Free Just Desserts by J. M. Gregson Page A

openly to this balanced figure, after having to pick his way so carefully through the emotions of the grieving widow, controlled though Liza Nayland had seemed to be. ‘At least one person will be lying, yes, Mr Pearson. Perhaps more than one: we can’t rule out the idea that there may have been collusion in this killing, until we know more of the facts surrounding it. Did you visit the cloakroom yourself during the evening?’
    He fired the question in abruptly again, but again Pearson showed no sign of being ruffled by it. ‘I think we all did, at some time during the evening. It was a very pleasant and relaxed meal, and as a result quite protracted. There was some hilarity also about the rather risqué decorations in the toilets, and I remember the ladies in particular felt that they had to go and inspect the illustrations on the walls of their loo.’
    â€˜How long before Mr Nayland’s death was your visit to the basement?’
    â€˜I should say about half an hour before the
discovery
of the body. I do not have the technical expertise to say how long Pat had been dead before I got to him.’
    How absolute the knave is, thought Lambert ruefully. He smiled, recognizing that it was the kind of correction he might have made himself. ‘Half an hour, you say. How sure are you about that?’
    â€˜I’m not at all sure. It’s an estimate I made this morning. None of us thought such things would be important, at the time.’
    â€˜No doubt other people will be able to confirm the time. Have you had any serious disagreement with Mr Nayland over the last few weeks?’
    This time Pearson’s smile was a grim one, and there was something like contempt in the deep-set dark eyes. ‘Why not just come out and ask me if I killed Pat? It’s what you mean, isn’t it?’
    â€˜If you had killed him, you would deny it, no doubt as vehemently as the most innocent person at the table last night. I’m asking you if you’d any serious area of resentment with your employer.’
    Again there was the briefest flash of anger across the tanned features, so fleeting that it would have been missed by anyone studying them less intently than Lambert. ‘You’re probing to find why I might have killed Pat.’
    â€˜I’m trying to find why he died. Either someone had something to gain by his death, or someone hated him enough to drive a knife into his chest repeatedly. We shall explore these areas with everyone who was in that restaurant last night, until we find who was holding that knife.’
    â€˜All right. I accept that, of course. It’s difficult to find myself as a murder suspect, that’s all. It’s never happened to me before.’
    â€˜I expect that will be the case with everyone who was at Soutters last night. Do you know of anyone there who had reason to dislike or resent Mr Nayland?’
    He hesitated. Whether that was because he was giving due weight to the importance of the question, or because he was considering whether to hold something back, Lambert found it impossible to tell. He was a cool, composed subject, this one. Neither he nor Hook was sure yet how sorry he was about this death, or whether he regretted it at all.
    Eventually, Pearson said, ‘Pat was a good friend to me. He was a good employer to everyone, from me down to our latest recruit, Barry Hooper. As far as I know, we are all happy in our posts. I can’t see why anyone should have wanted him dead. If you consider the situation now, we are less certain of those jobs than we were before he died.’
    Bert Hook had not spoken since the first minute of the interview. Now, responding to a tiny nod from Lambert, he shut his notebook and said, ‘Please go on thinking about this death, Mr Pearson. If anything occurs to you which may be of significance, please speak to us immediately, in confidence, at Oldford Police Station.’
    They were safely in the