- زمان مطالعه 5 دقیقه
- سطح خیلی سخت
دانلود اپلیکیشن «زیبوک»
این فصل را میتوانید به بهترین شکل و با امکانات عالی در اپلیکیشن «زیبوک» بخوانید
متن انگلیسی فصل
Grant and Graham investigate
Jenny Logan woke up in the dark. She had a terrible headache and her wrists hurt. She tried to move them but couldn’t. They were tied together behind her. Was it day or night? And where was she? She turned her head and looked up. She could see bits of light above her. Little by little her eyes became used to the dark, and she realised she was in the roof space of a building. It was obviously an oldish building because of the light coming through the small holes in the roof. If she could see light, it must be day. She wondered if it was still Wednesday. Under her there were long pieces of wood going in one direction along the floor of the roof space. Between each of these was the kind of roof insulation material Helen Robertson had spoken about that kept heat in buildings. Logan could not see if it was orange or not. She had a feeling it probably was. This must be the place where the two murdered women had been kept. Was hers to be the third dead body found in one of Edinburgh’s green areas?
Perhaps it hadn’t been a good idea to accept a lift from someone who was part of a murder investigation, but it had seemed like a good opportunity to talk… Anyway, it was no use worrying about the past. She needed to think about the present. She needed to get out of here. Fast.
Logan tried to open her mouth but there was a piece of parcel tape stuck over it. She tried making a noise. It was possible but the sound was not very loud. Her feet were not tied so she started to move them round so she could get to her knees.
The police car pulled up outside a tall building in Mayfield Gardens. Grant and Graham got out quickly and entered the building through the front door. Just inside on the left was a row of postboxes, the name of the owner and the number of the flat on the front of each box.
‘Here,’ said Graham, pointing at the last in the row. ‘Flat eight. Top floor.’
There was no lift, so they ran up the stairs. Graham took the lead; Grant, still healthy at sixty, was not far behind. There were two flats on each floor. Flats 7 and 8 were at the top: Flat 7 at the back of the building, Flat 8 at the front.
As they arrived at the door, Grant spoke, ‘I’ll ask the questions; you look out for anything unusual. If you get the chance, look around a bit.’ Graham nodded. Grant knocked at the door.
A few moments later it opened.
‘I’m Sergeant Grant, madam,’ said Grant, holding up his ID card. ‘We met the other night at The Meadows. And this is Sergeant Graham. I wonder if we could come in and ask you a few questions?’
‘Of course.’ Karen Ramsay opened the door wide to let the police officers into the flat.
The short hall led off to the left into a large comfortable living room. There were two closed doors on the right, and one open door straight ahead, leading into a small kitchen.
Ramsay closed the front door and followed them into the living room.
‘Please sit down,’ she said.
Grant and Graham sat, both of them looking round the room. There was a round dining table, piled high with books, and four chairs; a couple of armchairs and a sofa covered in a dark blue, material; shelves full of books on computing; a desk with a computer on it; and another door that looked as if it led into a cupboard. A dark brown jacket hung over the back of one of the dining chairs, a greeny-blue scarf over the back of another.
‘Ms Ramsay,’ began Grant, ‘perhaps you could tell us something about the research that Clare Rutherford and Frances Stewart were -‘
The doorbell rang.
‘Excuse me,’ said Ramsay, going into the hall to answer the door.
Graham immediately stood up and started wandering around the room. He put his head round the door into the kitchen.
They heard voices at the front door and then Karen Ramsay saying, ‘Well, the police are here,’ and then, ‘Sergeant Grant and I can’t remember the other one’s name,’ and then, ‘Well, come in and ask them if you want.’
The front door closed and Karen Ramsay came back into the room followed by Tam MacDonald.
‘Sorry to interrupt you, Sergeant Grant,’ said MacDonald, ‘but I was hoping to ask Ms Ramsay a few questions. I just wanted to know how long -‘ Suddenly he stopped as his eyes fell on the scarf over the back of one of the dining chairs.
‘That’s Jenny’s,’ he said.
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