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The Devil’s Dice. Roz Watkins
Читать онлайн.Название The Devil’s Dice
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780008214623
Автор произведения Roz Watkins
Жанр Ужасы и Мистика
Серия A DI Meg Dalton thriller
Издательство HarperCollins
Interesting that he was getting his alibi in before I’d even asked. Jai wrote in his notebook and eyed Felix with deep suspicion.
‘Okay, thanks,’ I said. ‘Had you noticed anything unusual about him in the last few weeks?’
‘I wondered if he was a little depressed. It was suicide, I assume?’
I took a bite of a caramel chocolate digestive and settled back in my chair. ‘Were you close?’
‘We were up at Cambridge together. But, you know what men are like – we don’t talk about anything important. I suppose I should have found out more about his life.’ He sounded almost bored. ‘Is there anything else? I have a pile of work to get through.’
‘Peter’s cases? I gather he was behind?’
‘Oh, not especially. We’re just all extremely busy. Taking on any extra work tends to put us under pressure.’
‘So, were you worried about Peter’s performance?’
He looked me in the eye. ‘Not from our point of view. We were a little concerned he was feeling stressed.’
Felix could have been awarded a prize for Most Innocent-Looking Witness Ever. At least according to traditional thinking. No fidgeting, leg-tapping or shifty eyes. It was too good a performance.
‘So, was his behaviour affecting the business?’
‘Oh no. It was his welfare we were concerned about.’ Felix knotted his eyebrows together. ‘We didn’t like to think he was struggling.’
‘But we heard you argued on the stairs and Peter fell?’
Felix stiffened and lost the Mother Teresa look. ‘Who told you that?’ His tone was cold. ‘We hadn’t argued. Peter’s been clumsy recently. I helped him when he fell.’ He seemed to get control of himself and pointedly relaxed back into his chair, but if he was a dog, you would not approach. Jai scribbled something in his notes.
‘What about his charging?’ I said. ‘Were you concerned about that?’
‘Not really. He’d charged out fewer hours recently but it’s normal to have ups and downs.’ He had himself back inside the cocoon, firmly zipped up.
‘So, was there anything else you noticed?’
‘Not that I can think of.’
I fought a wave of annoyance. He was giving us nothing.
‘Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm him?’
‘No, of course not. But surely it was suicide?’
‘I remembered something else,’ Wendy said. We were in Reception arranging a meeting with Edward Swift, the teensy bit autistic other partner, who was working from home. ‘It’s probably not relevant, but a man came here one lunchtime last week asking for Peter. Rather an odd man.’
‘Odd in what way?’ I said.
‘He was wearing a straw boater hat which was very inappropriate, and he had on a floppy coat like tramps wear and shoes that looked too big. He looked like a tramp in fact. And he definitely smelt like a tramp.’
‘And he wasn’t a client?’
She smiled. ‘No. I mean we do get some clients who look like tramps, but he wasn’t one of them. He said his name was Sebastian. I remembered because of Brideshead Revisited. I loved that on the television. Anyway, Peter came down and hurried him out. I heard him say he shouldn’t have come here.’
‘What did you think they were up to?’
‘I really had no idea. He seemed a funny sort of person for Peter to be spending time with. And Peter was angry. He was trying to hide it but I could tell by the colour of his face.’
‘I bet he’s a shit if you get on the wrong side of him.’
I’d been right. Jai was not a fan of Felix Carstairs. I pulled out of the car park and set off towards Edward Swift’s house. He lived in a much resented new development a few miles south of Eldercliffe.
‘Murderous type of shit?’ I said. ‘Or just your common-or-garden one?’
‘Hard to tell. But if he did murder you, I reckon he’d do it neatly and competently, with no excessive emotion involved.’
‘What, you mean like poisoning in a cave, for example?’
‘That kind of thing. Although with colleagues like Felix Carstairs and clients like that woman in reception, maybe the poor bastard did top himself after all.’
We arrived at Edward Swift’s house – a mock Georgian hunk of a building, squatting at the end of a curved driveway, in a gated complex of similar houses like something from Desperate Housewives.
‘I’ll lead on this one,’ I said. ‘I’m used to strange, slightly autistic types.’
Jai laughed. ‘I’m glad your Oxbridge education wasn’t wasted.’
We pulled up in the expansive parking area and headed for the pretentious, columned entrance. The door opened and a hefty, well-groomed woman took a step towards us. She had the look of someone scaring off raccoons. When she saw our ID, her face softened but it looked fake-soft, like quick-setting concrete.
‘DI Meg Dalton and DS Jai Sanghera,’ I said. ‘Here to see Edward Swift.’
Her cheek twitched. ‘Oh yes. He won’t like being disturbed. He’s doing an urgent draft.’ She had an American accent with a southern twang.
‘We know. Are you his wife?’
‘Yes. Grace Swift.’ She stood stiffly as if wondering whether to let us into the house. Then she relaxed. ‘Sorry, come in, come in. So sad about Peter. What a terrible thing to happen. Edward’s in his office. I’m just with the children in the living room. Actually, I know Alex would love to meet you, if you have a moment?’
‘Alex?’
‘Our son. We home-school him. And he’s decided he wants to be a detective when he grows up.’
‘Right.’ Him and half the other kids in the land. ‘We’ll need to talk to your husband first, then if we’ve got time, we’ll have a chat with Alex.’ I could feel unenthusiastic vibes emanating from Jai, but I thought it was always best to keep wives on side – they often knew more about their husbands’ lives than the husbands themselves did. Besides, Jai was the kid-expert. He had two of his own.
We stepped into a hallway the approximate size of my house. A child of about ten bounced into view. He had spectacularly orange hair and the luminous skin that so often went with that look. ‘Mum! I’ve finished my calculus. Can we do—’ He stopped abruptly and stared at us as if we were biological specimens.
Jai spoke first. ‘Alright, mate?’
The child gave him an uncertain look.
‘Alex, these people are detectives,’ Grace said. ‘They’ve agreed to have a little chat with you if they have time, after they’ve spoken to Dad.’
The child had a bird-like fragility. If he had the misfortune of being good at maths as well as ginger, he’d be the main prey-animal in the playground. Maybe home-schooling made sense. ‘I’m going to be on next year’s Child Genius!’ he said.
I winced as if I’d been caught out. The programme had been a guilty pleasure for me, watching with wine in hand, booing at the most horrible parents. The children were pitted against one