Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #2: Books 5-8 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [readnow TXT] 📗

we could borrow Sylvie for five minutes. It is purely a formality. We are reviewing a cold case…”

He frowned. “A cold case? You can’t mean poor Simon, surely?”

Dehan, with her usual directness, asked, “Why not?”

“Well.” He smiled. “That must be sixteen or seventeen years ago.”

“Eighteen, but it is still unsolved.” She grinned. “So we keep working at solving it until we bring him justice.”

“I see.” He frowned as though he did not agree. “Well, that is very commendable. By all means, would you like to use the vestry?” He gestured with his hand, ushering us in that direction. Turning to Sylvie’s daughter, he said, “Mary, you’ll tend the stall for a moment, won’t you?”

She smiled. “Of course, Reverend.”

Sylvie Martin led us down the side of the church, under the shadow of the trees, toward the side door into the nave, and all the way I could feel Reverend Paul Truelove’s eyes burning on my back.

Two

The inside of the church was dark by contrast with the bright sunshine outside. The gothic arch of the doorway, on the far right, was startling, luminous in red and green. And on the left, there was the tenuous flicker of candles by the altar. Sylvie crossed herself and led us from the transept to another perfectly arched, wooden door that gave on to the vestry at the back of the altar.

We followed her into a comfortable room that had the feel of an old world library or study. There was an oak desk, a two-seater sofa and a couple of black leather chairs. Two tall, frosted windows looked out onto the colorful fête outside. Sylvie sat on the sofa with her knees together, and bent them slightly to one side. Dehan and I took the chairs. I smiled in a way I hoped was reassuring.

“Mrs. Martin…”

“Sylvie, please.”

“Sylvie. We understand that this must be difficult, and the last thing we want to do is stir up any painful memories. But you understand, a serious crime has been committed, and we are obliged to investigate.”

She nodded. “Yes, of course I understand. I will try to help in any way that I can, I mean if I can…”

“What can you tell us about the events of that evening?”

She placed her hands, one on top of the other, on her lap and looked at them sadly, as though they had disappointed her somehow.

“My memory…” she said. “My memory of that evening is practically nonexistent, if I am being honest. I just seemed to black out at the time and it has never come back.”

Dehan said, “Don’t worry. Don’t force yourself. How about the hour or two before?”

She smiled briefly at Dehan and said, “Um… I had fed and changed Mary. She was just one at the time. Ahmed had come over from the church…”

“Ahmed?”

“He was a refugee, a young Arab boy, from Iraq. He was just sixteen and Paul, that’s Reverend Truelove, had offered him some work at the church to give him a hand in making ends meet. Odd jobs, gardening and what not. We all hoped he would find the true faith, but we never pressured him.”

I frowned. “And he had come over to your house?”

“Simon had offered him work, too, in the garden, a few afternoons a week.”

Dehan sat forward. “So you had fed and changed Mary, and then Ahmed had come over and he was working in the garden.”

“Yes…”

“What happened next?”

Her face seemed to go tight. Her fingers closed on the hem of her dress. “I suppose it must have gotten dark. I am not sure. I know Simon came home from work. I remember he was calling to say he was home, but none of the lights were on in the house. I hate to waste electricity, you see, but I remember that the kitchen door out into the garden was open. I remember that without a doubt. I know I was sitting on the bottom of the stairs and the house was completely dark and still. I felt a bit cold. And Simon was lying there, in his coat. His briefcase was next to him and he was staring straight up at the ceiling.”

She frowned, as though she was trying to remember something, and I was surprised to realize she was crying. She held her breath for a moment, and suddenly she was like a woman with a bad cold. I reached over and handed her my handkerchief and Dehan moved and sat next to her, putting her arm around her shoulders.

“Where was Ahmed?”

“Gone. Gone before the dusk.”

“I know it is hard, but please try to remember. Did anybody else call?”

“I don’t know. The kitchen door was open, into the garden.”

I smiled at her. “Do you come from Texas?”

She gave a small, damp laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“Y’all still got the twang.”

She laughed and wagged a finger at me. “Y’all ain’t never singular, Detective Stone. Y’all best remember that!” She fiddled with the handkerchief for a moment, then said, “Simon worked at Federal United. They transferred him here. We didn’t really want to leave Austin, we liked it there, but it was a chance for a promotion and more money…” She shrugged. “So we took it. We could have gone to Brooklyn. The bank offered us a place there. But Simon said we could do more good through the church here, where there was more need.”

For a moment, I was reminded of the stickers in her window, but I didn’t mention them. Instead, I asked her, “Who alerted the police?”

She stared at me. It was an odd expression, almost apologetic. “I had the phone in my hand… It must have been me.”

Dehan stroked her back a couple of times. “Did you speak to him?” Sylvie turned to look at her. Dehan went