LITMIR.BIZ

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      Dauntsey didn’t respond straight away, Bliss even took a quick glance at the little window on the machine to make sure it hadn’t stopped.

      “Don’t you think its painful enough for me without having to spell it out?” he said eventually, his voice cracking with emotion.

      “Painful or not, Mr. Dauntsey, I am asking you to state unequivocally ...”

      “That the bundle contained my father’s body. There, I’ve said it. Now are you satisfied?”

      Patterson gave an audible sigh, “Thank you, Mr. Dauntsey. So you don’t deny killing your father?”

      “No, Sergeant. I don’t deny it. It was stupid of me to think I wouldn’t get caught.”

      “Do you regret what you have done?”

      “I can’t help thinking it’s what he would have wanted.”

      “To be murdered by his son!”

      “Well, we all have to go sometime, Sergeant. The sword of Damocles hangs over us all. Might it not be kinder to have the thread cut by a fellow rather than a foe?”

      Bliss reached over and clicked off the machine. “Amazing – the pompous ass doesn’t give a shit. It’s not murder as far as he’s concerned – it’s nothing more than the involuntary euthanasia of an inconvenient parent.”

      “My wife’s incontinent old mother lives with us,” said Donaldson, trying hard to give the impression he was joking. “She can be fairly inconvenient at times; perhaps I should do the same.”

      “Ah. But there you’d have an understandable motive. What was Jonathon Dauntsey’s motive? From what I can gather the old Major had moved out some time ago.”

      Donaldson flicked the tape back on but needn’t have bothered, Jonathon Dauntsey had said all he was going to say.

      “So where do we go from here?” asked Bliss, surveying the ceiling, speaking to himself.

      Donaldson slumped back into his chair. “I suppose I should call in the Major Incident Unit, but I’ll look a bit bloody stupid now. I turned them down last night – said we had everything under control. Now I’ll have to crawl cap in hand – makes me look a right imbecile – Smilie Johnston will have a field day ...”

      “Smilie?”

      “Chief Super at H.Q. – a miserable sod.”

      Bliss had other ideas. “I’m not sure we need more men; they’ll just end up tripping over each other. Most of the evidence has been destroyed or contaminated so badly there’s nothing to be gained by sifting through it again. Jonathon Dauntsey is banged up in the cells, and we’ll have no problem getting the Beak to remand him in custody based on his confession. The Major’s body is sure to surface in a day or two.”

      “We can’t just wait and hope ...”

      “I agree,” said Bliss heading toward the door. “I’ll have another pop at Master Jonathon – try a different tack; tell him how much he’s upsetting his Mum by not letting on where the old boy is, that sort of thing. In the meantime we can give the troops a rest – there’s no sense in them tearing around like headless chickens.”

      “And if we can’t find the body?”

      Bliss, hand on the door, turned. “Let’s keep our fingers crossed.” Then he paused, something on his mind. “The press are asking questions.”

      “Naturally.”

      “I don’t want them printing my name.”

      “Oh. Yes. Of course. I can see that – no problem. The editor at The Gazette is a fellow Rotarian. I’ll give him a call ...”

      “Don’t mention anything about ...” cut in Bliss, but Donaldson waved him off.

      “It’s O.K., Dave. I won’t say anything.”

       Chapter Three

      A fragrant blast of humid air rolled softly over Bliss as Daphne opened the door in response to his knock.

      “It’s the stuffing,” she explained as he drank in the perfume with a deeply satisfying inhalation. “Fresh thyme and parsley from the garden,” she added. “Please come in.”

      Daphne had exchanged her polka-dot day dress for a stately paisley one, with the frilliest of white aprons which fluttered as she gave a little shudder. “It’s chilly for June – more like October or Oslo. You’ll have to fight your way through,” she added, inching her way back down the cluttered hallway.

      “Are you moving?” he asked, confronted by an upended double bed; an ancient mahogany sideboard that no-one would describe as an antique; several precariously balanced stacks of books, and a stuffed goat.

      She turned, her forehead crinkled in confusion, “Moving? ... Oh no … Charity auction next Saturday – Women’s Institute.” He stopped at the goat and slid his hand along the polished hairless back.

      “It used to be in the butcher’s,” she said, seeing the inquisitive look on his face. “All the children used to sit on him while their mothers waited in line. That back’s been polished by thousands of bums over the years, mine included, but the kids today wouldn’t find it fun; they only want noisy toys that shake the daylights out of them and have hundreds of buttons.” Pausing in remembrance, she gave the goat an affectionate pat. “It seems silly now, but sitting on that moth-eaten old thing was quite a treat in my day.”

      “I nearly didn’t find you,” said Bliss, moving on and squeezing into the dining room that seemed equally crammed.

      “Jumble-sale ... Girl Guides,” Daphne indicated with a sweep, suggesting that some of the clutter was not her responsibility, though not indicating precisely which.

      “I was wondering if you might get lost. It’s fairly isolated out here, no through traffic, and there’s only the fields behind.”

      “Is that where you saw the lights?” he asked, taking in the view out of the back window and seeing the fresh green ripples of a cornfield lapping at the edge of her neatly cultivated vegetable garden.

      “Yes – you can still see where the corn’s been battered down if you know just where to look.” She pointed, he strained but couldn’t see anything. “Anyway,” she said, turning away, “I never said they’d made circles, Chief Inspector. Dowding made that up.”

      “I’m sure you didn’t. He was only teasing.”

      “He goes too far at times does that one.”

      Bliss looked around for something to change the subject and seized on the piano. “What a beautiful instrument. Do you play?”

      “Very badly – I had loads of lessons as a child but lacked dedication. What about you?”

      “A little. But I’ve never played one like this.” He brushed his hand over the surface, “Just look at that veneer;” reverently lifted the lid and took in a sharp breath of awe, “And the keys – real ivory;” gently touched a few notes, “Perfect!”

      “Quite a beauty, isn’t it? Coincidentally, it came from the Dauntsey house. I bought it at an auction twenty odd years ago, and it still had the original receipt tucked inside. The old Colonel had bought it in 1903.” She paused with a vague expression.“Or was it 1905? Lift up the lid, Chief Inspector, I think it’s still in there.”

      The receipt was there as predicted. “1903,” Bliss said, reading it off the faded handwritten paper. “You were right the first time.” Then he sat down and started playing.

      “Mozart?” she queried, recognising the theme.

      “Uh-hum,” he nodded.

      She closed her eyes in rapture. “Oh that’s so beautiful.

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