Gently Down the Stream (Inspector George Gently, Book 3)
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Time spent messing about on the river isn't supposed to end with a brutal murder. The staff at Stoley's Boatyard were used to holidaymakers returning their pleasure cruisers a little late after a week or so exploring the network of waterways around Norchester. They were not used to finding their yachts burned almost beyond recognition with the charred remains of a client still aboard. Taking on the murder investigation, Chief Inspector George Gently faces an enquiry like no other he has ever handled. Somewhere beneath the lies of the victim's wife, somewhere obscured by the brittle edge of her daughter's fear, somewhere hidden by her son's hysteria, lies the truth. Gently's only hope is to sweep aside the litter of chaos and confusion to uncover the identity of the killer.
the car on a piece of waste ground. She had walked along the evening beach, where the tide had left the sand firm and smooth. And she had driven home again, to arrive just ahead of Paul. No, she hadn’t spoken to anyone. She did not patronize the cafe or ice-cream bar at Sea Weston. Whether anyone who knew her had noticed her she could not say. Presumably the police would elicit that in the course of Inspector Hansom’s stringent inquiries. ‘And the disagreement you were alleged to have had with
Organizer’s eyes. ‘Yes … poor old Jimmy! He’d been the backbone of the Anesford since our St Julian’s Hall days … it’s a shocking thing to have happened to him.’ ‘Was he popular with the Players?’ ‘He was rather more than that … he was almost a tradition with us. Life won’t be quite the same here with old Jimmy gone.’ ‘He wasn’t in the present production, however?’ ‘No.’ Playfair frowned. ‘I wanted him to play Kent, but he said he couldn’t manage this time. This is an extra production, you
to drill holes in Gently’s unexpressive back. ‘I still don’t understand, inspector!’ ‘I regret the necessity, ma’am.’ ‘I have already been into Norchester once this afternoon. If you had anything to ask me, it could surely be asked at “Willow Street”!’ ‘We require your presence, ma’am.’ ‘I shall certainly consult my solicitor!’ The briefest of ironic smiles flitted across Gently’s homely features as he pulled out to slide past a truck. He had been on the phone at ‘Willow Street’ before Mrs
motive that made the murder. People kill for the most pitiful of motives, often so petty and obscure that one could hardly believe in them. Lammas had once checked Hicks and that was quite enough for motive. It could rankle for years until it found an opportune moment. ‘Anyway, this is too clever. There’s intelligence and character behind what went on here.’ Such intelligence as Marsh had, for example. Or Paul. Or Mrs Lammas. Or all three in conjunction … what sort of murdering conference had
round here?’ ‘We didn’t get time to be really clever.’ ‘Then you mightn’t have noticed … that … for instance?’ He pointed to the bole of an alder a few yards off the track. A white flake was showing up against the dark, gnarled bark. Hansom glared at it as though it were a personal insult. ‘And what’s that supposed to be – the answer to a detective’s prayer?’ But Dutt had already grasped the significance of the white flake and was making his way carefully through the rough grass. Gently