Free Slated for Death by Elizabeth J. Duncan Page A

context for me, please.”
    â€œShe hadn’t shown up for the little birthday party they had planned for her. So Jimmy and I offered to go to her room to see if she was on her way. Jimmy knew where her room was. I left him in the corridor—in his chair, you know, in case Doreen was still getting dressed or whatever.”
    Davies nodded. “Right. So Jimmy didn’t go into the room?”
    Penny shook her head. “No, just me.”
    â€œOkay,” said Davies. “Now tell me exactly what you saw.”
    â€œDoreen was lying on top of her bed, fully dressed. It looked as if she had got herself ready for the party, and then, maybe because she was a few minutes early or maybe she felt a little weak or dizzy, or something like that, had laid down again.”
    â€œWhere were her hands? Were they folded over her chest like this?” Davies linked his fingers together and placed them over his chest.
    â€œNo,” Penny said slowly. “They weren’t. They were more like this.” She clenched both hands into loose fists and set them on her upper chest, fingers curled downward, so the knuckles were almost under her chin. “They were like this.”
    â€œDid you notice anything in her hands?”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œLike anything.”
    She shook her head. “No, I didn’t see anything. I touched her hand, though, and it was still warm.”
    â€œNow for the hard part. I’m sorry to have to ask you to do this, but can you describe her face?”
    Penny looked away for a moment and then started to speak. As she spoke, she gradually turned her gaze back to him.
    â€œHer head was turned toward the door. Her mouth was open. Her eyes were closed. She looked peaceful enough, I guess. The bedcovers were smooth. There was no sign of a struggle, if that’s what you’re asking.”
    Before he could respond, a knock on the door signalled the arrival of Bethan. Penny let her in and she sat beside Davies on the sofa.
    â€œWell?” he asked. Bethan nodded and gave him a quizzical look. He hesitated for a moment and then held out his hand. In it, she placed a small evidence bag. He flattened to make the contents more visible and then held it out to Penny.
    â€œThe doctor found this in Doreen’s left hand when he examined her body. It’s a small piece of slate. This is what’s got us so worried.”
    Penny knew that police officers are not permitted to discuss details of a case so she wondered why he was telling her this.
    She reached out for the bag and looked at the small object, then stood up and walked over to a small bowl on the mantelpiece. She retrieved something and then held it out to Davies. It sat in the palm of his hand, smooth and cool with a matte blue-grey lustre. He examined it from all angles. From a side view, tiny striated lines revealed it was made in layers. It was like a block of slate in miniature.
    â€œWhere did you get this?” Davies asked.
    â€œAt the Dorothea Quarry,” Penny said. “Near Penygroes. I’ve been there many times to sketch and paint. The buildings have been abandoned and are falling into ruin as nature reclaims them. It’s a strange kind of beauty. Desolate and decaying, but romantic, too. If you try, you can just about imagine what used to be. And you wonder how and why it happened. It’s better to go this time of year when the trees are bare. In the summer you can barely see the buildings for the foliage.”
    â€œWell,” he said to Bethan. “See if our slate ties in with that quarry or the mine. It must come from somewhere around here.”
    â€œI know you’re not supposed to discuss your case with an outsider,” Penny said, “but can you tell me why the slate is important? Doreen’s husband worked in the slate mine, I understand, although not the quarry operation, so might she have had an emotional attachment to it? Could the explanation