Spotlight & Giveaway: A Summer Shadow by HL Marsay

Today, HJ is pleased to share with you HL Marsay’s new release: A Summer Shadow

This summer, as the city of York swelters in a heatwave, it appears revenge is still a dish best served cold…

Chief Inspector Shadow’s relaxing afternoon watching a game of cricket is interrupted when a body is discovered in the scorer’s hut. The victim is a retired clerk, who lived a quiet life. Initially the brutal murder appears random, but a search of the victim’s house reveals more questions than answers. When a skeleton with a crushed skull is discovered hidden in an abandoned building associated with the victim, Shadow speculates there could be a connection. If so, someone wanted to settle a score.

John Shadow is a man of contradictions. A solitary figure who shuns company but is a keen observer of all he meets. A lover of good food, but whose fridge is almost always empty. He prefers to work alone but is assisted by the eager Sergeant Jimmy Chang.

Now the two men must delve into the past and discover if this latest murder victim is as innocent as they first appear.

Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from A Summer Shadow 

Across 8 (7 letters)

Chris and Ross take Will’s place at the wicket

It was a glorious Sunday afternoon in August. The two cricket teams, dressed in their whites had just jogged out of the pavilion to a round of polite applause. Swallows were flying high overhead, and in the distance, the River Ouse sparkled in the sun as it slowly flowed along. Chief Inspector John Shadow finished the last of his tea and placed the cup and saucer down on the grass by his half-finished Yorkshire Post crossword. His stomach was comfortably full from the plate of sandwiches and scones Maggie had brought over to him when play had stopped for lunch. One of her many nephews was wicket keeper for the home team, and she’d been roped in to help with the teas.

However, Maggie wasn’t the only reason he’d strolled the mile and a half or so along the river from Florence, his narrow boat, to the village of Bishop’s Drift that morning. Ben and Ollie, two of the forensic scientists he worked with were playing for the visiting team. Neither of them usually filled him with confidence so he’d been rather surprised to find that both had notched up an impressive number of runs during the first innings. It looked likely their team would win. The home team were chasing a score of one hundred and thirty, but as the second innings was just starting, he reckoned he had time for a quick nap before things got interesting. Leaning back in his deck chair, he lowered his Panama hat and closed his eyes. However, just as he felt himself dropping off to the soothing sound of leather on willow, a shadow fell across his face.

“Chief, are you awake?” whispered an all-too-familiar voice.

He didn’t bother opening his eyes. “For the last time, Sergeant. If the ball bounces before it goes over the boundary, it’s a four. If it doesn’t, it’s a six. Now leave me in peace.”

It was Sergeant Jimmy Chang, who had persuaded him to come and support their colleagues. He would never have agreed to it, if he’d known he would have to spend the best part of the morning explaining the rules of the game to his deputy.

“Sorry, Chief, but the thing is, there’s a body.”

Shadow opened his eyes. “Where?”

“Here or actually there. Over in that little hut thing with the scoreboard on it. It’s the old guy who was keeping score inside.”

“Natural causes?” asked Shadow hoping for a stroke or a heart attack.

Jimmy shook his head. “No. Somebody whacked him over the head, then stuck one of those little wooden poles through his stomach.”

“For crying out loud,” grumbled Shadow as he clambered gracelessly out of the deck chair, “I’ve told you a hundred times, they are called stumps and with the bails they make the wicket.”

The two detectives walked behind the rows of spectators seated either on picnic blankets or deck chairs. Everyone was focused on the match and a cheer went up as another ball was hit for six. They didn’t seem to have noticed that the scoreboard remained unchanged since play restarted.

“Have we got any details?” asked Shadow.

Jimmy immediately whipped out his electronic notebook and began reading. “The victim is Martin Croft, a retired civil servant, age seventy, and he’s not married and has lived here in Bishop’s Drift for about twenty years.”

“Who found him?”

“Julia Hinchcliff. She’s the mother of the captain of the home team. She’d gone to take Martin another cup of tea. When she saw him, she came running back to the pavilion kitchen and told me what had happened. She’s the one who gave me the background info too.”

“What were you doing in the kitchen?”

“Helping out with the washing up. They were a bit shorthanded, so Julia came over to us and asked Sophie if she’d like to lend a hand serving the boys when they came in for lunch. Well, you can guess how well that went down, so I volunteered instead. Julia was a bit surprised. Said they’d never had a chap in the kitchen before. I’m not sure she trusted me around the food, so she set me on with the washing up instead. I don’t think she meant anything, she’s just a bit traditional. Sophie said old-fashioned.”

Shadow grunted. Sophie was Jimmy’s wife and also one of the doctors they worked with. She was helpful, efficient, and hardworking, but she wouldn’t have taken kindly to being asked to abandon watching the cricket so she could help make sandwiches for the boys.

“Where’s Sophie now?” he asked.

“With the body and I’ve put a call out. The crime scene team are on their way.”

By now, they had reached the scorer’s hut. It was a small, white wooden building with a small opening to the front so that whoever was inside could watch the match and above that was an electronic scoreboard. Shadow followed Jimmy round to the back of the hut, where there was a door. He took a deep breath to brace himself. Despite being in the police for well over thirty years, the sight of blood always made his stomach churn.

They stepped through the open door and into the tiny dark room. After the bright sunshine outside, it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. Unlike her husband, who was still wearing a hoodie with his jeans despite the heat, Sophie was dressed in cut-off denim shorts and a T-shirt. She was kneeling down next to the body. The victim was still on his chair slumped forward. His arms and head were on the table in front of him, resting on the score sheet where he must have been entering the results manually. To his right, were the controls for the digital scoreboard. He looked to be of average build with neatly trimmed grey hair. His glasses where still on his face but one of the arms had snapped and they were now askew. He was dressed smartly in a shirt and tie with cream-coloured chinos although an ugly red stain had spread across the light cotton fabric. There was also a dark pool of blood on the wooden floorboards, and if Shadow looked beneath the table, he could see one end of the white wooden stump resting at an odd angle on the victim’s knee. He didn’t want to think about where the other end was. Sophie looked up when she heard them enter.

“Hi Chief. No rest for the wicked, eh?” she said cheerfully.

“So, it would seem. What can you tell us, Sophie?” replied Shadow.

“Not much. I haven’t got all my equipment with me, but he must have died no more than an hour ago. Not that you need any medical knowledge to work that out. Apparently, someone brought him some sandwiches and tea just as the first innings finished. That was at twelve o’clock. There was an hour for lunch. It looks like he had time to eat and drink,” she gestured towards the empty cup and plate on the table next to the scoreboard controls. “Then Julia came down with more tea just after play started again. So, time of death I’m estimating at between quarter past twelve and one o’clock.”

Shadow nodded taking in the broken cup and saucer in the doorway that Julia must have dropped when she arrived. There was also a smashed plate and a forlorn looking cream scone lying next to it. Behind the door was a pile of cricket gear—pads, wickets, a tin of white paint, and some folded-up tarpaulin.

“Jimmy said he was hit over the head with the wicket before they stabbed him with it,” he said turning his attention back to the victim.

Sophie frowned. “He was definitely struck on the head, but I’m not sure what with yet, but looking at the bruising here just above his right ear, my guess is it wasn’t a heavy enough blow to kill him. Also, there are some abrasions around his lips. I’m wondering if whoever killed him might have snuck up behind and pressed their hand over his mouth to stop him calling out,” she said using the end of her pen to point out the areas of reddened skin.

“Could it have been an opportunist?” asked Jimmy. “A druggie looking for some cash. They thought an old man on his own would be an easy target, but he fought back. Do you reckon they keep any money in here? Like team subs or something?”

Sophie shook her head. “I wouldn’t have thought so,” she replied. “There’s a club room up at the pavilion that looked pretty flash—lots of wood panelling and leather armchairs, that sort of thing. I bet that’s where they’d keep any cash. Besides, whoever killed him didn’t bother to take his wallet,” she added, directing her pen to the square-shaped outline in the dead man’s trouser pocket. “Should I?”

Shadow nodded and watched as she carefully removed the wallet, with a whispered “Excuse me, Martin,” before she handed it to Shadow.

He very much hoped that if he dropped dead at work, Sophie would be the doctor on call. He opened the brown leather wallet. Inside were a debit card, a Waitrose loyalty card, a driving licence, and a hundred pounds in cash.

“So, we can definitely rule out robbery then,” said Jimmy with a sigh.

Shadow handed him the driving licence. “Read his address, will you. Even with my glasses on, I won’t be able to make it out in this light.”

Jimmy squinted at the small plastic card. “Bank House, Bishop’s Drift,” he read out. “I know it. It’s on the main street, across the road from the pub. Do you remember we looked at that cottage along there a few months ago, Soph?”

“Yep, it was lovely but needed too much work for us,” replied his wife who had now moved to the other side of the victim. “It looks like his keys are in this pocket.”

“Good, that should save us some time,” replied Shadow, holding out his hand as Sophie carefully fished the key ring out of Martin’s trouser pocket. “Are you sure he isn’t married?”

“According to Julia,” replied Jimmy.

“And she definitely seems the type who knows everything that goes on in the village,” added Sophie.

From outside, they could hear the whine of sirens approaching. Shadow turned to Jimmy. “You’d better go and tell everyone that the match is cancelled and then find our forensics team and get them over here preferably with a protective suit over their cricket whites.”

As Jimmy disappeared out of the door, Shadow took a moment to look around the rest of the hut. As well as the cricket paraphernalia, there was an old filing cabinet standing against one wall. There was a thin layer of dust on top and the drawers were neatly labelled with dates. He guessed they held the scores of all the matches Bishop’s Drift had played but the most recent date was sixteen years ago. He carefully tried to open the top drawer but it was locked and looking at the bunch of keys in his hand, none appeared to be the sort that would fit. No doubt Ben and Ollie would examine it when they arrived. He decided he should probably leave before he disturbed anything in the tiny space.

“I’ll be up at the clubhouse if you need me, Sophie,” he said, but only got a murmured “Okay, Chief,” in response. She had returned to her work and was now engrossed in studying the victim’s face by the light of her phone’s torch.

He stepped back outside, blinking at the sunlight and took a couple of deep breaths of fresh air. The sirens were getting louder, and he could see an ambulance, two marked cars, and a police van arriving in the car park. It was a large space that began a few yards behind the hut and stretched down to the river. However, due to the match being so well attended, it was busy and there were no available spaces, so the ambulance had bumped up on to the grass verge and was now trundling towards him beeping its horn for good measure. It came to a halt and a couple of paramedics jumped out.

He had no wish to get under their feet, so he made his way around to the front of the hut. The opening that Martin had been watching the match through was small, perhaps ten or twelve inches high and only two or three feet wide. That coupled with the fact that the interior was so dark, it was almost impossible to see what was going on inside, especially from a distance. Although from the noise they were making, it was clear the paramedics were now inside, he could only see some movement, not their faces. Unless he was lucky enough to find someone had been sitting with a pair of binoculars trained on the hut, he doubted there would be many witnesses, at least not from where the match had been taking place.

Turning away from the hut, it was clear to see that news of what had happened had spread. The spectators were all folding their deckchairs and picking up their picnic blankets. A crowd had gathered on the pavilion steps and were pointing towards the uniformed police officers who had now arrived on the scene. Jimmy was in the middle of the pitch trying to placate the players who all seemed rather upset that the match had been stopped. All that was except for one young man who was now jogging towards Shadow. He recognised him from the opening coin toss as the captain of the home team and guessed he was around twenty years old. He was tall and good-looking with an easy smile. As he approached Shadow, he removed his cap and held out his hand.

“Good afternoon, sir. I’m Rory Hinchcliff, the captain of Bishop’s Drift. I understand from your sergeant that you want us to stop playing.”

“That’s right, Mr Hinchcliff,” replied Shadow briefly shaking the outstretched hand.

“But is that absolutely necessary?”

“I’m afraid so. As I’m sure Sergeant Chang informed you, there has been an unexplained death.”

Rory ran his hand through his dark hair and arranged his features into what he must have thought was a suitably concerned expression. “Yes, I see, I mean it’s terrible about Martin. Poor old guy. It won’t be the same round here without him, but you see this is the final of the Archer’s Cup. It’s one of the biggest tournaments for the local teams. Bishop’s Drift have won it the last two years, and I was really hoping to make it a hat trick. Our opening pair are already on thirty-seven without loss. I’m at number three and I’m pretty certain I could knock up half a century at least. Are you positive we can’t play on? I think it’s what Martin would have wanted and I’m sure I could find someone else to keep score.”

Shadow surveyed him for a few seconds. He got the impression Rory Hinchcliff was used to getting his own way. Today he was going to be disappointed.

“I don’t think that would be appropriate, Mr Hinchcliff,” he replied. “The match will have to be postponed.”

Rory’s shoulders fell. “I see. I suppose you’re right but it’s a shame. I’d better go and let the lads know it’s definitely off.”

He turned away but Shadow hadn’t finished with him. “Before you go, could you tell me where you were during the break for lunch, Mr Hinchcliff?”

Rory stopped and frowned. “Up in the pavilion with everyone else. Oh, except when I nipped back to my car. I’d forgotten my pads.”

“Is your car in the car park?”

His face broke into a smile. “Yes. The captain has his own space. That’s it over there. The black Golf GTI.”

“So, you would have had to pass by the scorer’s hut,” continued Shadow, not bothering to look where Rory was pointing.

“Well, yes, but bloody hell, you don’t think I killed him, do you?”

“Did you go inside the hut?”

“No. Why would I? You can see the score from outside.”

“What time did you come down here?” Shadow went on, feeling slightly guilty about how much he was enjoying the young man’s panic.

“As soon as their last wicket fell. It was just before twelve.”

“And did you see anyone else here at the hut?”

“There were a few people milling about. Getting stuff from their cars, like me. Oh, and I saw Samantha, Samantha Archer. She was leaving the hut. She must have taken Martin something to eat. I heard her say something like, Julia will be along with a cup of tea and cake soon, Martin, then she waved at me, told me I’d played well and headed back to the pavilion. Samantha will vouch for me,” he explained clearly relieved.

“Julia being your mother?” enquired Shadow.

“That’s right and Samantha is my girlfriend, Scarlet’s mum.”

“I see. Well, that’s all for now, Mr Hinchcliff. Thank you for your time.”

Rory puffed out his cheeks and exhaled loudly, not bothering to hide his relief as he jogged away. Shadow watched him go and saw him nod to Jimmy who was now heading towards him. Unfortunately, he wasn’t alone. Kevin McNab, the reporter from the local newspaper and one of Shadow’s least favourite people was trotting after him.

“Match cancelled, spectators and players asked to give their details to uniform before leaving, and Ben and Ollie are on their way, Chief,” reported Jimmy but before Shadow could reply, Kevin began firing questions.

“Is it true a man has been brutally murdered, Chief Inspector Shadow? Is the killer still at large? Did you receive a tip-off? Is that why both you and Sergeant Chang were here when the killer struck?”

“We were just watching the match,” replied Jimmy.

“What are you doing here?” asked Shadow.

“The final of the Archer’s Cup is one of biggest local sporting events of the summer. The Herald always sends a reporter and photographer to cover it.”

“Where were you at the end of the first innings?” asked Shadow. The journalist wasn’t the only one who could shoot questions around.

“I was in the pavilion getting my lunch before the rush,” replied the journalist, bristling slightly. Shadow took in the crumbs of what looked like pastry stuck in his ginger beard and nodded.

“And where’s your photographer?”

“Here comes Gordon now,” replied McNab pointing to a tall, thin man with grey hair who was running towards them with a lolloping gait, the camera around his neck swinging from side to side. Shadow recognised him but he could have sworn Gordon Gatenby had retired. He must be nearly seventy by now and had worked at The Herald for as long as he could remember.

“Sorry, Kevin. I just got your message. I’d nipped down to the river to take a few shots of the swans and thought I saw a kingfisher. There’s a heron there too,” explained the photographer bending over slightly and wheezing as he tried to catch his breath.

“Have you been taking photographs here all morning, Gordon?” asked Shadow.

The older man nodded. “That’s right, Chief Inspector. Right up until play stopped for lunch,” he replied.

“Could you send them over to Sergeant Chang? They might be useful.”

“Of course. Happy to help.”

“Hold on,” interrupted Kevin. “We want something in return. Confirmation of the identity of the victim at the very least.”

“A statement will be released shortly,” replied Jimmy politely, but the journalist wasn’t appeased.

“What can I tell my readers to reassure them? When a murder is committed in broad daylight in the close vicinity of two members of the city’s CID. How are my readers expected to sleep at night, Chief Inspector?”

“Tell them both to have a mug of cocoa or if that fails a double whiskey,” replied Shadow. “Now clear off or I’ll have you arrested for obstruction.”

He strode away with Jimmy following close behind.

“Where are we off to, Chief?”

“Let’s go and speak to the woman who found the body. Julia, was it? I’ve just met her son. And have you come across someone called Samantha Archer?”

“Yep, she and her daughter were both helping out in the kitchen too. Although, to be fair, the daughter, Scarlet I think she’s called, spent most of the time with her head stuck in a book.”

The two detectives were met at the door of the pavilion by one of the umpires. He was a short grey-haired man with a neatly trimmed moustache. He was still wearing his white coat and hat and was also brandishing a clipboard, as he eagerly held out his hand. “Nigel Brent, I’m the club secretary for my sins. I’ve already met Sergeant Chang,” he said giving Shadow an enquiring look.

“I’m Chief Inspector Shadow. I’ll be leading the investigation into Mr Croft’s death,” he replied.

Nigel’s face lit up. “A chief inspector, eh? It doesn’t get much better than that. And you were here for the match too. Lucky us. I mean not lucky exactly. Terribly sad about Martin and all that but jolly convenient you were on the scene,” he said attempting to look sombre. “I’ve corralled all the spectators into the dining room so they can give their info to your uniformed chaps and chapettes. I’ve also taken the liberty of making a list of all the players names along with the club officials. The teams are all currently in the changing room, but I thought you could use the club room, and my office is also at your disposal,” he continued, handing them both a headed paper with a long list of names on it, before leading them into the pavilion.

Shadow quickly scanned the list before folding it away into his pocket. As Nigel led them inside, he noticed two women hovering by the trophy cabinet. One looked to be in her late forties, with brown curly hair and an air of efficiency, the other was smaller, older, and was nervously fiddling with the apron she was wearing over her cotton summer dress.

“Thank you, Mr Brent,” he said, “I’d like to start by speaking to whoever found Mr Croft.”

“That would be me,” said the lady with curly hair. She stepped forward. “I’m Julia Hinchcliff.”

“This is Chief Inspector Shadow,” said Jimmy.

“And this is my wife, Deirdre,” added Nigel, who clearly didn’t want to be sidelined. Shadow shook hands with both women, but Deirdre looked like she might faint at any minute.

“Would you be able to answer a few questions, please, Mrs Hinchcliff?” he asked.

“Certainly, Chief Inspector. Whose office are we using?” she asked.

“Mine I thought, Julia,” replied Nigel but Julia immediately shook her head.

“Don’t you think Derek’s would be better? It’s much larger and has a sofa in it. Derek Archer is the president of our club, Chief Inspector,” she began to explain. “My husband Gerald, is the chairman. Sadly, he’s away on business in the Cayman Islands. He’s a chartered accountant,” she said, then peering at what Jimmy was typing on his electronic notebook added, “chartered accountant, Sergeant, not just accountant. And Nigel here is the club secretary as I’m sure he’s told you.”

“Are you the bloke in charge?” said a loud voice behind them before a decision as to which office they should use had been made. Shadow turned round to see a large, thickset man, with a very red face and no neck. He was standing with a young woman, who looked rather pale and fragile. She was wearing a black crop top and a long black skirt. Her fair hair hung down to her shoulders framing her pixie-like features.

“Ah there you are, Derek,” said Julia. “Chief Inspector, this is Derek Archer, the club president and his daughter, Scarlet, oh and here’s Samantha. The whole family is here,” she continued as another woman dressed in jeans and a white linen shirt appeared from the kitchen doorway. Shadow thought how fortunate it was for Scarlet that she looked nothing like her father and had instead inherited her mother’s blonde hair, blue eyes, and excellent bone structure.

“So, you’re the bloke in charge?” repeated Derek. “Is it all right with you if I take Scarlet home? I don’t want her hanging round here if there’s a madman on the loose.”

“Did either of you visit the scorer’s hut?” asked Shadow.

“No. We were watching the match from the bench outside. I arrived just before lunch and didn’t even see Martin, did you, Scarlet?”

The young woman shook her head silently.

“Very well. I’m happy for you to leave, but I might want to speak to you both later,” replied Shadow.

“Fair enough. Come on, love. Let’s go.”

“Is it all right with you, if we use your office, Derek?” asked Julia, as he turned away.

“Might as well be used for something, Julia,” he replied and with that Derek strode away with arm firmly around his daughter’s shoulders. Shadow noted that neither of them said goodbye to Samantha and Derek didn’t seem at all concerned that he was leaving his wife to fend off any madmen alone.

“I expect you will want to speak to me too, Chief Inspector,” said Samantha, as if reading his mind. “I took Martin a plate of sandwiches at the end of the first innings.”

“So, I understand,” replied Shadow. “I’ll interview you after I’ve spoken to Mrs Hinchcliff, if I may, Mrs Archer.”

“Derek’s office is just down here, Chief Inspector,” said Nigel, who was obviously keen to take charge again and had set off at a brisk pace towards a door bearing a shiny brass plaque at the end of entrance hall. Shadow, Jimmy and Julia fell into line behind him. They passed two more doors with brass plaques. The chairman’s office and the club secretary’s. Shadow’s first thought that this was a very grand clubhouse for a small village team and his second that nobody seemed very upset about the death of one its members.

“I had some water and glasses all set up in my room,” said Nigel as he opened the door. “Shall I bring them along?”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” replied Shadow. “Unless, you would like some Mrs Hinchcliff?”

“No thanks, Chief Inspector, but I could kill for a G&T. It must be the shock. Nigel, be a sweetie and fix me one for when these two gentlemen have finished with me, would you? And make it a double.”

“Ice and a slice?” he asked.

“Always,” replied Julia and Nigel obediently scurried away.

“I thought it best to give him a little errand or he’ll be getting under your feet and make a nuisance of himself, Chief Inspector,” she whispered as she ushered the two detectives inside the office and closed the door behind them. “Now, Chief Inspector, you go and sit down in Derek’s chair behind the desk and Sergeant Chang, I shall call you that instead of Jimmy, now you are working, dear; you come and sit next to me on the sofa. That way I can make sure you’re writing down what I’m saying accurately. I can help with the spelling of people’s names and so forth. Not that I think we have anything too complicated. All good solid Yorkshire families here at Bishop’s Drift.”

She sat down on the large Chesterfield sofa and patted the cushion next to her. After giving each other a silent look, both detectives followed her instructions. As Shadow took his seat behind the large leather-topped oak desk, he imagined most people did as Julia said. She was now perched on the edge of her seat, her hands clasped in front of her, looking at him expectantly.

“To begin with, can you tell us what happened when you went down to the hut?” he asked.

She nodded as if approving of this question. “Certainly, Chief Inspector. I went down just before one o’clock. By that time, lunch was almost over, play had started again, and there were just a few stragglers finishing their cakes, so I had a few spare moments before I needed to organise the big clear-up. Samantha had gone down to Martin with some savouries earlier, some sandwiches and a slice of quiche and so forth, and I went to take him his afters. He hadn’t got much of a sweet tooth, but he did enjoy a scone. He actually preferred his with just butter and cheese, but Deirdre had already pre-prepared them all with jam and cream. I had asked her to leave half a dozen or so for anyone who like them plain but she must have forgotten, which isn’t like her. She’s usually very reliable.”

Shadow raised his finger to interrupt her. “Excuse me, Mrs Hinchcliff, but was Mr Croft always the scorer or did other members of the club take turns in the role?”

“Oh, are you thinking it could be a case of mistaken identity, Chief Inspector? Well, I’m sorry, but I shall have to disappoint you. Martin has been our scorer for the last fifteen years or so. He took over from his sister Annie when she became ill. She was a great cricket fan. I don’t think she and Martin ever missed a match between them. Oh, now I tell a lie. He was ill a few weeks ago. Food poisoning, I believe and Scarlet, Rory’s girlfriend, stood in at very short notice. She’d never done it before, but she said she’d just look at the records from previous matches. I have to say she did an excellent job, but then she is very bright. She’s got a place at Durham University, you know.”

Shadow held up his hand again. From the look of concentration of his sergeant’s face and the furious tapping sound his fingers were making, he was clearly struggling to keep up with their talkative witness.

“Going back to Mr Croft for a moment, Mrs Hinchcliff. Did he always have his lunch down in the hut? Why didn’t he come up to the clubhouse?” This point had been bothering him. If nothing else, he wondered about Martin’s toilet arrangements if he was confined to the hut for hours on end.

“Actually, Chief Inspector, he did normally come up here, but this morning, he asked if we could take a plate down to him. He said his hip was playing up. He had a touch of arthritis, I believe. I suppose old age comes to us all. Anyway, I went down to the hut with the scone and a cup of tea. I called out to Martin when I was at the door, but he didn’t reply. He couldn’t of course, but at the time I didn’t know that, and I was a little put out that he didn’t open the door for me when I had my hands full. When I did manage to open it, I used my elbow, if you were wondering, I’m afraid I dropped everything. It was such a shock seeing him like that.”

“Can you describe what you saw, Mrs Hinchcliff?” asked Jimmy, briefly looking up from his electronic notebook.

Julia frowned at him. This question clearly didn’t meet with her approval. “Well, Sergeant dear, he was dead. He was slumped over his desk, with a wicket stuck in his stomach. I rushed over and felt for a pulse, but there was nothing, so I came running back here to fetch you.”

“Did you see anyone loitering near the hut?” asked Shadow.

“No, Chief Inspector. There were a few people in the car park. Not anyone I recognised. Everyone else was either here having lunch or sitting outside.”

“What can you tell us about Martin Croft? Have you known him long?”

Julia put her head on one side as if she was giving the matter some thought. “Now let me think. He must have lived here at least twenty years. He and his sister, Anne, moved here together. I think she was the older of the two. They were very close. Neither of them ever married. She became ill not long after they arrived about seventeen or eighteen years ago. Alzheimer’s. Poor thing. Martin couldn’t cope. She went into a home and died there not long afterwards.”

“Anything else?”

“He was what you might call a village stalwart, Chief Inspector. As well as being the scorer here, he was also the clerk for the parish council and a member of our neighbourhood watch group. He could always be counted on to help out at the village hall, you know jumble sales and that sort of thing, but he was quite reserved and extremely private. Do you know, in all the time I’ve known him, I’ve never once been inside his house.”

“Really?” asked Shadow. He thought it was interesting that she spoken about Martin in the past tense straight away. People usually didn’t or at least got confused and corrected themselves, in that awkward and self-conscious way they had when talking about the recently deceased. But Julia Hinchcliff was nothing if not self-assured. Rather like her son.

“No. I don’t think any of us have, Chief Inspector,” she continued now. “We’d invite him to dinner or lunch of course and I know Nigel and Deirdre did, too, but rather than invite us back, he’d take us to the pub for a meal. Being a bachelor, I expect he’s not much of a cook. In my experience, single men aren’t very good at entertaining or keeping house. Well, not unless they are gay.”

“And Martin wasn’t gay?” asked Jimmy.

“Martin? No. I don’t think he had any significant other, male or female, and as far as I know, there are no homosexuals here in Bishop’s Drift, Sergeant Chang,” she replied nodding towards Jimmy’s notebook to make sure he was recording this detail.

“Can you think of anyone who may have wanted to kill him?” asked Shadow.

“Goodness me, no. Not here in Bishop’s Drift. It must have been someone from outside the village. A drug addict who’s found his way here from the city I expect. He’ll stick out like a sore thumb, so I’m sure it won’t take you long to find him.”

“We’ll do our very best, Mrs Hinchcliff,” murmured Shadow as Julia clapped her hands together and stood up.

“Excellent. We’re all counting on you, Chief Inspector and you, of course, Sergeant Chang. Now, if that’s everything, I’ll go and track down Nigel and my G&T.”

“Thank you for your time,” replied Shadow as Jimmy sprang up to open the door for her.

As soon as she’d gone, Jimmy closed the door after her and exhaled loudly. “What do you reckon, Chief? Do you think she could have killed him?” he asked.

Shadow raised an eyebrow. “I think women like Julia Hinchliffe are capable of just about anything if they put their minds to it. Let’s speak to Samantha Archer next.”

“Okay. I’ll go and get her,” said Jimmy.

As he disappeared out of the door. Shadow stood up and took a few moments to look around the office. Despite being a well-appointed room with tasteful decorations and a wonderful view of the cricket pitch, he got the impression that Derek Archer didn’t spend much time here. There were no personal items of any sort on display and when he opened the desk drawers, they were all empty except for one that contained a few sheets of lined paper and a couple of pens.

Hanging in three rows on the wall behind the desk were team photos from years gone by. Some were in black-and-white. He spotted Rory in the two most recent ones, sitting in the middle of the front row and standing to either side of the team were Nigel, Derek, Martin and another man, he assumed was Gerald, Julia’s husband. In the older photographs, the faces changed but there was always a large man standing next to the players who looked very much like Derek Archer. He put on his glasses and peered at the inscription beneath the photographs.

STANLEY ARCHER, CLUB PRESIDENT

It seemed Derek had followed in his father’s footsteps. The Archer family clearly had a long history with the club, yet Derek had seemed barely interested that one of his fellow officials had been murdered.

Excerpt. ©HL Marsay. Posted by arrangement with the publisher. All rights reserved.
 
 

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Meet the Author:

H L Marsay grew up binge-reading detective stories and promised herself that some day, she would write one too. A Long Shadow was the first book in her Chief Inspector Shadow series set in York. Luckily, living in a city so full of history, dark corners and hidden snickelways, she is never short of inspiration. She has also written The Secrets of Hartwell Trilogy and The Lady in Blue Mysteries. The Chief Inspector Shadow Mysteries have recently been optioned for television.

When she isn’t coming up with new ways to bump people off, she enjoys drinking red wine, eating dark chocolate and reading Agatha Christie – preferably at the same time!

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