The Body of a Woman Read Online Free Page A

tongue obscenely extended. Petechiae present on the scalp were barely distinguishable from scars caused by the shearing.
    In places the cord or wire used had cut into her flesh, marking it like a finely strung necklace of unmatched garnets. The ligature had been removed after death, then the bird-mask added. Or replaced.
    Nothing resembling the murder instrument had yet been discovered in the locality of Shotters Wood.
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    â€˜Are you sure, sir?’ Mott ventured to ask when Yeadings later explained where he’d encountered the dead woman. ‘If you only saw her the once? I mean, there was a lot of facial distortion.’
    â€˜I remember her all right. It was at the shop that sold the mask. There was that small black mole high on the left cheekbone. She’d darkened it with mascara to look like an eighteenth century beauty spot. It added a certain piquancy.’
    He recalled how she had paused at one point in the wrapping as if she might start up a conversation, then quickly glanced sideways at the younger woman and thought better of it. It might have been some small help to him now if she’d
actually opened up. At least he’d have a shred more knowledge of the person she was.
    Accustomed to taking quick stock of strangers, he’d put her down as normally a reserved woman, educated and conventional, perhaps a little lacking in self-assertiveness but meticulous within her own sphere of activity; quite beautiful in a smooth-featured way, yet not trading on the fact.
    With Yeadings apparently lost in reverie, Mott avoided Beaumont’s meaningful stare. So what, if the Boss had picked up on such details in a single brief sighting on a drive home through Mardham? He was famously observant.
    All the same - when a sobersides like Mike Yeadings got to close-studying racy women …!
    Zyczinski read through a list of the dead woman’s clothing, comparing it with what she could see of the plastic bags’ contents. ‘No shoes then?’
    Mott nodded. ‘Bare feet when found. And nothing of the sort has turned up yet. Uniform are doing a daylight search of the wood now. Someone transported her there, so let’s hope the shoes are eventually found where they shouldn’t be, to give us a connection.’
    â€˜Without a description how shall we know they’re hers?’ Z grumbled.
    â€˜Feminine intuition?’ Beaumont suggested snidely. ‘Can’t you match them to the rest of her gear?’
    â€˜Only roughly. You’d hardly expect galoshes or trainers. But then, under a full-length skirt she might have preferred comfort to high fashion. I know a violinist who wears fur-lined boots under her evening dress. Chilly places, concert platforms.’
    â€˜What about it, Boss?’ Beaumont pursued. ‘You’re the one who knew the dead woman.’
    Yeadings considered this. ‘Saw her once,’ he corrected. ‘So-given the fancy dress and her earlier appearance - my money would be on fashionable high heels and a collection of straps. But bear in mind what Z says. From the state of her soles we
know she didn’t walk the woods barefoot, but she just might have gone there prepared for the terrain. So keep an open mind.’
    Now the team were aware of him moving off; apparently he’d seen enough. Was he letting the dead woman get to him? His face gave nothing away.
    â€˜Rather touching, innit?’ Beaumont said in a hoarse stage whisper. ‘Reminds me of that ancient film with Celia Johnson: Brief One over the Counter, or sommat.’
    â€˜The shop should give us a name for her,’ Z said coolly. Of late she’d a convenient way of not hearing Beaumont’s questionable wit. ‘The assistants will know who she is.’
    â€˜Was,’ Beaumont corrected her woodenly. He was back in Pinocchio mode, puppet-faced policeman, totally impersonal.
    â€˜You go,’ Mott ordered him. ‘Slope off now and get her