning off the churchyard with plastic tape, one firmly standing his ground and denying access to an indignant, weather-beaten lady. ‘Young man, kindly move aside. I always do the flowers on a Wednesday!’
    â€˜But not this Wednesday, I’m afraid, madam,’ I heard him say cheerfully. ‘Church closed to the public until further notice.’
    A middle-aged figure, bespectacled and distinguished, climbed out of his Volvo, an assistant carrying his medical bag. The pathologist? ‘Got a little local difficulty I hear, Edward?’ he said, managing to sound both amused and concerned.
    â€˜Local, Gordon, but I’ m not so sure about little,’ said Edward.
    â€˜Am I the only outsider here?’ I wondered resentfully.
    * * *
    The Hall was only five minutes walk from the church. A gable end was visible above the surrounding trees and the five shafted cluster of a chimney stack broke the skyline. Fifteenth century was my first impression. A fine house. A gracious and welcoming house. I was shown into the library and a tray of coffee was placed at my elbow while Edward went off to break the news of the death to his son Rupert, still abed, according to the housekeeper, and to his father, the current Lord Brancaster, up but feeling poorly.
    I strolled around the library, admiring the ranks of leather-bound books, but finding not one I was tempted to take down and read. Fresh flowers in silver vases dotted the tables and a log fire smouldered in the grate of the stately fireplace. The latest model computer, perched almost apologetically on a table at the far side of the room was the only concession to the twenty-first century.
    I passed the time taking from my briefcase the file on Tilbrook Church. Meticulously kept, the notes went back for thirty years. The fabric was in first class condition scrupulously maintained by the Hartest family. The damage to Aliénore had been caused