Lament For The Dead , livre ebook

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218 pages

English

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Description

The Abductor had wrapped all five bodies in bandages. They looked like Egyptian mummies. The bandages around the head of one had been partially unwrapped. But the patch of dark brown hair and a narrow strip of greying, fossilised-like skin peeping through quickly dispelled the notion that it was a hoax.He gazed in awe at each of the chairs, five of which were occupied. The sixth was pulled out as if the occupant had just left and was expected to return at any minute. A pack of playing cards had been dealt out for six hands.The mummies were very carefully arranged around the table. Some were holding the cards in their bandaged hands with their heads bent over as if studying them. Others had their heads turned at a jaunty angle so that it looked as if they were looking at each other and chatting.*At the turn of the nineteenth century six men committed a heinous act in Drayford Village, for which they were all duly punished. So what does their crime have to do with the disappearance of several of its modern day residents? Craig Gardener, a librarian and local historian, stumbles on the answer. But can the police and he work out who is committing these acts in time to save further victims?

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Publié par	eBookPartnership.com
Date de parution	04 septembre 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781908886378
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Published in Australia by Sid Harta Publishers
ABN: 46 119 415 842
This edition published in 2014
First Published in 2011 on Amazon/Kindle ASIN: B006OZY9K8
Published in 2012 (in EPUB) IBSN: 978-908886-37-8
Copyright Margaret M Ford 2014
Cover design, typesetting: Chameleon Print Design
The right of Margaret M Ford to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to that of people living or dead are purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the priorwritten permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Synopsis
Now then. Let s get started. Monster Man scrapes the chair a little further forward and settles himself. I m going to tell you a story. Are you sitting comfortably? Good. Then I ll begin. Once upon a time
In Drayford Village, serious crimes were unheard of. Then the abductions began.
There is no rational connection. No links between the victims that make any sense. And even when the bodies are discovered, the horrifying tableau only provides more questions than answers.
But the Abductor is still holding all the cards. And he has another hand to play, in a twisted plan for revenge a hundred years in the making.
Drayford Village Map
Dedicated to my parents
C ONTENTS
P ROLOGUE
P ART O NE : A G AME O F C ARDS
C HAPTER O NE
C HAPTER T WO
C HAPTER T HREE
C HAPTER F OUR
P ART T WO : L OOKING F OR T HE J OKER
C HAPTER F IVE
C HAPTER S IX
C HAPTER S EVEN
C HAPTER E IGHT
C HAPTER N INE
P ART T HREE : D EALT A R OTTEN H AND
C HAPTER T EN
C HAPTER E LEVEN
C HAPTER T WELVE
C HAPTER T HIRTEEN
C HAPTER F OURTEEN
C HAPTER F IFTEEN
C HAPTER S IXTEEN
C HAPTER S EVENTEEN
C HAPTER E IGHTEEN
C HAPTER N INETEEN
P ART F OUR : A N O LD G AME O F P OKER (1903)
C HAPTER T WENTY
P ART F IVE : L AST D EAL : A LL I N
C HAPTER T WENTY -O NE
C HAPTER T WENTY -T WO
C HAPTER T WENTY -T HREE
C HAPTER T WENTY -F OUR
C HAPTER T WENTY -F IVE
C HAPTER T WENTY -S IX
P ART S IX : G AME H ALTED : O NE C ARD S HORT O F A P ACK
C HAPTER T WENTY -S EVEN
C HAPTER T WENTY -E IGHT
E PILOGUE
A CKNOWLEDGEMENTS
C HARACTERS
M ARGARET M F ORD S LATEST NOVEL AVAILABLE IN PRINT FROM S ID H ARTA P UBLISHERS OR DISTRIBUTORS D ENNIS J ONES A SSOCIATES
O THER B OOKS BY M ARGARET M F ORD
P ROLOGUE
12 July 2006
Craig Gardener, Head Librarian at Creesemorton Library, never saw the photographs. Of course, except for the investigating officers, no one did at this time, but in the coming months Craig would at least catch a glimpse of them. And Todd Skerratt described the horrible scene to him so vividly that he saw it all clearly through his eyes.
Todd, a divorcee from Creesemorton, and prior to that Easthampton, had joined Dr Lawson s practice in Drayford Village. But with a population of only two hundred and ninety, according to the last census, they were busy but not overworked. For the past five years he had been doubling up as police surgeon.
So it was, in the summer of 99, that Todd became Craig s next-door neighbour, their houses being about thirty-five yards apart and separated by a five-foot wall bordered with evergreen shrubbery on either side. His son, Luke, was a bright and well-behaved eleven-year-old with ginger hair and so many freckles that from a distance he looked tanned. He spent alternate weekends with his father and Craig had become very fond of him.
Two years later and cosily settled into his new life, Todd was rather put out when Dr Lawson - who had vowed to keep on working as long as his brain didn t give out - dropped dead of a heart attack while fishing in Breechers Lake, which lies between the villages of Drayford and Pendon. He was only sixty-four, so it came as a bit of a shock to everyone. But none more so than Todd, for it meant that he would now have to advertise for a new partner. Chief Superintendent Roy Shoreson asked him to temporarily assume Doc s duties as police surgeon, just until someone else could be appointed. Todd was extremely reluctant, but he finally consented on the understanding that it was just a temporary appointment. This temporary appointment had so far lasted five years.
Until three days ago, Todd had been relatively happy with the arrangement since none of the deaths he had been called upon to attend by the police were suspicious, which is no surprise considering the serious crime rate for Drayford and its environs was pretty low. At least, it was until a few months ago.
Craig hadn t seen Todd for three days, which was predictable given the circumstances. Alex Rowmeyer, a reporter for the local paper, The Creesemorton Post , had given a sketchy outline of the grisly discovery in Drayford Village but very few details had been released to a general public hungry for information. So, naturally enough, Craig was eager to speak to Todd.
It was a balmy evening in July. Craig was sitting out on his front porch enjoying the last of the sunshine as it headed west on a ribbon of bright orange. A late garden reveller, a Painted Lady, was hovering close to the hedge. Fascinated, Craig couldn t take his eyes off it. He was trying to catch sight of the hind wings to see which variety of Vanessa cardui it was when he caught sight of Todd.
When he stepped onto the porch he ran a tired hand through his straggly fair hair and sighed deeply as he took up a chair opposite the porch swing where Craig was sitting. Evening, he managed.
Evening. By the looks of you, it has to be the usual order of the day, I think.
Too right. Make it a large one, please.
Want lemonade with it?
He hesitated, seemed unable to make up his mind. Then he nodded.
Craig rushed off to fetch the drinks. As he placed the tray on the rickety table between them, he couldn t help but see that Todd s normally pleasing features were set in a grim line. It gave him a rather ugly look, a sad reflection of his dark thoughts.
Craig handed Todd his drink then sat back on the swing seat, dragging his feet to avoid motion. Todd s tie was hanging askew and Craig noticed a grey line around the collar of his shirt. The dark blue suit he was wearing looked crumpled and ready for the dry cleaners, his jacket unbuttoned and flopping open to reveal his slight paunch. He clearly hadn t shaved for a while. Taking off his spectacles and carelessly balancing them on his knee, he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms before he picked up the tumbler and took a long drink. The ice clinked against the sides of the glass as he returned it to the table.
The soft breeze picked up a faint odour of disinfectant, sweet and sickly. Underlying that was the smell of the mortuary, of dissected bodies stripped of their rights as living human beings. It was the smell of death. And it brought home the shocking realisation of the grisly ordeal that Todd had endured over the past few days. He would spend a long time in the shower tonight , thought Craig, and much, much longer attempting to cleanse his mind.
Craig waited patiently. He wasn t going to push him before he was ready to speak about it. Is Luke coming this weekend?
He should be. But with all this going on I was thinking I might put him off.
Oh, don t do that. Surely your part in it is finished for the time being. Isn t it?
Mmm, s ppose so.
The dialogue fizzled out. But the silence between them wasn t awkward. Todd and Craig often shared an early evening drink: when he first moved in Craig made a positive effort to become his friend, quickly seeing in him someone whom he could share his confidences with. It hadn t taken long for them to fall into an easy rapport.
After a while Todd grunted, took several more gulps of his drink, almost emptying his glass, and then stared at Craig with a sort of blanked out look. I ve told Shoreson I m not up for this kind of work anymore. I thought I d left it all behind seven years ago. I ll see this lot through, of course. But afterwards he ll have to appoint someone else for this so-called temporary job.
Craig knew it was coming and nodded as he obligingly refilled Todd s glass. He picked up the glass but didn t drink from it. Thanks, he said. Then his mouth curled down as if he had a nasty taste in it. When he began to speak, his tone was flat and emotionless.
* * *
The police had cordoned off the entire building, even the grounds. Todd left his car on the roadside and walked the short distance to the open entrance gates. The road was empty of other vehicles but that wouldn t last for much longer. Soon there would be the rumble of vans and the attendant rabble of the press.
The two policemen on the gates nodded him in. There was a quiet hush about the place as he strode past the sign: The Oaklands . He made his way along the wide gravelled drive leading to the front entrance of the main building. The trees lining the perimeter wall were unattended and overgrown. Surrounding the main edifice were several outbuildings. Over to the left and following another gravelled pathway was a row of separate small constructions: the water sewerage building with a ten-thousand gallon tank at the side some thirty feet high, the administration block, the discharging block and the mortuary. To the right of the main building was the ambulance house and old stabling block, more recently used as a garage; then the isolation block, the laundry block with the incinerator at the back, and several other small, higgledy-piggledy brick buildings. At the forefront was the old wooden schoolhouse which resembled nothing more than a long hut with small-paned windows along each side. Small patches of dark