Dead Level (The DI Nick Dixon Crime Series Book 5) Read Online Free

under rather than side by side, and the killer had been standing no more than six feet away when both barrels had been fired. It seemed an extravagant way to kill a sixty year old widow. Her estimated height was no more than five feet five inches and she weighed a shade under eight stone. Add to that her crippling arthritis and a burglar could have just pushed her over or hit her with the gun butt, perhaps. So, why blow her head of f ?
    Maybe the killer had panicked? That was possible. But why shoot her in the face? Dixon reached for his notepad and wrote down two words.
    Obliterated. Why?
    Next he turned to the witness statements. The police evidence confirmed that nothing whatsoever had been stolen and her house had not been broken into, which didn’t necessarily rule out a burglary gone wrong because the suspect would have no doubt fled the scene empty handed after the shooting. If theft had been the plan, of course.
    Two of her nearest neighbours reported hearing a shotgun blast at around 6.30 p.m. One said it was just before and one just after but there was unlikely to be anything sinister in that. Both said it was not unusual to hear gunfire at or around dusk, with people out ‘lamping’ for rabbits. Dixon checked the date. The murder took place on Friday 25 March 1994 and so it would have been just before the clocks went forward for British Summer Time. A quick search of the Internet confirmed that sunset would have been at 6.20 p.m. or so.
    Otherwise, Mrs Gibson kept herself to herself, had no living relatives, rarely had any visitors and spent most of her time looking after her two Shetland ponies. Dixon was pleased to note that they had been taken in by Horseworld, or the Friends of Bristol Horses as it then was.
    The two witnesses, Albert Higgins and Sonia Spencer, still lived in Muchelney and readily agreed to meet with Dixon after Christmas to go over their witness statements yet again. They had been expecting a call, they said, it being common knowledge that the case had been reopened. Dixon thought about his visit to Muchelney the previous Thursday. As well as a village rumour mill, there also appeared to be a very effective grapevine.
    Forensic evidence was non-existent and it was obvious that no suspect had ever been identified. The investigation had lacked any clear direction from the start.
    ‘And still does,’ muttered Dixon, dropping the file back into the box.
    He checked the time. It was almost 4 p.m., giving him just enough time to get home and take Monty for a walk before it got pitch dark.

    Dixon was lying in bed trying to work out what Wendy Gibson’s killer had been intending when he or she went to Stickland Barn on that rainy afternoon in March 1994. Had they been intending to commit a burglary or a murder? The original investigation had not arrived at a conclusion either way, nor had any subsequent review, although the assumption had always been that it was a burglary gone wrong.
    He was also wondering whether Jane could cook anything else apart from spaghetti bolognese. It was lovely, as it had been last time and the time before that, but he hoped her repertoire extended to roast turkey, because his certainly didn’t. Still, there was always Google.
    He was listening to the sound of Monty snoring in his bed on the floor next to him when the mobile phone rang on Jane’s bedside table.
    ‘What time is it?’ asked Jane, from under the duvet.
    ‘Sevenish,’ replied Dixon.
    Jane sat up and picked up her phone.
    ‘Jane Winter . . . you are kidding me? It’s Christmas Eve . . . who is it? . . . yes, yes, I’m on my way.’
    She rang off and dropped the phone onto the bed.
    ‘Gotta go. Sorry.’
    ‘What is it?’ asked Dixon.
    ‘We’ve got a body,’ replied Jane, swinging her legs out of the bed and sitting up.
    ‘Where?’
    ‘Northmoor Green. A cottage down by the river. Multiple stab wounds.’
    ‘Who is it?’
    ‘Elizabeth Perry.’
    ‘Not Tom Perry’s wife?’
    Jane