Free Death in July by Michael Joseph

the bungalow and limped to his car. He had parted with Benjamin on relatively good terms.
    And why shouldn't he?
    Benjamin had done him no harm. He hadn't taken his decision to take Sam off the case lightly, and he was paying Sam for longer than necessary. No, Benjamin was a decent bloke just struggling with sensitive issues right now. Sam made it clear he respected Benjamin's decision, and in turn, Benjamin asked if Sam would still come to the funeral. Sam replied in the affirmative while handing over his illicit copy of Benjamin's key to the cottage. Then the two men shook hands and wished each other well. All very civilised.
    Sam climbed gingerly into his car, glad he had made two copies of that key the other day. On his way out the bungalow, he had memorised the address of Arnold's hotel from the writing pad next to Benjamin's telephone. He had also noted which drawer Benjamin stored his father's personal memorabilia, those he had removed from the cottage.
    Just in case.
     
    ***
     
    Sam sat at the bar nursing his whisky. The Barton was surprisingly quiet this lunch time, given the weekend was almost upon them and the weather was holding fine. Sam had spent the last ten minutes cradling his single malt, resting his crocked leg, deep in thought but getting nowhere fast.
    'Blimey, Sam!' cried Archie, carrying boxes of crisps into the bar. 'If you think any harder, son, you're going to do yourself an injury. Talking of which, did I see you limp in here earlier?'
    Sam told him he had run into a door. An occupational hazard in the world of private investigation. Archie grinned. Sam didn't laugh along with him.
    'Sam, how's the case going?'
    'How does my face look, Archie?'
    'That bad, eh?'
    'Worse. There's definitely reason to be suspicious about Geoffrey Compton's death.'
    Archie was confused.
    'Well, that's good news, isn't it?'
    'It should be,' sighed Sam. 'Only the man paying the gig has got cold feet and called it off.'
    'And you think he should carry on?'
    Sam shook his head.
    'It's his choice, Archie.'
    Archie leaned on the bar and looked Sam straight in the eye.
    'This has got personal for you, hasn't it? That's why you don't want to drop it.'
    This time Sam did laugh.
    'Well?' said Archie.
     
    ***
     
    Sam left the pub filled with renewed vigour. If he wanted to catch the person who had driven at him, he needed to get to the bottom of Geoffrey's death. Archie was right. Sam had his teeth into this and he didn't want to let go.
    Nor was he going to.
    Sam knew Geoffrey had made the news once or twice over the years, so he started by visiting the offices of the local paper. A young clerk with a floppy fringe, studded earrings and extremely tight jeans recognised Geoffrey's name immediately and retrieved all the articles featuring him. One after another, he lay them out for Sam's perusal.
    Geoffrey's wedding to Marjorie Dawson, Benjamin and Arnold's mother, had been recorded for posterity. The single photograph showed the young couple outside the church after the ceremony in March 1946. Arm in arm, the newly-weds smiled lovingly into each other's eyes.
    The next article featured the dramatic incident at the coal mine years later, when the shaft collapsed, trapping a number of workers inside. A number of pictures showed exhausted, blackened men emerging from the mine following the rescue. Geoffrey had been one of the lucky ones, despite the injury to his leg. The final death toll was fifteen. It was the worst disaster ever to strike Newgate.
    Last year's attack on Geoffrey had also been major news. The accompanying picture showed Geoffrey recovering in a hospital bed, scowling once more for the camera. This time he had good reason. His face was black and blue with bruises.
    The final, poignant mention of Geoffrey was in the obituaries column. Placed a couple of days ago, the small advert told of a loving family man, sadly missed, followed by details of the upcoming funeral. Sam sighed. From marriage to death. A lifetime