Free So Much Blood by Simon Brett

Charles?’
    â€˜Yes. I think I may be on to another case.’
    â€˜Really.’ Excitement sprang into Gerald’s voice. ‘Where?’
    â€˜Edinburgh, I’m afraid. It’d cost you a lot in fares.’
    â€˜Don’t worry. I’ve got lots of Scottish clients. I can put it on one of their bills. What’s the crime?’
    â€˜Murder.’
    â€˜Fantastic. Will it keep?’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜Keep for a few days. I’m going to Cannes for a long weekend to stay with a client.’
    â€˜Work?’
    â€˜Well, it’ll be on his bill, but I don’t intend to do anything.’
    â€˜When are you back?’
    â€˜Probably Wednesday.’
    â€˜Some weekend.’
    â€˜Pity to rush it.’
    â€˜Hmm.’ Wednesday seemed a long way off. Charles wanted someone there to talk to at that moment.
    Gerald continued. ‘And then at the end of next week—Saturday—I’m taking the family out to our villa in Corsica for a month.’
    â€˜Just the month?’
    â€˜Yes. I have to get back to work then,’ said Gerald piously, not catching Charles’ sarcasm.
    â€˜So you might be free for a couple of days next week?’
    â€˜Might. The case won’t be solved by then, will it?’
    â€˜No, I shouldn’t think so.’ Depression swooped and Charles feared he was speaking the truth. ‘I’ll give you a buzz when you get back if there’s anything left to investigate. O.K. Fine. Have a good weekend.’ It was not worth saying how pointless it would be for Gerald to come up for two days. Oh, well, another good idea gone west.
    â€˜Oh, it’s you, Charles.’ James Milne was standing at the foot of the stairs in the hail. ‘I wondered who was using the phone. That one’s just an extension to mine upstairs. It’s meant to be disconnected soon and I’d put it in the cupboard so that it shouldn’t be used.’
    â€˜I’m sorry. It was just here on the floor when I came in.’
    â€˜Don’t worry. One of the Derby lot found it, no doubt. How’s Thomas Hood?’
    â€˜Fine. Positively going well.’
    â€˜Good, good.’ The Laird stood with one foot on the stair, posed like an old-fashioned print. His stocky figure was dressed in a biscuit-coloured tweed suit with a Norfolk jacket. ‘Can I offer you a cup of tea?’
    A slow grin spread over Charles’ face. ‘Dr Watson,’ he said.
    â€˜I beg your pardon.’
    Over a cup of Earl Grey tea and chocolate-covered Bath Olivers, Charles explained. He told of his suspicions about the murder and the small progress of his investigations.
    James Milne looked at him in silence for a moment. ‘What an amazing idea. And what do you want me to do? Crawl around the rooftops with firearms and beard villains in their dens? I don’t know whether that’s quite my style. I used sometimes to try to catch poachers on my mother’s estate at Glenloan, but I’m not exactly a private eye.’
    â€˜Look, all I want you to do is to address your mind to the problem. I want to hear what you think. You’ve met most of the people involved. You know, two heads are better than one and all that. And I’m really getting nowhere on my own. My suspicions just go round and round in circles . . . I want you to be a kind of sounding board for my ideas.’
    â€˜Hmm. I think a ouija board for contacting Willy Mariello might be more useful.’
    â€˜You’re probably right. What do you say?’
    â€˜Well, Charles, I’m certainly prepared to help you in any way you think might be useful. But I must say right from the start that I don’t share your certainty that a murder has been committed. From what I heard it sounded like a very unfortunate accident. What makes you so sure it’s murder?’
    Again Charles had to fall back on his feeble cry of