Lost Souls by Jenny O'Brien (android e book reader txt) 📕

before he could stop himself, the feel of the cold hard surface holding some kind of a morbid fascination. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting but certainly not something like this. Martin had leant back in his chair, his arms folded across his broad chest while he waited for him to speak – what could he say?

‘Okay. So you’ve brought us these because …’

‘Because how many people do you know with three legs?’

‘Excuse me?’

Martin let out a low gravelly laugh. ‘I said, how many people do you know with three legs?’ He unfolded his arms and tapped each of the joints with his knuckle. ‘One. Two. Three. That’s how many hip joints I removed from the cremator on Saturday evening when there should only have been one, or two at the very most.’

‘Right.’ Owen removed his gloves and lurched out of the chair, the noise of the legs scraping against the floor causing him to wince. ‘I’d like to take it right back to the beginning but, as we might be here a while, would you like a cuppa?’

Martin nodded. ‘Is it okay if I have a smoke?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ he said, gesturing towards the iconic red and white sign pinned to the wall below the window. ‘I won’t be long.’

Owen couldn’t wait to get out of the room, his mind still trying to shift back into gear after a week of baby duties. He’d been hoping for a few quiet days where he’d be able to adjust to the changes in his home life. Now thoughts of even one normal shift flew out of the window as he worked the drinks machine, situated on the opposite end of the corridor, before grabbing a handful of sugar sachets.

‘Sorry, not sure if you take any?’ He dropped the packets on the table and sat back in his seat, his hand hovering over the switch on the wall-mounted microphone. ‘Now, I’d like you to confirm your full name and address and that you currently work at the Welsh Hills Memorial Gardens?’

It didn’t take long for Owen to deal with the formalities using his customary efficiency and leanness for words. He never used two words when one was more than sufficient.

‘What exactly happened, sir, for you to think that a crime may have been committed?’

‘Well, cleaning out the cremator after use is normally Barry Salt’s job but he’s been off sick the last couple of days.’ Martin took a sip from his mug, grimaced and added another sachet of sugar. ‘Do you know anything about cremations?’

‘No, absolutely nothing.’

‘The fact is that, while the hot temperatures will burn most things, there’s always a residual. Bones and metal don’t burn. So, in the same way you clear out your grate after a fire, someone has to clear out the bottom of the cremator. The bones get crushed while the metal gets discarded. You understand?’

Owen pulled a face. ‘Pretty gruesome but I get the picture. Carry on, you’re doing fine.’

‘We had a cremation on Friday and again on Saturday morning,’ Martin said, pointing to the hip prosthetics. ‘And it was my job to clean out the ash afterwards.’

‘So, with two bodies surely finding three metal hips isn’t out of the ordinary?’

‘You don’t understand, Detective. We have to clean out the cremator after each service and, as it was me doing the cleaning, there is no way any of the hips came from the first cremation.’

Owen leant back in his chair, one hand on his beard. ‘And I take it that no one else could have added one? You know, as a joke?’

Martin’s eyes widened. ‘A funny type of joke that would be! At weekends, apart from cremations, the whole place is closed up and there wasn’t any sign of a break-in.’

‘So, putting two and two together, it looks as if someone must have added something into the last coffin before it arrived at the crematorium?’

‘I can see that’s what it looks like,’ Martin said, his eyes narrowing into thin slits. ‘But I’m telling you, here and now, that that’s not what happened.’

Chapter 9

Gaby

Monday 3 August, 10.30 a.m. Colwyn Bay

Ysgol Ger y Môr primary school was situated along the thin ribbon of road that skirted the North Wales coast as far as the eye could see. After pulling into a parking space, Gaby grabbed her phone off the passenger seat and slipped out of the car, her shoes taking a second to get used to the loose grey gravel underfoot. She studied the building with interest as she headed for the main entrance, noting the dull grey frontage and the effort taken to make it less utilitarian with large tubs of annuals flanking either side of the door. There were hundreds of similar buildings dotted around the UK. The only thing setting it apart was the signage in two languages.

As with most non-Welsh-speaking people living in Wales, Gaby was reliant on the street signs and notices that included an English translation. Welsh was such a melodious language and something that she’d added to her bucket list to learn after she’d transferred from Liverpool to Cardiff. But as with most things, her busy lifestyle meant that she’d had to shift it to something that she’d like to do as opposed to needing to. With her current crazy workload the likelihood of her ever finding the time wasn’t something she was prepared to dwell on.

Miss Garland, the headmistress, was a thin, pale woman who wore her grey-streaked brown hair pulled back off her face in a French pleat. Dressed in tailored trousers and a cream silk blouse, she made Gaby feel scruffy. But there was nothing she could do about that apart from scheduling in a trip to Marks and Spencer for a new suit.

‘Take a seat, Detective. Is there anything I can get you? Tea? Coffee? A glass of water?’

‘No, I’m good, thanks,’ Gaby said, crossing one leg over the other and resting her phone on her knee. ‘And thank you again for coming in