Free A Crowded Coffin by Nicola Slade

We’d had a pretty fraught run-up to Christmas so you came up with a last-minute bargain trip. And don’t forget, as soon as we got home, you went straight off to that course you were teaching. I suppose all the commotion had died down by the time I next saw you.
    ‘It’s just that a young man called Colin Price was last seen in The Angel in Locksley just on six months ago, on the fifth of January this year. He had two pints of beer, according to the landlord, and asked about the village; just chatting, at first, until he seemed to take more of an interest and asked specifically about the old people up at Locksley Farm. And then, for some reason, he started quizzing the barman about the new vicar: what people thought of him, how long he’d been here, that kind of thing.’
    She finished her whisky. ‘Anyway, he hasn’t been seen from that day to this, and the police are worried that he’s not taken any money out of the bank since, or used his credit cards,
or
gone back to his flat, which was rented, for any of his belongings .’ She frowned as she took Sam’s glass and rinsed it in the kitchen sink, along with her own. ‘I’d almost forgotten about him.’ She put her head round the sitting room door, looking apologetic. ‘Then there was a reminder in the local newsletter last week and on top of that there’s this business with Walter’s accident. God knows why I should link the two, but somehow I do.’
    Sam’s eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Harriet.’ He gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘You’re not thinking about playing Miss Marple again, are you? Surely once was enough.’ He receivedonly a cold stare in response as she sat down again, so he shook his head, but humoured her. ‘All right then, leave aside the old people for the time being and tell me about the vicar. It’s John Forrester, isn’t it? Why would your mystery man be interested in him? I know of him, of course, but by name only. I’ve never actually met him other than to pass the time of day.’
    ‘Not a lot to tell,’ she shrugged, secretly pleased to be able to use him as a sounding board. ‘He was potentially a high flyer, deputy principal at a theological college and marked for stardom. Late thirties, probably, but he moved to a country parish last autumn to see if his wife’s health would improve. Didn’t work, though, she died a few months ago, poor soul.’ She stared down at her hands. ‘I suppose the vicar will get back on track soon enough, after a decent interval.’ She cast a speculative glance at Sam. ‘You might have come across young Mr Price yourself,’ she said. ‘It turns out that he was on a contract as a temporary researcher at the Stanton Resingham archive.’ She frowned at his blank stare. ‘You do know about it, Sam. I know you often drop in to the county reference library – it’s the mass of papers that’s stored there.’
    ‘Oh yes, I remember, I’ve got a pass for it too, but I don’t recall anyone of that name. Mind you, it must be months at least since I’ve had occasion to go in there. Some old boy left a legacy plus a load of cash to set up a special foundation, didn’t he? With his own collection of local documents to start them off.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘I’ve only got a pass to get in on admin grounds; research isn’t my province. Had this young man worked there long, then?’
    ‘Only since the early autumn,’ she told him. ‘He was temping but he seems to have chopped and changed jobs a fair bit, though his references were all right, according to local report. However, he was apparently competent and he still had several months left to run on his contract. His job was pretty muchroutine, data inputting, I think. It doesn’t seem likely to have anything to do with his disappearance.’
    ‘Medium height, medium build, mousy hair?’ Sam shrugged and rose to his feet. ‘Now you come to mention it I do vaguely remember someone pointing him out to me in the cathedral