Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 150, Nos. 5 & 6. Whole Nos. 914 & 915, November/December 2017
- Автор: Фузилли Джим, Харрис Шарлин
- Год: 2017
- Язык: английский
- Год: Dell Magazines
- ISBN: 0013-6328
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 150, Nos. 5 & 6. Whole Nos. 914 & 915, November/December 2017». Краткое содержание книги:
A man called John Batty bought the house, paying over the price he had hoped to obtain it for, but the bidding was fierce. He did, however, think he had acquired the property for a reasonable price; it was certainly larger and in a more prestigious location than he could have afforded had it been in a move-in condition. The house had been thoroughly cleaned within, but Batty decided to fully rid any infestation by building a fire within the house. He laid a bed of bricks on the floorboards which in turn had been laid on a sheet of metal. He then built up a high “chimney” of bricks to contain any flame, into which he placed a bedding of paper, then a layer of kindling and then a large lump of coal. He had then ignited the paper. The resulting fire burned for four hours and filled every room, every nook and cranny from basement to rafters, with smoke. “You can,” he argued, “buy all the modern cleaning agents you like but nothing beats fumigation. Nothing at all.” He and his wife set about decorating the home, whilst a firm of gardeners addressed the outside of the property. It was in the spring that Batty began to “polish” the garden, as he put it. The gardeners had reduced all shrubs and trees to a manageable height and had also reduced the grass, which was three feet high in places, to some semblance of lawns. The old wooden garage had been torn down and removed and a new concrete garage had been erected in its place. It was an area of ten feet by four feet behind the garage which John Batty decided would become a small kitchen garden. One Saturday morning he commenced work with a spade, turning over the soil, which had not been turned in many, many years. He was focussed on the task and did not notice the woman.
“I’ve been watching you,” she said.
Batty looked up. The young woman stood on the pavement which was separated from the property by a privet hedge, by then a manageable four feet in height. The woman cut a striking figure, long black hair, loud red lipstick, possibly, he thought, the brightest red that lipstick could be. She wore a black coat with a high collar which was turned up and encased the back and side of her head. She wore a black dress and around her neck there was heavy metalled jewellery.
“You’ve been watching me?” Batty dug the spade into the ground and stood upright. He was pleased to have the excuse to stop work. He already knew that that evening he would be stiff from his labours.
“Yes.” The young woman held eye contact with Batty. She spoke in a soft local accent. “I watched you moving in and I wondered if you’d dig where you are digging or leave it grassed over.”
“Oh...?” Batty replied curiously.
“That’s where they were buried, you see,” the woman spoke calmly. “I saw them being buried.”
“Them?” Batty queried.
“The bones. Don’t go down too deep, or you’ll disturb them. They should stay where they are.” The woman then turned and walked away and John Batty was never to see her again. He watched her go, and when she crossed the road and he saw her full-length figure, he noticed that her coat hung down to her ankles and that her feet were encased in heavy, black footwear. She walked away calmly without a fault in her step or a backward glance.
John Batty carried on digging. An observer would see a man content and focussed on his garden, but the encounter had unnerved him. He dug deeper than he normally would have in order to create a small patch of land set aside for the cultivation of carrots and potatoes and onions and in doing so, he turned up a bone. Then another. He could not identify them and he thought them to be animal bones of the type given to dogs. He carried on digging, having laid the bones on one side and the then encountered something round, which when he dug around it, transpired to be a skull.
A human skull.
Batty drove the spade into the soil and walked calmly into his house and dialled three nines, and requested the police. Upon hearing him, his wife turned from the kitchen sink and looked curiously at him. It was her practise to “blitz” the washing up, allowing a day’s dishes to accumulate rather than wash up after each meal. Her practise was not to his taste, but she ran the house and she always ensured the dirty plates and dishes and cutlery were kept immersed so the flies were not attracted. He glanced at her as he spoke. He thought she cut a pleasing figure with a mountain of washing up to work through. “They’ve been there for years... yes, of course.” He hung up the phone. He sat and tugged at the laces of his working boots. He glanced up at his wife, “It’s as you heard,” he said, “and we are not to go near them. There’ll be no more gardening done today.”
“We must have the garden blessed,” his wife replied calmly. “When it’s all over, we must have the garden blessed. I have seen the vicarage... it’s near here. I’ll go and see the vicar.”
“And the house,” John Batty began to untie the laces of his other shoe. “I don’t have any bad feelings about this house, but if something awful happened under this roof... then we must have the house blessed as well as the garden.”
“Of course.” His wife then quietly returned her attention to the washing up.
John Batty opened the door in response to the classic police officer’s knock, tap... tap......tap. Detective Chief Inspector Hennessey and Detective Sergeant Yellich introduced themselves and showed their IDs. Batty told the officers where they would find the bones and then told them about the woman. “Strangely dressed female,” he said. “I have not seen her before but then my wife and I are new to this neighbourhood.”