Where Death Delights by Bernard Knight Page A

coroner’s work. A Doctor O’Malley, I believe.’
    He delved into his black leather case once more and handed Richard another sheet of paper.
    â€˜These are the phone numbers of the coroner’s officer and of the undertaker and my own contact details. You are more used to making these arrangements, so perhaps I could leave it with you. I will naturally be responsible for your usual fee and expenses.’
    Pryor stood up and shook hands with the other two men.
    â€˜I will have to offer this Dr O’Malley the courtesy of attending,’ he explained. ‘It will probably be a day or two before I can arrange to come down again, but I’ll let you know what’s happening and will send you a full report as soon as I can.’
    Peter Meredith showed him out and he walked back to his car, thinking that this all sounded a bit far-fetched, in that the QC was virtually suspecting his son-in-law of murder. But ‘the usual fee and expenses’ part sounded good, as well as getting his name known around the South Wales legal establishment.

SIX
    â€˜ W hy don’t I drive you down there, Doc?’ offered Jimmy Jenkins. ‘It’s a long ’ole journey and you want to be fresh to do your duty when you gets there, eh?’
    It was Wednesday evening and Pryor had arranged to carry out the second post-mortem at noon the next day, having made all the arrangements through the coroner’s officer in Gowerton, appropriately named PC Mort.
    Richard wasn’t all that keen on Jimmy’s suggestion, but Angela thought it a good idea.
    â€˜You’re paying him to do odds and ends about the place, but there’s no hurry about the gardening, so he might as well make himself useful driving you,’ she pointed out.
    He gave in and at half past eight next morning, they left for the three-hour drive. Richard refused point-blank to sit in the back as if he was a grandee with a chauffeur and sat alongside Jimmy, where he could keep an eye on his driving.
    He was soon aware that the man was an excellent driver, for he learned that Jimmy had spent much of the war behind the wheel of a three-ton Bedford, trundling across North Africa and then Italy.
    â€˜How are you getting on with the little widow woman, Doctor?’ he asked. ‘Nice little lady, she is! Do her good to get out and about a bit more, she’s been keeping too much to herself since her husband died.’
    He seemed to know everyone’s business from top to bottom of the Wye Valley.
    â€˜She’s doing fine,’ said Richard sincerely. ‘At least we’re eating proper food now, not stuff out of tins! I understand her husband died in an accident.’
    â€˜Blown to bits, he was!’ said Jimmy with ghoulish drama. ‘Some chemical factory up near Lydney. Time she had a bit of cheerful company, after the bad time she’s been through. Mind, that Sian will cheer her up, she’s always on the go, ain’t she?’
    As Bridgend was left behind, Richard sat and studied the countryside, seeing things he missed when he was driving. It was more relaxed, he had to admit, though he resolved in future only to let Jimmy drive on long-distance trips. Talking of Moira Davison got him thinking about her – she seemed perfect for the job and he only hoped she stayed. He had known secretaries in the past to give up when they had to type post-mortem reports with descriptions of horrible injuries or decomposed corpses. Moira was very well organized, setting a routine on the first couple of days which first ensured that any office work was done, then the beds made and the lunch prepared, with some cleaning in the afternoon and more typing if it was there.
    He sensed that both Angela and Sian were slightly wary of the new employee, though they were unfailingly friendly and pleasant to her. It never occurred to him that he might be the cause of this watchfulness, as they waited to see how his attitude to