Free Little Knell by Catherine Aird Page B

other people’s trades and professions. Jargon for in-groups – a badge of belonging – was what it was and he didn’t like it.
    â€˜Anterior and posterior, Inspector,’ replied Ruth.
    â€˜Full frontal,’ interpreted Dr Dabbe cheerfully.
    â€˜That’s if the foil could be opened up a bit more,’ the radiographer said, wincing.
    â€˜Your pretty pictures would be very helpful,’ said the pathologist gallantly. ‘We’re going to need X-rays sooner or later.’
    Detective Inspector Sloan hoped that the radiographer was not a militant feminist.
    â€˜And you, Inspector,’ went on Dr Dabbe courteously, ‘I take it you already have all the photographs you need of the – er – cartonnage? ’
    Sloan nodded as Burns advanced with a trolley laid out with instruments.
    â€˜I suppose,’ said Dr Dabbe in a businesslike way, ‘that you’ll be wanting a time frame first, Sloan.’
    What Detective Inspector Sloan wanted first was the chance to get started on the hunting of the coroner’s nark, but he did not say so.

Chapter Seven
    Frayed
    â€˜I am given to understand, sir,’ said Detective Constable Crosby to the young man on the doorstep, ‘that last week you reported a woman as missing from this address; that is, if you’re Colin Thornhill.’
    â€˜Jill Carter,’ said the young man tightly. ‘Have you found her?’
    â€˜Not yet,’ said Crosby.
    â€˜So why have you come round here?’
    â€˜Just checking, sir. That’s all.’
    â€˜Not again!’ protested Colin Thornhill heatedly. ‘Do you realize that you’re the third policeman to want to ask me questions since Jill went missing?’
    â€˜Am I, sir?’ asked Detective Constable Crosby. He was standing on the doorstep of a big old house opposite the park in the middle of Berebury. ‘Well, I never.’
    â€˜There was the one when I reported that Jill hadn’t come home last Friday…’
    â€˜That would be our Station Sergeant,’ offered Crosby helpfully.
    â€˜And then another policeman came round here to ask me the same questions all over again. And now you.’ Colin Thornhill stood back from the threshold and said grudgingly, ‘I suppose you’d better come in then.’
    He led the way up to the top flat of a house that had come down in the world. Where once a successful Victorian merchant had proclaimed his worldly achievement in architectural curlicues, now half a dozen souls made their individual homes. The apartment under the roof into which Thornhill showed the constable had clearly begun life as a set of night nurseries.
    â€˜Jill disappeared, you see,’ the man said, ‘without a word to anyone. Just didn’t come home that night.’
    â€˜There’s no law against disappearing,’ said Crosby.
    â€˜I understand that.’ He essayed a thin smile. ‘I’ve been tempted to do it myself often enough when things haven’t gone well, but Jill just isn’t that sort of person.’
    â€˜If you want to drop out, then you can,’ said Crosby. This was a credo oft-repeated to the families and friends of those who had done so by those who moved in police circles. The families and friends invariably remained unconvinced of this truism. ‘There’s nothing to stop you or anyone else going off if you want to without saying why.’
    â€˜Jill wasn’t a drop-out,’ Thornhill came back at him swiftly, exhibiting the first sign of animation that he had seen so far.
    â€˜No?’
    â€˜No,’ he said firmly. ‘Besides, she’d just started a new job.’
    The constable looked down at the report in his hand. ‘As a trainee with Pearson, Worrow and Gisby, the chartered accountants.’
    He nodded. ‘It was beginning at the bottom, of course…’
    Crosby nodded. So was detective constable.
    â€˜But it was a