Free An Invisible Murder by Joyce Cato

quickly, the cook saw an expression, so fleeting it was almost impossible to pinpoint, flash across the maid’s morose face. But her next words were prosaic enough.
    ‘There’ll be hell to pay, I expect,’ Elsie said glumly.
    Jenny sighed, remembering the policeman’s hostile but resigned expression when Lady Avonsleigh had all but demanded that the cook be kept informed.
    ‘I daresay there will be,’ she agreed.
    She felt suddenly tired. Ava Simmons was dead. And someone in this castle, this afternoon, had killed her. And her ladyship wanted her to find out who did it. Was it just because Lady Vee didn’t have confidence in the police? Or, more likely, did she just want a friendly eye and ear in the police camp?
    Or, Jenny thought with a sickening lurch in her stomach, was she worried about what the police might discover?

CHAPTER SIX
    B ishop stared at the dagger, fascinated in spite of himself. The dagger handle was relatively clean, and gleamed in small pinpoints of jewel-like light – deep red, emerald green and gold. In contrast, the blade was covered in drying blood. On the white wall, the trickles of blood that had run from it were turning into rusty stains that chilled his own blood and sent shivers up his spine. No doubt about it, he mused – it was a macabre sight.
    ‘Better get the forensic lads over here when they’ve finished,’ Bishop said, speaking his thoughts out loud. Not that he expected them to find any fingerprints on the handle. ‘Right, Meecham. The conservatory,’ Bishop dragged his eyes away from the Munjib dagger, and glanced at the butler, who was going slightly green around the gills.
    Meecham left with alacrity, only to slow down and come to a dead stop just a few yards from the conservatory. Taking his dismissal for granted, he then left quickly. If either policeman had been paying more attention, they might have wondered if there was more to his actions than mere squeamishness.
    Almost blindly, Meecham moved quickly down the corridor. He had to reach Gayle. He had to ask her to run to the gatehouse, quick. It might not be too late.
    ‘The doc’s here,’ Bishop muttered, watching the policesurgeon as he bent over the body, inspecting methodically but touching very little. ‘Must have arrived not long after we did.’ For several moments the two policemen watched the team at work – the forensic people examining in minute detail the flagged stone floor of the conservatory, the doctor in attendance on the corpse.
    Even in death, Ava Simmons had managed to retain her dignity. Her skirt had risen slightly, but still covered her knees decorously. Her lips were closed, not gaping open, as was the case of so many corpses Bishop had seen over the years. Her eyes were closed, as if asleep. Even her hair was mostly still neatly in place. Only her blouse marred the picture of gentility. Over the region of her heart was a bright red patch that had leaked onto the floor. It looked so out of place on the otherwise meticulous governess that Bishop had to look away.
    The doctor looked up, saw them, and rose slowly. ‘Inspector Bishop. You bagged this one then?’ he asked jovially.
    Bishop nodded sourly. ‘Myers, take one of the lab boys to that little dagger, would you?’ He himself was not sure he could find the way back, but he knew Myers had all the instincts of a homing pigeon.
    ‘What can you tell me?’ Bishop asked when the others had left, already knowing that it would not be much. MEs were notoriously tight-mouthed when it came to putting their reputations on the line.
    ‘The body’s still slightly warm to the touch,’ the doctor said, and glanced at his watch. ‘It’s nearly five now, so I would say she’s been dead not more than four hours, not less than one. Given that this room is so warm anyway. But don’t quote me.’
    Bishop nodded. ‘We’ve got it narrowed down to betweenthree o’clock and three-thirty.’
    The doctor nodded. It fitted. ‘Death due to a single