Free Death at Gallows Green by Robin Paige Page A

super’s clipped tone. “ ‘The urgent attention of police in this neighbourhood.’ If Hacking had bloody wanted the urgent attention of the police, he could’ve had my attention. I’m the police in this neighbourhood.”
    Of all the hurtful things about this case, that had been the worst. To hear his superintendent, in the presence of every male member of the Dedham community, say that Artie had been working his patch, trying to solve a crime that he had never heard of, and had died in the process. And then to learn that the case was being taken by C.C. Pell! Jesus Mary and the angels. It was bad enough that Artie was dead. It was even worse to think he’d been murdered because he was doing Endward’s job, and worse yet to have to wait for somebody else to find the murderer. Christ above!
    â€œYou mean,” Charles said, “you’d rather have gotten yourself killed than Artie?” He picked up the pitcher as if to pour himself a second glass, but apparently decided against it and set it down again.
    â€œAt least I don’t have a wife,” Edward said, “and a child. What’s more,” he added forcefully, “I don’t for a minute believe that Artie was murdered in this neighbourhood. I think he was killed on his own patch, and dumped here. And whether he was on police business—” He clamped down on the anger roiling inside him. “I’m telling you, Charlie. If there’s any sheep-stealing going on here, I don’t know anything about it. And neither does anybody else. You could see that on the faces of those jurors. If an animal goes missing here, everybody for three miles around knows it. Within the half hour, they’re out counting their own flocks.” He said each word emphatically. “There’s been no sheep-stealing hereabouts.”
    â€œYou think the superintendent is mistaken?”
    Edward made circles with his wet glass on the tabletop. “How the bloody hell should I know?” he asked wearily.
    â€œI’m just a country copper.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs, examining the muddy toes of his boots. “Anyway, Hacking’s given the case to Pell. I don’t have to worry about it anymore, do I? Let Pell knock his head against it.”
    â€œI wonder about that,” Charles said thoughtfully. “The body was found in your district. Why would Hacking assign the investigation to somebody else? And especially to a chief constable?”
    â€œAnd especially to Chief Constable Pell,” Edward said. He took another swallow to wash down the bitter taste in his mouth. “Pell’s as woolly as a sheep himself.” He gave a short, sarcastic laugh. “Got himself disabled in the line of duty. Bloody hero, but damn stupid. Since he wasn’t of any use on the beat, they made him a chief constable. Twenty years behind the desk hasn’t sharpened him up. The only thing he knows how to do is deny promotions.” Pell had been quick enough to deny his. He was still at the level of constable long after Artie had been promoted to sergeant.
    Charles lifted his eyebrows. “And that’s the man Hacking has preferred to you?”
    â€œThat’s him, damn it,” Edward said wrathfully, and slammed his glass on the table. “Well, let ’em have old Woolly Pell if they want him. But he’ll never get to the bottom of this, I promise you. I wouldn’t care, either, if it weren’t Artie Oliver we’re talking about.” He shook his head, despairing. “That’s the bloody hell of it, Charlie. Artie deserves justice done. And Agnes and that little girl deserve to see the murderer hanged. And I’ve been removed from the case. Confound and curse it!”
    Edward was not a sentimental man, but his heart softened when he thought of Agnes Oliver. Ah, Agnes, Agnes. He’d loved her a dozen years ago, but somehow the