Free A Fête Worse Than Death by Dolores Gordon-Smith Page A

had arrived on Friday. Had Morton caught wind of it and followed Boscombe down? Haldean clicked his tongue impatiently, aware he was running on ahead of facts.
    Ashley’s entrance made him stand up. ‘I’ve got the key to Morton’s room,’ said Ashley, inserting it in the lock. ‘I think you might be right about this . . . done it! Morton’s key fits.’
    Haldean leaned back against the wall. ‘In that case, let’s indulge in a little speculation. Morton knows Boscombe. We’ll take that as read. And as he was found in Boscombe’s room, it’s reasonable to suppose that Morton wanted to see him. Now when you arrived he was having his dinner – yes? So, unless someone told him, he wouldn’t know about the murder. So he comes into Boscombe’s room and waits for him.’
    â€˜D’you think that’s all he did?’ asked Ashley. ‘I mean, he could have been the one who pulled the place apart.’
    Haldean frowned. ‘He
could
have been, I suppose. In which case our murderer comes into the room, finds Morton in mid-plunder, and shoots him. I must admit I’d thought of it the other way round. That our murderer comes in, finds Morton, shoots him and then starts to search for something. In fact doesn’t it have to be like that? Otherwise there’d be nothing stopping Morton coming and giving Boscombe’s room the once-over as soon as he arrived.’
    â€˜Not if he was expecting the man back,’ argued Ashley. ‘But say he
did
find out in the course of the evening that Boscombe was dead, there’d be nothing to stop him coming in here and searching for something.’
    â€˜True.’ Haldean stroked his chin. ‘But in any case we’re both agreed that someone, who is either Morton or the murderer, took the place to bits looking for something. What it is, I don’t think we can begin to guess at yet, although . . .’
    Ashley looked uncomfortable. ‘I’d rather not start guessing anything just yet.’
    â€˜Right you are. So Morton is either sitting here placidly twiddling his thumbs or, on your hypothesis, looting the joint, when in comes the murderer and bang! End of Morton. Now, you locked the room up when? Half-past six? At which time our chap was quietly eating his dinner. Give him half an hour or so to finish it and drink his coffee and brandy and that gets us to seven o’clock or thereabouts.’
    â€˜By which time,’ said Ashley in disgust, ‘everyone was busy downstairs. In a place as solid as this it’s not surprising no one heard anything. Unless . . .’ He eyed the open window. ‘Unless someone was sitting in the garden. They’d have heard a shot, wouldn’t they? I’d better get on to that. Now, we’re assuming –’ He broke off as footsteps sounded on the stairs and Betty, the maid, ushered the doctor into the room.
    â€˜Morning,’ said Dr Wilcott briefly. ‘This sort of meeting is getting to be a habit, Superintendent.’ He put down his case and jerked his thumb behind him. ‘Your men are downstairs. I asked them to stay out of the way until I’d finished.’ He gave Haldean a curious glance. ‘You were at the fête yesterday afternoon, weren’t you? I didn’t realize you were in the police.’
    Haldean hesitated and Ashley stepped in. ‘This is Major Haldean, Dr Wilcott. He’s helping us with this investigation.’
    Dr Wilcott nodded. ‘Pleased to meet you, Major.’ He opened his case and took out his thermometer. ‘Better get down to business, I suppose.’ Haldean and Ashley stood to one side while Dr Wilcott examined the body. Haldean noticed Wilcott’s abstracted eyes, so oddly at variance with the deft professional movements of his hands, and felt reassured. Whatever Wilcott said, he felt they could trust.
    After a few minutes the doctor withdrew the