The Dark Lady Read Online Free Page A

had entered the war by then, and the government needed somewhere to house all the GIs who were being sent over, so they requisitioned the hall and grounds – the hall for the officers to live in, the grounds to put up barracks.”
    â€œYou know what they used to say about the Yanks, don’t you?” Woodend asked. “That the only problem with them was that they were overpaid, oversexed an’ over here.”
    Chatterton grinned. “Anyway, by the middle of 1944, most of the Yanks had been moved out,” he continued, “and at the same time there was a need for somewhere to put all the Italians who’d been captured during the invasion of Italy, so Westbury Park became a prisoner-of-war camp. After the war . . . well, you can see for yourself what happened, can’t you, sir? There was a housing shortage, so BCI made the buildings a little more welcoming – putting a layer of bricks on each side of the wooden walls, for example – and moved some of their own workforce in.”
    â€œAn’ there’s still a housin’ shortage sixteen years after the war finished, so they’re still here. It’s a bloody disgrace,” Woodend said, in the nearest he ever came to a growl.
    â€œOh, they’re nice houses inside, sir,” Chatterton protested. “They’ve got indoor bathrooms and all modern conveniences. Quite a lot of the people who live here really aren’t looking forward to the day when their council houses are ready and they’re moved out.”
    A small girl wearing an embroidered headscarf and a curious expression appeared briefly in the doorway of one of the houses, then slipped back inside. “Did you see that kid?” Woodend asked.
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œDidn’t look very English to me.”
    â€œShe probably isn’t,” Chatterton said. “You see, as well as the housing shortage, there was a labour shortage in this area just after the war, so British Chemicals recruited quite a lot of foreign workers. Polish refugees – that kid’s dad was probably one of them – Italian and German ex-POWs who’d fallen for local girls or just didn’t fancy going back to their own countries, and a mixture of other nationalities. So while the majority of the people who live in the park are English, there’s a fair smattering who aren’t.”
    â€œA veritable United Nations,” Woodend said. “Wonderful! That should make my job a lot easier.”
    He was talking as if there were a real case to investigate, Chatterton thought – as if there weren’t an obvious suspect already being sought – but he knew Woodend well enough not to remind him of the fact.
    They had reached the edge of the park, and Chatterton pointed to a narrow track running between the trees.
    â€œThat’s the way Mr Schultz went on his last walk,” he said. “The path’s about three quarters of a mile long. It leads right down to the lake. It’s very popular with picnickers and courting couples.”
    â€œWhy isn’t it sealed off?” Woodend asked.
    â€œIt was for a time, but our boys have been over it with a fine-toothed comb, so there didn’t seem much point in keeping it closed any longer.”
    â€œAn’ what did these boys of yours find with this fine-toothed comb they were usin’?”
    â€œApart from the button from Fred Foley’s coat, not much,” Chatterton confessed. “It rained overnight, you see. Quite a fierce storm. So any tracks there might have been were pretty much washed away.”
    â€œSeems like the murderer had luck on his side,” Woodend said. “Or maybe he had inside knowledge. Perhaps what we should be lookin’ for is a weatherman with homicidal tendencies.”
    Chatterton was getting used to Woodend’s sense of humour, and there were only a couple of seconds between the chief inspector’s statement and