Touched by Angels by Alan Watts Page A

besides, there would be evidence. At least some bones.
    It wasn’t until mid-afternoon, when she had just about given up and was beginning to wish for her old life back, when something happened that both explained the mystery and left her frightened all over again.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

Nineteen
     
    She had never known a man wanting his fortune told, and of course, the one sitting in front of her didn’t. She didn’t like the look of him from the start, with his long black coat, pug nose and square shoulders.
    Examining the ball closely, he asked , “Do people really believe in this codswallop?”
    “ Yes, they do actually!” she snapped, anxious to justify herself, in spite of the truth. “A lot of people around here are very poor and lonely. Some are also very ill. It gives them solace and hope.”
    “ Yes, and you, a penny a time.”
    She was seething and about to order him on his way, when he produced, not a penny, but a key, which he held discreetly, dangling it gently in between his thumb and forefinger.
    Sh e closed her eyes and forced herself to stay calm. “You know, don’t you? Though how…” she whispered.
    He looked around, and seeing a few faces turning, asked, “May we go inside?”
    She stood, acutely aware that Mrs O’Brien had stopped scrubbing her step and was watching pointedly. A few curtains were stirring too. She was glad when the door clicked shut behind her.
    She stood with her back to it, as he said, “My name is Tom Bride. I’m a private investigator. I was hired by Sir Rupert and Alistair King to track down the only son of Mr Horace King, their nephew. I know you murdered him.”
    She opened her mouth to deny it, but felt she had reached a dead end.
    “ All right. He was intimidating me, but it was an accident, I swear. He was a pig. He was frightening me, so I pushed…” she stopped.
    “ Go on.”
    The mocking cynicism made her fume. “Why? What’s the point? You clearly don’t believe me.”
    Odd though , she thought. He hadn’t summoned the police, or told the King brothers, as he was surely duty bound to do. Then she realised he must have guessed, from the press coverage, that she had the fob. When she considered too that, apart from herself and Robert, only he could know Adam King was dead, a light began to dawn.
    Feeling more relaxed, she asked, “So, how did you get the key?”
    “ It’s simple. Follow me and I’ll show you.”
    They walked the few paces to the house next door, from where the Inkpens had been evicted. She was glad that by now Mrs O’Brien had retreated back indoors, though there were still a few curtains moving.
    He unlocked the door and ushered her in, as he said, “This place was the ideal vantage point to watch your comings and goings.”
    He grabbed an oil lamp from the windowsill, struck a match on the wall, lit it, and closed the door.
    She staggered back, whimpering, pawing her mouth, thinking she might be sick. Propped against the opposite wall, head lolling on his chest, smothered in grime and blood, was Adam King. His bloated tongue hung from his mouth. Rats had nibbled his hands and face. His nose had been completely chewed off. Before him was a great hole in the floor, where the boards had been levered up.
    “ I watched from upstairs,” Bride told her, “I saw him enter your home and heard raised voices. After a few hours had passed and he never emerged, I guessed what had happened. As I never saw any suspicious bundles being dragged from your back door, I put two and two together. In any case, I heard you levering up the floorboards. The recess runs the entire length of the block and all I had to do was crawl under, grab his ankles and pull him through to this side.”
    With her first inklings reinforced, she asked, gagging as she looked at the bites, “Are you going to report your findings?”
    He chuckled to himself and his eyes twinkled.
    “ I think those poor fellows are distraught enough about their dear