Free Back-Slash by Bill Kitson Page A

afraid. Everybody’s got something needs signing for this morning,’ he grumbled. ‘I’ve even got a registered letter for Woodbine Cottage. That’s the one at the end of that long track isn’t it? It must be over a year since I was out there. Not even junk mail, would you believe. Now all of a sudden the bloke’s got a registered letter. I didn’t even know his name until this morning.’
    ‘I’m afraid you’re going to be doubly unlucky,’ Shirley told him with a smile. ‘I can save you a lot of wasted time and effort if you want. I’ll sign for this parcel of Barry’s first. He’s away early this morning. You’ll have no joy at Woodbine Cottage either. He’s gone off with Barry. If you want, I’ll sign for his letter as well; give it to him when they get back. It’ll save you another trip.’
    ‘Thanks, Shirley, you’re a pal.’
    Shirley examined the registered letter. After a quick glance she darted through to the kitchen, glancing at the clock en route. If she was lucky she might just be in time to catch Barry before he dropped Alan at Netherdale railway station. She dialled her husband’s mobile but heard the distinctive call alert ringing out in the hall.
    When Barry returned, Shirley was waiting at the kitchen door. ‘Did he get off safely?’
    ‘As far as I know. There were no screaming sirens before I left anyway. I didn’t hang about though. What’s that you’ve got in your hand?’
    Shirley showed him the envelope. ‘What do you make of that?’ Barry asked.
    ‘I think it proves we did the right thing. I admit I had my doubts about Alan’s story, but this suggests he was telling the truth.’

    Lisa was anxious. Nash and Ruth Edwards were discussing staffing rotas, trying to relieve the pressure on them. She wanted to speak to Mike, but while she waited she took a call from the fingerprint officer, who asked for Nash.
    ‘Sorry about the delay, forensic officers are as rare as flies in January at the moment; this damn flu bug. But I’ve got a print that might interest you,’ he said. ‘We gave priority to the victim’s suite itself, the rest had to wait. Have you any idea how many staff that place has? They all had to be eliminated. Anyway, this one’s not from in there, it’s from the corridor close by.’
    ‘There must be a lot of prints there. What’s so special about this one?’
    ‘This one’s got form.’
    ‘Who is it, a hotel thief with a propensity for throat-slitting?’
    ‘Not exactly; although you got the throat-slitting bit right. I’ve arranged for the file to be sent straight over to you from Yorkshire Central. Least I could do with the delay we’ve caused.’
    A couple of minutes later Nash explained to the others. ‘I think we’ve got a breakthrough. SOCO found a print in thecorridor. It belongs to an Alan Charles Marshall, convicted in 2000 for murder. Victim was his wife, Anna. Her throat was slit. SOCO gave me some details from their records. Anna Marshall had been having an affair with Moran. She worked for him. He was the star prosecution witness. The contention was that Marshall found out about the affair and was known to have a temper. The prosecution said he slit her throat in a fit of jealousy, drove to Scarborough and dumped her body in the sea.’
    ‘What happened to him?’ Ruth asked.
    ‘He got life. Then he appealed successfully; got released back in 2006.’
    ‘So all we have to do is locate Marshall and we’ll have the case sewn up.’
    Nash smiled at Edwards. ‘Sounds easy, doesn’t it? Have you any idea where to begin looking? It’s a shame we don’t keep tabs on released prisoners.’
    ‘I thought we did?’ Lisa asked as she began nervously chewing on her lip.
    ‘We do when they’ve been convicted. When they’ve had the conviction quashed we’re not allowed to. It’s against their human rights or something,’ Ruth explained.
    Lisa hardly heard what the other two were saying; she could feel the panic rising. She knew