Free Magpie Murders by Anthony Horowitz Page A

it was an accident and that there was nothing sinister going in, I’m sure that would put an end to it. Everyone knows who you are. They’d listen to you.’
    There was a brief silence. Pünd took off his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief. Fraser knew what was coming. He had been with the detective long enough to recognise his mannerisms. He always polished his glasses before he delivered bad news.
    ‘I am sorry, Miss Sanderling,’ he said. ‘There is nothing I can do.’ He held up a hand, stopping her before she could interrupt. ‘I am a private detective,’ he continued. ‘It is true that the police have often asked me to help them with their enquiries but in this country I have no official status. That is the problem here. It is much more difficult for me to impose myself, particularly in a case like this where, to all intents and purposes, no crime has been committed. I have to ask myself on what pretext I would be able to enter Pye Hall.
    ‘I also must take issue with your basic proposition. You tell me that Mrs Blakiston was killed as the result of an accident. The police evidently believe so. Let us assume that it was an accident. All I can do then is to confront the gossip of certain villagers in Saxby-on-Avon who have overheard an unfortunate conversation and have made of it what they will. But such gossip cannot be confronted. Rumours and malicious gossip are like bindweed. They cannot be cut back, even with the sword of truth. I can, however, offer you this comfort. Given time, they will wither and die of their own volition. That is my opinion. Why do you and your fiancé even wish to remain in this part of the world if it is so disagreeable to you?’
    ‘Why should we have to move?’
    ‘I agree. If you would take my advice, it would be to stay where you are, to get married, to enjoy your lives together. Above all, ignore this … I believe the word is “tittle-tattle”. To confront it is to feed it. Left alone, it will go away.’
    There was nothing more to be said. As if to emphasise the point, Fraser closed his notebook. Joy Sanderling got to her feet. ‘Thank you very much, Mr Pünd,’ she said. ‘Thank you for seeing me.’
    ‘I wish you the very best, Miss Sanderling,’ Pünd replied – and he meant it. He wanted this girl to be happy. During the entire time he had been talking to her, he had forgotten his own circumstances, the news he had heard that day.
    Fraser showed her out. Pünd heard a few brief mutters, then the front door opened and closed. A moment later, he came back into the room.
    ‘I say, I’m terribly sorry about that,’ he muttered. ‘I was trying to tell her that you didn’t want to be disturbed.’
    ‘I am glad I saw her,’ Pünd replied. ‘But tell me, James. What was the word that I saw you underscoring several times as we spoke?’
    ‘What?’ Fraser flushed. ‘Oh. Actually, it wasn’t anything important. It wasn’t even relevant. I was just trying to look busy.’
    ‘It struck me that might be the case.’
    ‘Oh. How?’
    ‘Because at that moment, Miss Sanderling was not saying anything of particular interest. The motor scooter, though. Had it been any colour but pink, it might have been significant.’ He smiled. ‘Could you bring me a cup of coffee, James? But after that, I think, I do not want to be disturbed.’
    He turned and went back into his room.

3
    Joy Sanderling made her way back to Farringdon tube station, her path taking her round the side of Smithfield meat market. There was a lorry parked outside one of the many entrances and as she went past, two men in white coats were bundling out an entire sheep’s carcass, raw and bloody. The sight of it made her shudder. She didn’t like London. She found it oppressive. She couldn’t wait to be on the train home.
    She had been disappointed by her meeting with Atticus Pünd, even though (she admitted it now) she had never really expected anything from it. Why should the most famous