BURIED CRIMES: a gripping detective thriller full of twists and turns Read Online Free

looking at her coldly.
    So that’s it, thought Rae. He’s probably read me. Prejudiced bastard. She realised she wouldn’t get any more from him, thanked him politely and left his office.
    On her way out she spoke to the young receptionist. ‘Is he always like that?’
    ‘Oh yes,’ came the reply. ‘Don’t think it’s you. I’m only temping here. No one lasts more than a few weeks in the job, as far as I can tell. He used to own this business, but was forced to sell to one of the big chains during the property crash. He’s resented it ever since. I don’t think he’ll last much longer.’
    Rae was annoyed with herself. It was a problem she shared with many other transgender people. She assumed that any rudeness and friction directed her way was due to prejudice against her trans nature. Yet, more often than not, it was just some grumpy person who was rude and unpleasant to everyone.
    ‘Is there anyone else whose brains I can pick about the history of the houses in the area? There’s no other estate agent, is there?’
    The receptionist thought for a while. ‘There’s a lady who worked here for a long time. I can remember chatting to her when I worked here once before. She retired a couple of months ago. She’ll be as good as anyone. I don’t know exactly where she lives, somewhere behind the High Street I think, but her name is Margaret Court.’
    ‘Like the tennis player?’ asked Rae.
    ‘Yes. And she played tennis herself as a youngster. She’d even won some cups at the local club, so she told me.’
    Rae borrowed the local telephone directory, and quickly found an address for a John Court in Honeywell Lane. This was a side street running at right angles to the High Street. There was a good chance that this was the correct address. She thanked the young girl for her time and left. She walked the hundred yards or so to the junction with Honeywell Lane. The rain had eased, so she left her umbrella rolled up in her shoulder bag. Number forty-seven was at the end of a smart terrace. An elderly man was working in the well-tended garden, putting out some summer bedding plants. Rae halted at the gate. He looked up as she approached and smiled.
    ‘Mr Court?’ she asked.
    ‘Yes. How can I help you?’
    ‘I’m looking for a Mrs Margaret Court who used to work in the estate agent’s office. Have I got the right address?’
    ‘Yes. That’s my wife. I’ll get her for you if you’d like to come in. Who shall I say is calling?’
    ‘DC Rae Gregson, Dorset police. I’d like to pick her brains if she’ll let me.’
    The man opened the gate. ‘She’ll enjoy that. She’s a fount of local knowledge. I’ll take you round the back if you don’t mind. My feet are a bit muddy.’
    Rae followed him around the side of the house to the back door, where he ushered her in ahead of him.
    ‘Margaret!’ he called. ‘Someone from the police to see you.’
    She heard a woman’s voice, and the man turned back to her. ‘She’ll be through in a minute. She’s tidying up. We had a visit from our grandchildren over the weekend. Would you like a coffee? I’m about to put the kettle on.’
    ‘That would be great, thank you.’
    He pulled a chair out for her at the table, and put down a plate of biscuits. Margaret Court came into the kitchen just as he finished pouring three mugs of coffee. She was a tall, slim woman with an alert expression. She looked a little worried. Rae introduced herself and began to explain why she had called.
    ‘I visited the estate agent’s office to see if they could give me information about the previous owners of a house in the area. One of the staff recommended that I visit you.’
    ‘Well, I hope I can help, but I’m not sure how. What house is it you’re interested in?’
    ‘Finch Cottage. I need to identify as many occupants as possible.’
    ‘How recent?’ The woman looked puzzled.
    ‘For at least the last twenty-five years if I can.’
    ‘We saw the activity up there