Free Just Desserts by J. M. Gregson

Lambert wondered if Pearson was being rather too insistent about the easy way these two senior men had worked together, if their relationship had in fact been more strained than he was allowing. Perhaps other people who had worked with the pair would clarify that issue, in due course.
    He said, ‘Would you give us your account of exactly what happened last night at Soutters Restaurant, please?’
    This time Pearson’s shrug was obvious and unhurried, as if he wished to show that he was not at all worried by his part in these dramatic events. ‘There isn’t much to tell. We were all enjoying an excellent evening. As a matter of fact, I was just thinking how well it had gelled, how worthwhile an enterprise it had been in bringing the staff together, when we heard Joanne Moss screaming. We all rushed downstairs and – well, you know what we found. Joanne screaming in the open doorway of the gents’ loo and Pat lying dead behind her.’
    â€˜What happened next?’
    â€˜It was all rather confused. We could hardly believe our eyes. It was so unexpected that I remember wondering for a second whether it was some elaborate practical joke. One look at Pat soon got rid of that idea.’
    â€˜Did anyone touch the body?’
    â€˜Yes. Liza Nayland cradled him in her arms and tried to revive him. I detached her, as gently as I could, and checked the carotid artery to make sure that he was dead. That was a formality; you could see from a glance at the face that this was a dead man.’ He spoke as calmly as if he had been a doctor, steeled to the everyday experience of death. Perhaps it was his military experiences which had given him this quality. He was the only one they had spoken to so far who did not seem to be deeply shocked by this death, but his calmness could be masking his deeper feelings.
    Lambert said, ‘You are very much the same age as Mr Nayland was.’
    Pearson nodded. ‘Pat was in fact about two years older than me. I think he was forty-nine; I’m forty-seven. We had a common military experience to draw on, and perhaps that helped us to think on similar lines. I’m certainly glad I took the post of General Manager ten years ago, and I think Pat was happy with his appointment.’
    â€˜And what will happen now that Mr Nayland has been removed so abruptly?’
    The deeply furrowed brow darkened for a moment, as if he was angered by the directness of the question. ‘I don’t know. It’s too early to say. This death has stopped all of us in our tracks. Camellia Park is prospering, and I imagine Mrs Nayland will want to retain possession of it and see it go forward, even if she isn’t as “hands-on” as Pat was. But obviously I haven’t spoken to her about that. I’ve hardly considered it myself. We’re all too shaken by Pat’s murder to think straight at the moment.’
    That seemed a rather belated recognition of the shock and grief that Nayland’s death had brought to him. But perhaps he had been merely striving to be objective, to stifle his personal feelings in the interest of helping the police inquiry.
    â€˜When did you last see Mr Nayland alive?’ Lambert saw no reason to apologize for the bluntness of the question, since this man seemed to pride himself on being so much in control of his emotions. He would normally have started his questioning with the details of the previous night, but he had adopted a more oblique approach to the meeting with this watchful and composed man, in the hope that he might reveal a little more of himself.
    Chris Pearson smiled grimly. ‘At the table. Smiling, laughing, enjoying himself, as the host of a successful evening. But everyone is going to tell you that. Presumably one of us will be lying.’
    Lambert gave him an answering smile of acknowledgement, as if he realized an opponent worthy of his steel. It was in fact a surprising relief to be able to speak so