Free Murder in Bloom by Lesley Cookman Page A

were on his side?’
    ‘In a way, but he’s using emotional blackmail now, and that’s wrong.’
    Libby thought about it. ‘I suppose he is,’ she said. ‘How horrible. I’d never have thought it of him.’
    ‘I don’t suppose he sees it like that,’ said Adam, quite the wise young judge. ‘He just doesn’t want to lay up any more grief for himself if you’re not going to commit to a life together. Sensible, in a way.’ He turned away and poured drinks for them both.
    Libby looked at him in horror. ‘Now you’ve completely confused me,’ she said. ‘He’s a blackmailing prat, but a sensible one?’
    He handed her a glass with a cheerful smile. ‘Yup. Cheers!’
    The knocker rapped loudly.
    ‘That’s Lewis,’ said Adam. ‘I’ll get it.’
    This evening Lewis Osbourne-Walker was far from the ebullient young presenter of television’s most popular home design programme. His spiky blonde hair drooped, and his cherubic face had a distinct lack of the angelic about it.
    ‘Sit down,’ said Adam, indicating the chair. ‘Drink?’
    ‘Got any water?’
    ‘Plenty in the tap,’ said Adam.
    Lewis grimaced. ‘Yeah. Sorry. Prat, aren’t I?’
    Libby and Adam exchanged amused glances.
    ‘’Course not.’ Adam made a face. ‘Tap water – juice?’ He cocked an eyebrow at his mother.
    ‘Apple juice,’ said Libby, ‘or tonic water?’
    ‘Tonic water’d be nice,’ said Lewis, brightening.
    When they were seated, Lewis leant back in the armchair and closed his eyes. Libby and Adam exchanged another significant look.
    ‘Come on, then, Lewis, tell us all about it,’ said Adam. ‘What’s been going on?’
    Chapter Nine
    LEWIS OPENED HIS EYES and looked nervously from Adam to Libby.
    ‘They found Tony yesterday morning.’ He took a sip of his tonic water. ‘In his bedroom.’
    ‘Yes, it said that on television,’ said Libby.
    ‘And my prints were all over it.’
    Libby and Adam looked at one another.
    ‘How did they have your prints?’
    ‘They asked for them yesterday.’
    ‘Tell us from the beginning, Lewis. What happened when you went to talk to the police yesterday morning?’ said Libby.
    He sighed. ‘They asked who I bought the house from, and in the end, of course, I had to tell ’em, didn’t I? I said Tony. Because I don’t actually know who owned it. So this other copper who was with Big Bertha leant over, like, and whispered in her ear. Then she went out of the room.’
    ‘And?’ prompted Adam.
    ‘Then she came back and asked me how well I’d known Tony.’ Lewis reddened. ‘So I said he was a mate, like. Then they asked me if they could take fingerprints. I couldn’t say no, could I?’
    ‘And after that?’
    ‘They went on questioning me. They gave me some lunch and then this bloke from London appeared and he and Big Bertha interviewed me together. Then, o’ course, they tells me about Tony and my prints being there. And that Tony didn’t hold title – or something – to my house. It belonged to some famous bloke. Well, I knew that. Not that he was famous, though.’
    ‘Who was the famous bloke?’ asked Adam.
    ‘Some actor. Can’t remember, although they did tell me.’
    ‘And they confirmed that he was missing, as Tony told you?’ said Libby.
    ‘Yeah. They think the skeleton is him.’
    ‘So did you,’ said Libby.
    ‘Yeah, well, now they can do whatsit – DNA – on him. It.’
    ‘At least you couldn’t have killed him,’ said Adam.
    ‘They don’t know that,’ said Lewis gloomily. ‘They reckon I must’ve known him and killed him and then tried to buy the house so no one would ever find him.’
    ‘Ah,’ said Adam.
    ‘How did you first find the house?’ asked Libby.
    ‘Tony brought me down here once,’ said Lewis. ‘Took me into the house. Said it belonged to a friend who’d asked him to look after it. He wanted some details copied for the Hampstead place, he said, but I don’t believe it. He wanted to get me down here. He knew I’d fall