Free The Skeleton Room by Kate Ellis Page A

brought up in Neston and he comes down this way for a couple of weeks every year. He
     was due back in London a few days ago but there’s no sign of him.’
    ‘Where does he usually stay when he comes down here?’
    ‘Harriet’s mum didn’t know.’
    ‘So we can presume he’s in some hotel or bed and breakfast or renting a cottage?’
    Harry Marchbank looked at Wesley. His mouth smiled but his eyes didn’t. ‘Very clever,’ he said patronisingly.
    Heffernan leaned forward. ‘So what do you want us to do about it?’
    ‘Just a bit of cooperation, that’s all. I might need some manpower for an arrest or . . .’
    ‘We’re not sitting on our backsides twiddling our thumbs here, you know. We’ve got a lorry hijack and a couple of suspicious
     deaths. And that’s not counting the usual holiday crime wave; thefts from yachts, burglaries . . .’
    ‘Yeah, right. I get the point. I won’t call on the local force unless it’s absolutely necessary.’
    ‘But you’ll keep me informed of what you’re up to. I like to know everything that goes on around here. And if you put a foot
     wrong I’ll be on to your guvnor right away. That clear?’ Heffernan looked Marchbank in the eye, challenging.
    ‘Fair enough.’
    ‘Fair enough, sir,’ Heffernan barked.
    Wesley looked at him, surprised. For an easygoing man, Heffernan was doing a fair impression of the nastier kind of sergeant-major.
    Marchbank strolled from the DCI’s office, his eyes scanning the outer office for familiar faces. They lighted on Rachel Tracey,
     who had just sat down at her desk, her healthy lunch of sandwich and fruit set before her.
    He made his way over and sat on the corner of her desk. ‘Long time no see, Rachel. I hear you’ve made DS. Congratulations.’
     He picked up the banana that lay on her desk. ‘This for the new DI, is it?’ He smirked unpleasantly and she snatched the fruit
     from him.
    ‘Piss off, Harry. I thought I’d seen the last of you.’
    ‘You might be seeing a lot more of me if you play your cards right.’
    She turned away. It was best to ignore pests.
    ‘Do you know you can see right through that blouse in a certain light,’ was Marchbank’s parting shot.
    She looked up and saw that Wesley had emerged from Heffernan’s office to watch their visitor leave. Her eyes met his and she
     smiled.
    ‘What’s he doing here?’ she asked.
    ‘Looking for a suspect. You sound as if you’re not pleased to see him.’
    ‘I’ll say I’m not. Harry Marchbank is not a nice man.’
    Steve Carstairs, at the desk over by the window, kept his head down and said nothing.
    Although Sam Heffernan had drunk three cups of strong tea during the course of the morning, he had had nothing else since
     breakfast and his stomach told him it was high time he had something to eat. He thrust his spade into the dry soil. His hands
     were sore and blistered with the unaccustomed effort of manual work, but he carried on, uncomplaining. There was no way he
     wanted his new workmates to think he wasn’t up to it. The sweat dripped down his forehead and tickled his nose, forming an
     annoying dewdrop at the end. When he wiped it away with a filthy hand he smelled the damp, slightly rotten aroma of newly
     turned soil on his fingers.
    The man he knew only as Andy stopped work and leaned on his spade. ‘Come on, Sam, get your back into it or we’ll be here till
     next year.’
    Sam renewed his efforts and Andy turned to the other man, who Sam knew as Keith. ‘He’s not doing bad for a beginner, is he?’
     The remark was followed by hearty laughter, as if the two men were sharing a private joke. Sam thought it best to smile and
     say nothing. Show willing but don’t rock the boat.
    ‘I reckon it’s dinner-time,’ Andy announced with authority. ‘You brought something with you, Sam?’
    Sam looked at him, puzzled.
    ‘You brought something to eat? Sandwiches?’
    Sam felt himself blushing. ‘I’ll, er, go down to the shops and . .