Free Dying to Know by Keith McCarthy

had enough of Masson’s stonewall defence and Holversum’s pretty but ineffective footwork. ‘Inspector, you can’t possibly believe that this has anything to do with my father.’
    Masson looked surprised. ‘Yes, I can,’ he countered, as if I were being stupid.
    I stared at him. ‘What?’
    Masson repeated himself and, for my benefit, did so slowly. ‘Yes, I can.’
    â€˜I told you. The disagreement was nothing. Two grown-ups having a silly argument, that’s all.’
    Masson looked less than impressed. ‘You think so? You think we should forget about what’s gone on between your father and Lightoller?’
    â€˜Yes, I do.’
    â€˜Tell me, doctor. Was your father in the habit of socializing with Oliver Lightoller?’
    I said carefully, ‘No.’ I felt like a man wandering into a forest full of gin-traps.
    â€˜They didn’t ever go around to each other’s houses for a spot of tea and a couple of Bourbon biscuits?’
    Again, I said, ‘No.’
    â€˜Never?’
    â€˜Never.’ But I knew as I said this that I was being led by the ring in my nose exactly where Masson wanted me to go.
    â€˜Then perhaps you’d tell me why your father visited Lightoller in his shop at just after noon today.’
    What could I say? The words had yet to be invented that would adequately describe my feelings then.
    Holversum stepped in smartly. ‘Whether or not Dr Elliot visited the deceased, I still do not see why you are holding him as a suspect.’
    Masson turned to Holversum and if ever a human being could be described as ‘smouldering’, this was it. ‘I will hold him for three very good reasons, Mr Holversum. Firstly, this is a murder. Secondly, Dr Elliot has refused to explain why he chose to pay a call on a man whom he seems to have cordially hated. Thirdly, as far as we can ascertain, no one called at the shop after him until his son here did. Since we’ve established by our enquiries this afternoon that it is highly unlikely that his son could have done it, I think he has some questions to answer.’
    It was obvious that Holversum had practised law for so long that incontrovertible arguments presented him with no problems at all; had he been defending Pontius Pilate, he would have argued quite cheerfully that the one-year-olds had it coming. ‘Have you any fingerprint or bloodstain evidence to implicate him?’ he demanded.
    Masson actually smiled. ‘No.’
    Holversum pounced. ‘In which case, I demand—’
    The smile was returned to store as Masson interjected, ‘Mr Holversum, as I have already told you, Dr Elliot is here voluntarily. He is not charged with anything.’
    Before Holversum could start quoting case law and invoking the Geneva Convention, I asked what I thought was a reasonable question. ‘Surely by now he’s explained matters. Why is he still here?’
    Which was when I saw just what a hard time Masson was having. ‘Because,’ he said, ‘he refuses to explain himself. In fact, he refuses to say anything useful at all.’
    Mr Holversum used every trick that he had learned in the many years in his profession, flashed his smile at full strength, and generally talked a lot, but Masson was not to be persuaded. My father was to remain in custody overnight and, if necessary, beyond; and since he had not asked for legal representation, he was not going to get any. As Mr Holversum remarked to me sadly afterwards, ‘Inspector Masson is such an obdurate fellow.’ We finally left the police station at just before three in the morning, he still smiling despite this lack of success, I unable to match this positive attitude.
    â€˜Isn’t there anything we can do?’
    â€˜Not really, not unless your father requests legal representation, or is formally charged.’
    â€˜Great.’
    He patted me on the back. ‘Never fear, Holversum