Free Past Tense by Catherine Aird Page A

room. When she came back she was a different woman, exuding excitement and pleasure, her eyes glowing. ‘Dawn, you’ll never guess what’s happened! That was Bill,’ she announced excitedly, ‘ringing from London.’
    â€˜London? But I thought he was in Brazil…’
    â€˜Head Office,’ she said impressively. ‘He was called back there yesterday all in a hurry. His flight landed during the late morning our time…’
    â€˜When you were over at the funeral, of course.’
    â€˜Exactly. That’s what I told him. He said he’d tried to ring me later as well but it was too late to come home after he’d seen the boss man at work and he was too tired after the flight to be safe to drive anyway.’
    â€˜Something wrong?’ enquired Dawn curiously. In her own husband’s world the words ‘Head Office’ usually spelt trouble.
    â€˜On the contrary,’ said Janet, smiling broadly. ‘He said it was good news but he wasn’t going to tell me what it was until he got down here. I explained that I was out last night too.’
    â€˜At the Bellingham with Joe Short,’ supplied Dawn. ‘So what did you tell him?’
    Her lips curled mischievously. ‘That I was at a hotel with another man. All evening.’
    â€˜You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t come straight down with a horsewhip.’
    â€˜But,’ went on Janet serenely, ‘I assured him he hadn’t anything to worry about.’
    â€˜Good,’ said Dawn seriously. ‘Now what about that second cup of coffee?’
    Janet moved towards the stove and then turned. ‘Of course, if Bill is back at home we can ask Joe Short round, can’t we? After all, he is a sort of relative.’
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    The two police photographers, Williams and Dyson, had reached Billing Bridge now and were busy setting up their equipment on the riverbank. While the pathologist was taking in as much as he could about the body from what could be determined at a suitable distance, Detective Inspector Sloan raised his head and looked at his surroundings properly for the first time.
    This was an area of the Calleshire countryside that the watercolourists greatly favoured – something about the rows of willows by the water always attracted painters – and it was one that the nature conservationists were wont to wax lyrical about. If the noises nearby were anything to go by, it suited the bird life, too. The thought stirred Sloan into action.
    â€˜Crosby, take statements from those two fishermen, and then get onto the local twitchers and find out if any of them saw anything like a body coming downstream at any stage before it got here. I understand some of them get up quite early.’
    â€˜Don’t they call it the “dawn chorus” or something?’ said the constable naively. Getting up in the morning was something he had always found difficult.
    â€˜Very probably. And find out who was on duty last night in the bridge area of Berebury. They might have seen something.’ Personally, he doubted it. A constable on the beat on foot saw a lot, two policemen in a car patrolling a wide sweep of the town after dark usually saw very little. ‘You might check up on any houses by the riverside, too.’
    â€˜Yes, sir,’ said Crosby, glad to get away from the body lying on the riverbank.
    â€˜And when Williams and Dyson have taken as many pictures as they need – get them to take as pretty a one as you can for identification purposes – you can let Dr Dabbe get started on his examination while I—’ He was interrupted by a ring on his earphone. It was Superintendent Leeyes at his desk in Berebury Police Station.
    â€˜That you, Sloan? We’ve just had a missing person reported. Might be a help.’
    â€˜Missing how long?’ asked Sloan cautiously. The body on the riverbank hadn’t been in the water more than a few hours –