Read Wexford 6 - No More Dying Then for Free Online

strange men.”
       The face whitened. “Oh, yes.”
       “But did he ever tell you that a man had spoken to him?”
       “No, never. I take him to school and fetch him home. He’s only alone when he goes out to play and then the other boys are with him.” She lifted her face and now there was no guard on it. “What do you mean?”
       Why did she have to ask so directly? “No one has told me they saw any stranger speak to John” he said truthfully, “but I have to check.”
       She said in the same uncompromising level vice, “Mrs. Dean told me a child was lost in Kingsmarkham last February and never found. She came in to tell me while Mrs. Crantock was here.”
       Burden forgot that he had ever allied himself with Mrs. Dean. In savage, unpoliceman-like tones he burst out before he could stop himself, “Why the hell don’t these busybodies keep their mouths shut?” He bit his lip, wondering why what she had said brought out so much violence in him and the desire to go next door and strike the Dean woman. “That child was a girl,” he said, “and much older. The kind of – er - pervert who needs to attack girls isn’t likely to be interested in a small boy.” But was that true? Who could yet understand the mysteries of a sane mind, let alone a diseased one?
       She drew the shawl more closely about her and said, “How shall I get through the night?”
       “I shall get you a doctor.” Burden finished his tea and got up. “Didn’t I see a doctor’s plate in Chiltern Avenue?”
       “Yes. Dr. Lomax.”
       “Well, we’ll get some sleeping pills out of this Lomax, and a woman to stay the night with you. I’ll see you’re not left alone.”
       “I don’t know how to thank you.” She bowed her head and he saw that at last she began to cry. “You’ll say it’s only your job and your duty, but it’s more than that. I - I do thank you. When I look at you I think, Nothing can happen to John while he’s there.”
       She was looking at him as a child should look at its father but as he could never remember his own children looking at him. Such trust was a terrible responsibility and he knew he shouldn’t foster it. There was more than a fifty-fifty chance now that the child was dead and he wasn’t God to bring the dead to life. He ought to say that she mustn’t worry, mustn’t think about it - how cruel and stupid and insensitive! - but all he could say in the face of those eyes was, “I’ll go for the doctor now and he’ll see you get a good night.” There was no need to add anything but he added, “Don’t sleep too long. I’ll be back with you by nine.”
       Then he said good night. He didn’t mean to look back. ‘Something impelled him. She was standing in the doorway, framed in yellow light, a curious outlandish figure in that gypsy gilded shawl, her hair so bright that it seemed on fire. She waved to him tentatively, rather shyly, her other hand smoothing away the tears from under her eyes. He had seen pictures of women like her but never known them, never spoken to them. Briefly he wondered if he wanted the child found, wanted it so passionately, because that would mean he need never see her again. He turned sharply towards the street and went to summon Dr. Lomax.

    A great moon drifted above the fields, pale and misty as if it drifted in a pool of water. Burden waited until the searchers got back at midnight. They had found nothing.
       Grace had left a note for him: “John waited up till eleven for you to help him with his maths. Could you just glance at it? He was in quite a state. G.”
       It took Burden a couple of seconds to adjust to the fact that his own son was also called John. He glanced at the homework and, as far as he could see, the algebra was correct. A lot of fuss about nothing. These little nagging notes of Grace’s were getting a bit much. He opened the door of his son’s room and saw that he was fast asleep. Grace and Pat