Free The Flesh Tailor by Kate Ellis Page B

said she’d never go back.’
    Wesley looked at the man. This was something new. ‘What do you mean by his dark side?’
    ‘You searched his house yet?’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘You’ll see,’ Parker said with a smirk. ‘Over the past few weeks he became obsessed by it. It wasn’t normal.’
    ‘Obsessed by what?’
    Parker smiled and shook his head. ‘He wouldn’t tell Roz any details but it was like it was haunting him.’
    ‘What was?’
    ‘The past.’
    ‘How do you mean?’ Wesley’s curiosity was aroused now.
    But Parker shook his head again. ‘Not up to me to say. If you search his house you’ll see for yourself.’ He shut his lips
     tight and walked out of the room.
    Suddenly Wesley couldn’t wait to get over to Tradington to see what he meant.
    As Trish Walton rang Adam Tey’s doorbell she looked sideways at Nick Tarnaby who was standing by her side, eyes fixed ahead
     and hands in pockets. Nick’s taciturn manner sometimes made her feel uncomfortable. But she decided to ignore it.
    She rang the doorbell again but still there were no telltale sounds from inside the house.
    Nick Tarnaby turned to go. ‘They’ve probably gone away for a few days.’
    ‘Or done a runner after Dr Dalcott’s murder,’ said Trish, irritated at her colleague’s apparent lack of interest. ‘Let’s talk
     to the neighbours.’
    Tarnaby grunted. ‘Waste of time if you ask me.’
    Suddenly Trish’s patience snapped. ‘Sorry if you’ve got something more important to do but this Tey character had a grudge
     against the victim. We’ve got to talk to him. He could be our killer.’
    She marched towards the neighbouring front door and rang the bell. This time it opened almost immediately – too quickly perhaps,
     as though the neighbours had been watching their efforts to speak to Adam Tey and Charleen Anstice with great interest from
     behind the net curtains.
    Because the house had a neat front garden, snowy lace curtains and fussy ornaments on display in the front window, Trish had
     been expecting to see an elderly lady at the door. But instead a large, tattooed man stood there, taking up most of the doorway.
     He was bald and the muscles of his bare arms bulged like oranges in a Christmas stocking.
    ‘You police?’ he said in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. A dog began to bark somewhere inside the house. It sounded big
     and fierce and Trish hoped he wouldn’t invite them in.
    ‘That’s right.’ She held up her warrant card but he didn’t bother examining it. ‘We’ve been trying to contact your neighbours.
     Adam Tey and Charleen Anstice.’
    ‘They’re in. I heard them.’
    ‘How long ago was this?’
    ‘Just before you arrived. They had the telly on and theywere talking. These walls are as thin as bleeding paper. You can hear everything. And I mean everything,’ he added with a
     suggestive grimace.
    ‘You’re sure they didn’t go out?’
    ‘No. They’re avoiding you. I’d put money on it,’ he added with a self-satisfied smirk.
    Trish hesitated for a moment. ‘Do I get the impression you don’t get on with your neighbours, Mr … er …’
    ‘I can tell you’re in the CID, my lover,’ the man said with an unpleasant grin. ‘You’re right. I don’t like them. They keep
     complaining about my Tinkerbell.’
    ‘Tinkerbell?’
    ‘My dog. They reported her to you lot – said she was a pit bull but she’s not. All because she growled at him. He said she’d
     have gone for him if I hadn’t pulled her off. But he was tormenting her. She was only playing. She wouldn’t harm a fly.’
    ‘I see,’ said Trish quickly. She could hear Tinkerbell flinging herself against one of the inside doors. She sent up a silent
     prayer that the door wouldn’t give – the last thing she fancied at that moment was an encounter with Tinkerbell’s slavering
     jaws. ‘Thanks for your help, Mr … er …’
    ‘Mold. Ken Mold. And if they make any accusations against my Tinkerbell, they’re lying.