PONS Kurzkrimis: Murder in the Moonlight E-Book

Dominic Butler

• Herausgeber: PONS
• Kategorie: Fremdsprachen
• Serie: PONS Mörderische Kurzkrimis
• Sprache: Deutsch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Seitenzahl: 154

Beschreibung

Englisch lernen mit mörderischen Kurzgeschichten Sie lesen gerne Krimis und möchten etwas für Ihr Englisch tun? Mit diesen spannenden Kriminalgeschichten frischen Sie Ihr Englisch auf. Die verwendete Sprache passt genau zu Ihrem Lernniveau, so dass Ihnen das Lesen ganz leicht fällt. Schwierigere Wörter sind in den Fußnoten übersetzt. Für Fortgeschrittene (B1).

Leseprobe

MURDER IN THE MOONLIGHT

Mörderische Kurzkrimis zum Englischlernen

von Dominic Butler

PONS GmbH Stuttgart

PONS

MURDER IN THE MOONLIGHT

Mörderische Kurzkrimis zum Englischlernen

von Dominic Butler

Alle in diesem Buch geschilderten Handlungen und Personen sind frei erfunden. Ähnlichkeiten mit lebenden oder verstorbenen Personen wären rein zufällig.

1. Auflage 2017

© PONS GmbH, Stuttgart 2017 Alle Rechte vorbehalten

www.pons.de E-Mail: [email protected]

Projektleitung: Francesca Giamboni Autor: Dominic Butler Redaktion: Brian Wolfe Covergestaltung: Anne Helbich, Stuttgart Logoentwurf: Erwin Poell, Heidelberg Logoüberarbeitung: Sabine Redlin, Ludwigsburg Bildquelle Umschlag: Akte: Thinkstock/RTimages; Mondschein: Thinkstock/johnnorth. Layout: PONS GmbH, Stuttgart

ISBN: 978-3-12-050104-6

EINIGE WORTE VORAB …

Sie lesen gerne Krimis und möchten etwas für Ihr Englisch tun? Mit diesen spannenden Kriminalgeschichten frischen Sie Ihr Englisch auf. Die verwendete Sprache passt genau zu Ihrem Lernniveau, so dass Ihnen das Lesen ganz leicht fällt.

Die fett geschriebenen und nummerierten Wörter oder Ausdrücke zeigen, dass es hierzu Vokabelangaben gibt. Mit Klick auf ein fett geschriebenes und nummeriertes Wort öffnen Sie automatisch eine Fußnote mit der deutschen Übersetzung. Von hier können Sie zur Vokabelliste für das jeweilige Kapitel springen. Mit nochmaligem Klick auf das Wort in der Liste schließt sich diese wieder und Sie gelangen zurück zum Text.

Im Anhang können Sie nochmals alle Wörter und Ausdrücke in einer alphabetischen Wortliste nachschlagen.

Viel Spaß!

ÜBER DEN AUTOR

Dominic Butler stammt aus Nordengland. Er ist Englischlehrer und Schriftsteller. Nach seiner Schulzeit, die er an einer klassischen Grammar School (entspricht dem deutschen Gymnasium) verbrachte, studierte er Film und Literatur an der Sheffield Hallam University. Während seiner Studienzeit arbeitete er in Teilzeit als Gerichtsschreiber am Strafgericht in Sheffield. Dort erwachte sein Interesse für Kriminalfälle, die von nun an Thema vieler seiner Kurzgeschichten wurden. Dominic lebt und arbeitet zurzeit in Italien, wo er Englisch unterrichtet und gerade seinen ersten Roman beendet, einen düsteren, jedoch humorvollen Krimi.

INHALTSVERZEICHNIS

1. THE ACCIDENT

2. COLD HEART

3. THE LOCKED ROOM

4. THE HONEY TRAP

5. THE MURDER MYSTERY

6. SEE NO EVIL

7. MURDER IN THE MOONLIGHT

8. THE LADY’S SLIPPER

9. THE MAGICIAN

10. THE END OF THE LINE

11. THE ART OF CRIME

12. THE BIG FIVE

13. THE FUNERAL

14. THE ESCAPE

FUSSNOTEN

WORTLISTE

1. THE ACCIDENT

It was an accident.

He was dead, but it was an accident.

Emily felt her legs go weak1 and she felt like she could not breathe. The tunnels were hot, impossibly hot, and she wanted to take the torch2 and run along the passages3 to the entrance and then out into the humid4 night of the jungle.

But she did not.

Instead she sat down, with her back against the side of the ancient Mayan burial stone5 and began to cry, the noise echoing6 around the small room.

Finally the tears stopped and she dried her eyes with the sleeve of her khaki shirt and pushed her brown hair away from her face.

She was not the type of person to cry for no reason, but she knew that what she had done was going to change her life forever.

Yes, it had been an accident, but even if anyone believed her, her career was over, her six years of study a waste of time7.

And it was all because of him.

She stared8 for a moment at his body in the dim light from the torch.

Professor Mounier.

He looked extremely peaceful. He was not an ugly man, but neither was he handsome. Maybe he had been, twenty years ago, but now he was in his fifties, his stomach was large and his tanned face was covered by his beard.

No, he was not attractive. He was repellent9. A serpent, not a man. With hands that never stopped moving, touching, searching and reaching for her.

But not now. No, now he was still, his hands unmoving.

And next to his left eye there was a bloody hole where she had hit him with the small excavation10 hammer.

For a moment she felt like11 crying again, but she did not let herself. She had to get to the British embassy12 before the body was found, explain what had happened, explain that it had not been her fault13.

Not her fault.

No, it had been his.

For three months she had worked here with him in Belize, excavating a new sequence of tunnels found near to the Caana. It was every young archaeologist’s dream. To work with a famous professor like Mounier, to be present at the opening of a new excavation.

But the reality had been different.

She had known that Mounier had been looking for an assistant, and she had gone to see him at his office. At the beginning everything had been pleasant14. Yes, they had been flirting a bit, but nothing more than that. But then he had become insistent15 and talking about his wife was the only way to stop him.

Then tonight he had come to the tunnels where she was working alone and she had smelt the alcohol on his breath16, she had seen the dangerous look in his eyes.

But it was an accident. He had tried to reach for her, and she had told him to stop, but he had not.

So she had stopped him.

She looked at the hammer. Yes, it had not been her fault.

So why should she suffer17?

And suddenly she was not thinking about the British embassy anymore. She was thinking that of all the places to hide a body, surely18 these dark tunnels were the best.

She pushed herself up and looked around.

The body was behind the burial stone, but Mounier's feet could be seen if someone came.

And someone might come19. Yes, one of the other assistants, Claire or Stephen, maybe.

Quickly she reached down and grabbed him under his arms, his sweat on her hands, and she pulled him half a metre until the body was hidden.

Then for a moment she looked at the burial stone and contemplated20 the possibility of placing him beneath it, but no, it was a ridiculous21 idea. At some point it would be moved again, and then it would be obvious that she had placed him there.

“Think!” she told herself, but all she could do was repeat the words it was an accident.

An accident. Yes, that was it. The tunnels were newly excavated and still not completely safe22. She could drag23 the body down one of them and then destroy the supports24 keeping the heavy stone in place. The body would be crushed and the injury from the hammer hidden.

She almost smiled. It was so simple.

Then she heard the sound of footsteps from the entrance and she froze25.

“Emily?” a voice said, and then Claire was there, another torch in her hand, a smile on her face. “Are you still here?”

“Yes, nearly finished.”

“I'm walking back to the camp in a moment. I can wait for you.”

“Oh, no. You should go. Mounier said he wanted to inspect something.”

Claire shook her head. “Yeah, right, he just wants to get you in here alone. I hate that man.”

Emily saw the hammer on the floor. She tried to smile. “Look, you go, honestly. I want to speak to him too.”

Claire stopped smiling, “Wait, you're not? You know? You and him?”

Emily moved in front of the murder weapon. She vigorously26 shook her head. “God, no!”

Claire laughed. “Good! Okay, well. If he tries to touch you, give him a slap27. See you later.”

And then Emily was alone again. She took a deep breath of the warm air and quickly picked up the hammer and put it in her pocket.

She had to be quick now.

Which was the best tunnel to leave the body in? The east passage was easier to get to, but the west passage was less secure28. She could easily break one or two of the supports, and the stone would collapse29.

Yes, the west.

This time she took hold of Mounier by his feet and began to drag him further into the tunnel, the torch in her mouth.

For ten minutes she dragged him, and when, finally, they were at the less secure area, she stopped, sweat covering her entire body, and looked around.

It was perfect.

A few metres in front of her there were two vertical30 supports and next to them was a sign that said no one should enter.

She could move the body there and then weaken31 the supports.

No.

If she did that, the whole structure could collapse on top of her.

“Think!”

Then in the shadow of the tunnel she saw a coil of rope32. Yes, that was it. First she could weaken the supports, then drag the body there, and when she was ready, she could tie33 the rope to a support and from a safe distance pull on it until it collapsed.

She went to the supports, leaving the body there, and began to examine them.

She had to be very careful. She had to weaken the support, but not too much.

She took the hammer from her pocket and began to destroy a little of the stone at the top of one of the supports, while constantly listening to the stone.

For ten minutes she worked, slowly and carefully, and then she moved to the other support. She thought this one already looked weaker and after just two minutes she heard the stones about her move. She froze.

Above her she could imagine the ancient pyramid and the hundreds of thousands of blocks of stone. Suddenly, she felt like she should leave the tunnels and Belize, return to Oxford and never enter this horrible place again.

But no, she could not. She had to finish this now.

She ran back to the rope and picked up one end, leaving the other by the body.

For a second, in the shadows, she thought she saw Mounier's eye move. She stopped and stared, but no, it was just a trick of the light.

He was dead. It was an accident, but he was dead.

She walked back to the support and listened.

Silence.

But that did not mean she was safe. She began to tie the rope to the support and had only just finished when she heard it.

At first she thought that it was the stone moving above her, and she believed she was in danger. But then she realised34 that it was not the stone at all.

It was a weak cry of help from Mounier.

He was alive.

For a second she did not believe it, but then she saw his hands move, and his cry for help was repeated. She felt dizzy35, and she had no idea what to do.

He was alive, she could still tell the embassy everything. She could tell them that he had attacked her and that it had been an accident and that she had only been trying to defend36 herself.

Yes, that is what she would do.

But then she saw his hands moving; they were reaching out, searching for something to help him sit. And then his hand found the rope.

“No! Don't…” she shouted.

But it was too late. The sound of moving stone filled her ears, and dust37 filled her mouth and eyes. Then everything went black.

Mounier never remembered how he had got so far into the tunnel or exactly what had happened to his assistant. But he knew what to say to the police and the reporters – and to her parents.

And no one could disagree.

Because it had been, obviously, exactly how he described it.

An accident.

2. COLD HEART

“They say the weather is going to change.” John said, looking out of the window of the car as it moved slowly along the quiet road.

Next to him his wife, Jill, continued to drive in silence, and he knew she was still not happy.

For a while he said nothing and enjoyed looking at the snowcovered Lancashire countryside. They had left Manchester half an hour ago and the grey of the city had slowly changed to white.

“It’s nearly March. They say this snow should be gone in a few days.”

That horrible silence again.

“Jill?”

She turned to look at him for a second, and he thought that his wife could sometimes look extremely terrifying1.

“Jill, I only said that maybe he's gone because she's always…”

“Always what?” Jill snapped2, and John knew this was a dangerous conversation.

“You know. Hard. She can be very hard.”

Jill shook her head. “She's my best friend, John.”

“Well, he's my best mate3,” John said defensively4, “and the things he used to say about her…”

“What?”

“Well, she never let him go to the pub. She didn't like him playing football with us on Sunday mornings.”

“And you think that is a good reason to leave your wife and two children, do you?”

A very dangerous conversation.

They drove in silence for the next five miles until they reached Rawtenstall, a quiet Lancashire town of grey terraced houses5 and forgotten cotton mills6.

Jill parked the car and then turned to her husband.

“I'm going to ask you one more time. Do you know where he is?”

John shook his head. “I've told you a hundred times. No.”

Jill looked at him carefully. “And he hasn't phoned you? Sent you any texts7?”

“No, I promise.”

Jill was dangerously silent for another moment. “And tell me the truth, is there another woman?”

The truth. What could he say to that? It was true that he had not seen Phil, that he had not received any calls from him. However, he could not tell her the truth about Phil in regards to8 other women.

How could he? What could he say?

That he was cheating9 on his wife? That he had at least three or four women that he was constantly texting10 or calling from his secret mobile11?

No. Obviously he could not say that.

“I don't know. He's never said anything to me about another woman.”

For another moment Jill said nothing, but then she shook her head. “Okay, but if he calls or texts you, I want to know.”

“Yes, dear,” John said, and they got out of the car.

Was Phil with one of his other women?

At first John had thought that he was, but after two weeks he had begun to worry. He had tried to call Phil's secret mobile, the one that Sally did not know about, but there was no reply. And his office knew nothing either: he had not been to work once, and he had not emailed or called them.

“Do you think maybe he's had an accident?” John asked as they walked through the snow towards the house.

“I hope he has because no other reason is good enough. Poor Sally. And those beautiful kids of theirs. If he hasn't had an accident, I will kill him if I ever see him again.”

John shivered12, but he was not sure if it was because of the cold or because of the tone of his wife's voice.

They reached the door of the house.

“Do we have to stay for long?”

Jill gave him a hard look and pressed the doorbell13.

“I hope she's okay, the poor…”

Then the door opened, and Sally was there. John had always found Sally extremely beautiful, with her warm smile, her friendly eyes and those eyebrows which accompanied every word she said. At least normally.

However, she did not look like this today.

No, today Sally looked completely different. Her hair was untidy14 and unwashed. Her eyes were dull15 and tired and had large purple circles under them. And her face looked like it could not smile and that it never had smiled.

“Sally,” said Jill. “Oh, Sally, how are you?”

For a moment Sally did not seem to hear and continued to look at them with a strange expression on her face.

“Oh, Jill, John. You're here.”

“Yes, we said we were coming today. Don't you remember?”

Sally nodded. “Of course, of course. Come in,” she said and walked back into the house.

For a moment they hesitated16. “Jesus, she looks…” John began.

“Shh, come on.”

They had been to Sally and Phil's place hundreds of times, but the house had never looked like this. Normally the small but attractive terraced house was perfectly organised and immaculately17 clean. However, today there were children's toys lying on every inch of the floor, baskets of dirty clothes blocking the hallway and a smell of rubbish and old food from the kitchen.

They found Sally in the lounge18 sitting on the sofa and watched as she poured herself a glass of wine.

“Drink?” she said, but John and Jill both shook their heads. “Oh, Sally, you poor thing19. Do you still know nothing?”

Sally looked confused for a moment, and then unexpectedly she laughed. “No, Jill, I know everything. Everything.”

“What? You know where Phil is?”

She laughed again. “Oh yes. But I know a lot more than that. I know about the other women. I found his phone. I read all his dirty messages.”

“Other women?” Jill said, and she gave John a quick, terrifying look.

“Lots. I don't know how many.”

“Oh my God. How could he? The monster. I always thought he had a cold heart, but I never thought…”

“What?” Sally said, a strange expression growing on her face. “What did you say?”

“I… just that Phil has a cold heart.”

And for a moment it seemed like Sally might cry, but she began to laugh instead and she laughed so hard that her hand shook and the wine splashed from the glass onto the coffee table.

Jill looked at John in confusion20, but he shook his head.

“What, Sally? What is it?” Jill asked, and she went to sit next to her friend and took the glass of wine from her.

“A cold heart! Ha, oh yes, oh yes! That's good, that's very good!” Sally said, and she laughed for another minute before she finally stopped.

“But do you know where he is now?” Jill asked.

“Oh, yes, of course.”