End in Tears Read Online Free Page B

and pink and black thong. The contents of her pockets lay on the dark-red leather top of the desk.
    â€œThey don’t have handbags anymore,” said Wexford.
    Burden was looking at a front-door key on a Gollum-faced ring to match her watch, a tube made of transparent plastic holding some bright pink substance, presumably a kind of lipstick, the packet with two cigarettes in it, the half-melted chocolate, still wrapped in foil, and the condom. Still a bit of a prude, he let his eyes linger on this last object and his mouth tightened.
    â€œBetter have one than not, surely,” said Wexford.
    â€œThat depends on how you intend to spend your evening. Wasn’t she carrying any money?”
    Wexford opened a drawer and brought out a transparent plastic bag with notes inside. Quite a lot of notes and all of them fifties.
    â€œIt still has to be checked for prints,” he said. “There’s a thousand pounds in there. It was loose in her right-hand jacket pocket along with the key and that tube of what, I believe, is lip gloss. The contraceptive, the cigarettes, and the sweet were in the other pocket.”
    â€œWhere did she get hold of a thousand pounds?”
    â€œThat we shall have to discover,” said Wexford.

CHAPTER 4
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    T he car turned into Mill Lane. Along the grass verge uniformed policemen—jacketless and without caps—were searching the ditch and the field on the other side of the hedge for the weapon. Crime tape, stretched along the pavement edge, isolated the area. On the opposite side of the road an old man stood among the sunflowers, leaning on a stick, staring at the searchers.
    â€œIt’s been so dry for so long,” Wexford said. “The killer could have parked a car anywhere along that verge without leaving a mark.”
    The house called Clifton seemed to lie among its trees and shrubs peculiarly still and passive. It had that look of resting, of shutting down, buildings have at times of great heat. Alert expectancy would be for the bitter cold of deep winter. Windows were wide open but no one was to be seen. Though it was early evening, they got out of the car’s cool interior to be met by a wall of heat.
    â€œIt feels like stepping out of the aircraft when you go away on holiday to Greece,” said Wexford. “You can’t believe it, it feels so good. In the middle of the night, as likely as not. But we hardly ever have warm nights here. Why don’t we?”
    â€œSearch me. Something to do with the Gulf Stream, I expect. Most weather things are.”
    â€œThe Gulf Stream makes things warm, not cold.”
    This time there was no one to meet them. Wexford rang the doorbell and Diana Marshalson opened the door. Again the little boy was with her, managing to stand if he clutched at the side of her loose trousers.
    â€œI took it for granted this morning that he was yours,” Wexford said to Diana. “But Amber was in fact his mother, wasn’t she?”
    â€œI suppose I should have told you.”
    Neither Wexford nor Burden made any comment on that.
    â€œIs Brand short for anything or is that his actual name?” Wexford asked.
    She made a face, wrinkling her nose and drawing her mouth down. “I’m afraid it’s his name. Still, considering the names that are available these days, it’s not too bad, is it? My husband has got up. He’ll speak to you—but go easy with him, won’t you? He’s had a terrible shock.”
    She took them into the big living room where her husband was lying on the gray sofa, propped up with gray-and-white cushions. Wexford had discovered that he was not yet sixty. With his wispy white hair fringing a bald patch, his deeply lined face and sagging belly, he looked much older. Allowances must be made, of course. He had just suffered an appalling loss. When the policemen came in he turned his head, his eyes falling on the child.
    â€œOh, God, he’s so exactly like