Free The Death of Marco Styles by J.J. Campbell Page A

feeling awkward. The butler had left the room and one of the maids was standing in his place with her back to the sideboard, her face expressionless. De Lacy reached out to remove the half-full glass of port from Marco Styles’ fingers, intending to pass it to the maid. The old man didn’t respond at all, his expression unchanged, his fingers remaining as if in contact with the stem of the glass. Then, very slowly, he toppled to one side, landing on the carpet to lie rigid – and very plainly dead.
    II
    â€˜And why were you at Elthorne House, Mr de Lacy?’ the police sergeant asked.
    She was small, compact, and looked young for her rank, while her bobbed blonde hair and the splash of freckles across her nose seemed curiously at odds with both her uniform and her brisk, efficient manner. Nevertheless, he had heard her addressed as ‘Sergeant McIntyre’ by a constable, a man at least ten years her senior, and his tone had implied considerable respect.
    â€˜I am a guest of Mr and Mrs Styles,’ he explained, ‘but does the need to question me imply that you suspect Mr Styles’ death to have been in some way suspicious?’
    â€˜No,’ she answered, ‘but we do need to know who was present at the time and where to contact them, just in case there are any complications.’
    â€˜Ah,’ he went on, ‘of course, but if you should have cause to make further investigations, please don’t hesitate to call on me. I have some small reputation as an amateur of detective work.’
    â€˜I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Mr de Lacy,’ she told him, her voice now carrying a touch of asperity. ‘These things are best left in the hands of the police.’
    â€˜As you please,’ he told her, and sat back in his chair as she moved on to talk to Adam Carradine.
    The death of Marco Styles had left him feeling shocked, but no more. His father had had distinctly mixed feelings for the dead man, and de Lacy knew he’d been invited to the house mainly in the hope that he might get on well with one or another of the family’s three daughters; Miriam, Elaine, and Louise. All three had their charms, in different ways. Miriam, the eldest child, was tall and elegant, beautiful but with just a touch of artificiality. She was also rather cool and reserved, with all her mother’s consciousness of class. Elaine was very different, blonde and well built, full of life and of confidence in her abilities and position. Louise was also blonde, but relatively delicate, with an otherworldly, almost fey manner. Unfortunately they were united by a sense of entitlement he found more than a little off-putting. Then there was their mother, the precise, elegant, and painfully elitist Irene Styles, who was very definitely not his idea of what a mother-in-law should be.
    He was also puzzled. The police seemed inclined to accept the obvious explanation for the death of Marco Styles: that he had suffered a heart attack after a lifetime of over-indulgence, and the paramedics who had been first on the scene hadn’t noticed anything unusual. Nevertheless, the situation struck de Lacy as odd, especially just how suddenly the old man had died, and he felt it his duty to draw the circumstances to the attention of the police. The pretty sergeant seemed the most amenable of them, and he waited until she had finished talking to Adam Carradine and the hired staff who had been on duty that night before asking to speak to her once more.
    â€˜How may I help you, sir?’ she asked, with no more than a touch of irritation in her voice.
    â€˜I am not entirely convinced that Mr Styles’ death was natural,’ he began. ‘For one thing, he died in a matter of seconds, no more, and without a sound. His body was also curiously rigid, while …’
    â€˜Are you a doctor, Mr de Lacy?’ she interrupted.
    â€˜No,’ he admitted. ‘I don’t really