Murder on the Village Green: A Diane Dimbleby Cozy Mystery Read Online Free

who had a Sheffield address. The license picture looked a lot like the victim, although it is sometimes difficult to tell accurately when one’s eyes are shut and skin is pale.
    Although Diane had seen Mr. Tucker leaning against the tree on her way to the grocer, and then again upon returning home when she discovered that he was dead, she has no idea how or why he happened to be sitting under the oak tree. She has no idea yet…
    My instincts tell me that I’ll need Diane’s help with this case too . Darrell shakes his head, half annoyed, half charmed.
    Upon arriving at the police station, he immediately sees Dr. William Jackson waiting for him in the entryway. He sees that look in the medical examiner’s eyes—a look he’s seen only seen a couple of times. It’s a look that means this is no ordinary case.
    “I think you’d better come down to the lab with me,” says Dr. Jackson.
    Darrell, as fit as he is, practically has to jog to keep up with the pathologist’s pace.
    “What’s going on William?” asks the inspector.
    “Looking at the victim on the scene on the village green, I had my suspicions,” says the medical examiner. “But I couldn’t be sure until I brought him back to the lab.”
    The sterile white walls of the corridor lead them into the equally sterile white-walled autopsy room. The lab is lit by invasively bright fluorescent lights. The smell of formaldehyde enters Darrell’s nostrils as they pass by two empty silver autopsy tables to reach the last one where Paul Tucker is lying.
    The victim is lying on his back and his clothes have been removed. Darrell looks down to see several lacerations across his torso. The majority are roughly sewn or stapled shut, except for one.
    Darrell is speechless, staring at the long, deep gash that is only partially sealed. The skin surrounding the laceration is blood-stained. Slippery structures that only an anatomical expert could name precisely can be seen with a quick glance through the open cavity.
    “So is the cause of death exsanguination?” Darrell asks. It is quite obvious a person could bleed to death from such a gouge. “And that means he did not die where Diane… er, Mrs. Dimbleby found him because there are no significant blood pools at the scene.”
    “Yes, you are correct, but that’s not all,” says Dr. Jackson. “I’ve performed an ultrasound on him to be certain. I did not want to reopen the incisions until you saw them first. His kidneys and liver are missing.”
    “Crikey!” shouts Darrell. “And based on these gashes and staples and things, by missing, we’re probably assuming stolen!?!”
    “Rightly so,” says Dr. Jackson. “It looks like the organ thieves tried to close up all of the incisions, but poor Mr. Tucker bled out before they finished suturing.”
    Darrell is simply disgusted. In the 15 or so years he’s served as a copper and risen up the ranks from Trainee Investigator to Detective Inspector, he’s seen an awful lot. He’s dealt with addicts who have overdosed on the streets or in their depressing one-room homes shared with other junkies. He’s been the lead detective in cases of brutal stabbings, shootings, murder-suicides... he’s even had his heart broken a number of times dealing with domestic abuse cases—the hardest times have been when children are involved.
    He had also been the main witness to a fatal hit-and-run, back when he was in high school. Except that was personal. His best friend had been the victim. It was the reason why Darrell joined the police force; why he decided not to become a farmer like his father.
    And to this day, investigators have not— he has not —found the driver responsible for killing his best mate. Darrell can still see, clear to this day, the car slam into Peter. He remembers the sound of the impact of the vehicle striking against the flesh and bones of his innocent friend. And then he remembers running up to Peter lying on the ground, and his friend is so quiet, so