Free The Bone Garden by Kate Ellis Page B

a feeling that somewhere
     among this lot there must be something that’ll tell us who those skeletons belonged to and how they ended up where they did.’
     She gave him a shy smile which he returned.
    Neil backed out of the room, still clutching the books, not taking his eyes off Claire. ‘Thanks,’ he muttered. ‘Er … see you
     later.’
    He walked back to the gatehouse, hardly aware of his surroundings, still holding the books close against his body. He would
     read them tonight … and absorb every precious word.
    The investigation into the death of John Jones had begun. Everyone on the caravan site was being interviewed but so far nobody
     had admitted to seeing anything suspicious. The computer was consulted as ancient Greeks once consulted their oracle. The
     description of the dead man was circulated to other forces in an attempt to discover whether he matched any missing persons
     on their books. The postmortem was booked for first thing in the morning.
    Wesley watched as his boss paced up and down his office like a caged rhinoceros. In some brave new scientific world some time
     in the next century, forensic reports, fingerprint matches and feedback from inquiries might be instantaneous. But things
     didn’t move that fast in Tradmouth CID … and Gerry Heffernan might have his share of virtues, but patience wasn’t one of them.
    At half past six Heffernan came to the conclusion that there was nothing more to be done that night and they should all go
     home and get some rest in preparation for a busy weekend. Steve slunk off to the gents, anticipating a night out on the tiles
     of Morbay, and Rachel made a quiet exit. Wesley guessed that she was indulging in more heart-searching about her turbulent
     love life. But that, he told himself firmly, was none of his business.
    ‘I suppose this means my debut on the cricket field is cancelled,’ he said as Gerry Heffernan perched his large backside on
     the edge of his desk with an ominous creak.
    ‘On the contrary, Wes. I think we should take every opportunity to lurk around Earlsacre and indulge in a spot of espionage.
     You’re playing the local village team, right?’
    Wesley nodded.
    ‘Well, talk to them; mention the case. See if you get any sort of reaction. Why was this John Jones so interested in Earlsacre?
     There must have been a reason.’
    ‘Perhaps he was just into old gardens. Some people are.’
    ‘No, Wes. There’s a connection there – I can feel it in my water. And don’t worry about this cricket match: I’ll be there
     on the boundary cheering you on.’
    ‘Great,’ said Wesley. That was all he needed.
    ‘And don’t forget you’ve got that date with Brian Willerby.’
    ‘How could I forget?’
    ‘Now don’t be like that, Wesley. We’ve got to keep in with our legal friends.’ Heffernan grinned wickedly. ‘But rather you
     than me, eh? I don’t know what his cricket playing’s like, but the man could bore for England.’
    He chuckled as he lumbered back into his office and reached for the shapeless jacket that hung on the coatstand in the corner.
     ‘I’m off now, Wes,’ he called out cheerfully. ‘Choir practice tonight. Getting ready for harvest festival.’
    ‘Already?’
    ‘Unlike our forensic department, our choirmaster doesn’t believe in hanging about. If there’s no word from forensic by lunch-time
     tomorrow, chase them up, will you, Wes. And why don’t you knock off and get home for a square meal and a bit of marital bliss
     while you’ve still got the chance,’ he concluded ominously.
    Wesley opened his mouth to speak, to tell his boss that there wasn’t much chance of marital bliss that evening as Della was
     descending on them with lover boy in tow. But Heffernan had already breezed out of the office, singing a snatch from Haydn’s
Creation
in a rich baritone voice.
    Detective Constable Steve Carstairs had stayed behind at Tradmouth police station on the pretext of finishing off some reports.
     But