Page 44 of Return Ticket

“Is she moving?” Gabriella asked.

He was hanging onto the side of the skip, and he turned a white, pinched face toward her. Shook his head.

“Let me see.” She didn’t want to, but if she was going to call it in, she needed to have seen it for herself.

He looked like he wanted to say no. “You’re a lass,” he said. “You shouldn’t . . .” He noticed her uniform at last, and gave an uncertain nod. Stepped down.

Gabriella stepped up, and still had to go on tip toe to look over the metal edge. A woman lay crumpled and folded up, her stockings torn, facing away. Gabriella knew it was cowardly, but she was very glad for that.

The killer had boosted her over the edge and let her fall willy nilly.

Unlike the body she’d seen at the bomb site, this victim looked like she was asleep, except for the matted blood in her blonde hair, the rust red shocking against the pale gold.

She stepped back, almost overbalancing, and the workman caught her arm to steady her.

“Did I . . ?” He rubbed a handkerchief over his forehead.

“She was already dead.” Gabriella patted his arm. “Someone killed her and left her in the skip.”

He blew out a breath, and staggered back, leaning against the wall of the church, shaking his head.

“Is there a church office here?” she asked.

He waved to his left, and she walked around until she found a narrow pathway that led to a small house with two entrances.

The vicarage and the church office, she guessed.

She knocked on the main door, as the office looked closed, and it was opened moments later by a vicar wearing his dog collar, his light blue eyes curious and friendly.

On hearing about the body, he ushered her into the tiny entrance and showed her the phone.

“Should I . . .?” he looked out the door, torn.

“Maybe the workman who found her could do with a strong cuppa?” she suggested.

He bustled off to make it, grateful to have something to do, and Gabriella called the local nick.

She was putting down the receiver when the vicar came out with a steaming mug, and they walked back to the church together.

The workman was still leaning against the wall, and he took the tea gratefully, gulping it down.

The three of them stood awkwardly, waiting for the police, and when Constable Evans arrived, she let out a sigh of relief.

“Miss Farnsworth.” Constable Evans nodded. “You called the station?”

“This gentleman was working on the building when he looked down into the skip and saw a body. I was passing by on my rounds and he asked for my help.” She nodded toward the workman.

Evans gave a nod, walked to the skip and used the box to look over the edge. He stood for a moment, looking in, then stepped back.

“You’ve seen the body, Vicar?” he asked.

The vicar shook his head. “You want me to see if I know her?” he asked, voice a little uncertain.

Evans nodded. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

The vicar made his way over and used Evans’s arm for balance as he stood up on the box and looked over.

“I can’t see her face. It’s possible she’s one of my parishioners but I’ll need to see her face before I can be sure.” His hands shook as he clasped them together. “What a terrible business.”

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