Free Winding Up the Serpent by Priscilla Masters Page A

petty jealousy.’ He picked up his pad angrily. ‘I’ll let you have my report as soon as I’ve finished it. I’ll ring you later with the rest of the results.’
    Joanna walked out, letting the doors swing backwards and forwards ...
    The day was warm and sunny and Joanna felt hemmed in by the small office, even with the windows open. She picked up her jacket.
    Mike was in the middle of eating a sandwich. He looked up as she stood in front of his desk.
    â€˜How did the PM go?’ Pieces of bread sprayed out of his mouth on to the Daily Mirror.
    â€˜He can’t find a cause of death.’
    Mike swallowed his lump of sandwich and washed it down with a noisy swig of coffee. ‘So where does that leave us?’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Confused, in a mess.’
    She sat on the corner of his desk. ‘It’s difficult,’ she began. ‘If you know you have a murder investigation you get the lot... extra men, time, money, facilities. In this case, until I know one thing or the other we’re left in limbo.’
    He nodded and took another bite from his sandwich.
    â€˜I wish there was something,’ she said. ‘Anything that might help.’
    â€˜Your pet pathologist didn’t have all the answers, then?’ There was a tightening around his lips.
    She looked beyond him at the brick wall view through the window. ‘He didn’t have any of the answers,’ she said.
    â€˜Oh dear.’ He yawned and folded his newspaper. ‘So what now?’
    â€˜We’ll have to go back. Back to Silk Street – see if we can find anything there.’

Chapter 7
    It was time to join the SOCOs and spend the afternoon hunting through the house in Silk Street, but Joanna wasn’t anxious to return. There was something unpleasant about the atmosphere – something cheap.
    It was as they drove along the main Leek road that they passed a sign on the left, pointing the way to the Willow Veterinary Surgery.
    On impulse Joanna touched Mike’s elbow. ‘Pull in,’ she said. ‘I’d like to see Ben.’
    Mike gave her a swift, pitying look. ‘Bloody typical,’ he said. ‘Illogical. What’s the point of going to see the dog? He can’t tell you anything.’
    â€˜I know,’ she said frostily, but she was unable to explain logically why she wanted to see the Alsatian again – except that whatever had happened on Tuesday night he must have seen it. Perhaps he could even have prevented it. He had been closer to the dead woman than anyone she had yet found.
    Roderick Beeston was standing in the yard, in his jeans, wellies and green oilskin. His hands were deep in his pockets as he watched a dog vomiting. ‘Possible sheep worrying,’ he said, without looking up. ‘Farmer tried to shoot him – missed, thank God. It was a twelve-bore, double-barrelled job. Would have made quite a mess of this little chap.’
    He scratched his greying beard, his face set and angry. ‘Have you any idea, Inspector, what a mess this creature would have been in if the farmer hadn’t been drinking so much home-made parsnip wine he couldn’t stand up, let alone shoot straight?’
    â€˜No.’
    He looked up then. ‘And what brings you here, Inspector?’
    But before she could answer, his attention was diverted by a quick movement of the dog’s flanks as he retched and vomited.
    Joanna paused while the vet peered at the vomit, found no sheep fur then grinned at the dog. ‘OK, Hannibal,’ he said, scratching the top of the dog’s head, ‘looks like you’re innocent. Good dog.’ He held the dog’s head as it retched again. ‘Good dog,’ he said again. Hannibal’s tail wagged feebly as his brown eyes met those of his deliverer.
    â€˜Farmers shoot first, look for the evidence later,’ the vet said. ‘Damned good job you don’t do the