Free An Invisible Murder by Joyce Cato Page A

stab wound to the heart, as far as I can tell,’ he continued, the usual caution now creeping into his voice. ‘Death would have been practically instantaneous, I would have thought. But don’t—’
    ‘I know, I know. Don’t quote you.’ Bishop sighed and looked around at the shelves of plants still neatly standing side by side, and the undisturbed stack of pots on the floor not far from the body. ‘She didn’t put up much of a struggle,’ he noted sadly.
    The doctor shrugged. ‘She probably wasn’t given the chance. The wound was caused by a long, very thin and sharp-pointed blade. Slightly rounded, I would have said. Unusual.’
    Bishop nodded. ‘There’s a dagger, covered in blood, coming our way. It fits the description.’
    The doctor sighed, looking down at her. ‘A woman in the prime of her life, Inspector. She looks a nice sort.’
    Bishop nodded. Ava Simmons
did
look a nice sort. Not the kind that usually ended up murdered.
    ‘Bit of a feather in your cap, this case, isn’t it?’ the doctor asked, and Bishop snorted. He was saved from answering by the return of Myers, the dagger enclosed in an evidence bag, which he handed over to the doctor. Nobody expected that the blood would not match that of the victim. Or the blade, that of the knife wound.
    ‘Well, I suppose we’d better get on with it,’ Bishop said. ‘I want another word with our delightful Miss Starling.’
    At the mention of the name, the doctor looked up in surprise, then grinned at the morose expression on the inspector’s face. Even the pathologists had begun to hear of the growing fame of Jenny Starling. The last of the greatamateur detectives, no less.
    Wisely though, he said nothing, but Myers winked at him behind his inspector’s back as the two men left.
     
    Jenny looked up in surprise as Meecham all but rushed into the kitchen and came to sudden halt. He looked around in surprise. ‘Is Gayle not here?’ he asked, slightly out of breath.
    Jenny shook her head, her eyes curious. ‘Obviously not,’ she said softly. ‘Is something wrong, Mr Meecham?’
    Meecham flushed, suddenly aware that he was acting strangely. ‘Er, no. I thought that she was in her ladyship’s rooms but she’s not. Nor is she in her own room. I was, er—’ He broke off as the door opened and his daughter walked in. ‘There you are. Gayle, we have to, er….’ He glanced back over his shoulder and moved further away.
    Jenny headed for the oven, her ears pricked. In spite of that, she caught only the odd word or two. ‘Gatehouse’, she was sure was one of them. And ‘must intercept’ another. Even whispering, Meecham sounded distraught.
    Over the cover of a saucepan lid, the cook looked across at father and daughter, and saw Gayle lay a calming hand on her father’s arm. Very briefly she shook her head, and although Jenny never heard her, could lip-read the two words clearly. ‘Too late.’
    Meecham’s shoulders drooped and he trudged wearily back to the centre of the kitchen, slumping down at the table.
    Elsie, moving in that unerringly silent manner of hers, quickly placed a steaming hot cup of tea in front of him. Jenny was not the only one in that kitchen with sharp eyes and ears, apparently. A moment later, the door opened again, and this time the two policemen walked in. Bishop glanced at her, then saw Gayle, and paused.
    ‘Ah, Miss Meecham,’ Bishop gave her his best ‘kindlyuncle’ smile and indicated a chair. Gayle gave him a single, blank-eyed look, and sat down. Myers moved opposite, pulling out his notebook. Jenny didn’t miss the flash of fear in Gayle’s dark eyes. Nevertheless, she folded steady hands in her lap, and waited patiently. There was something both stoic and tense about her.
    Bishop leaned back in his own chair, making it squeak. ‘As you can imagine, Miss Meecham, we have to ask everybody in the castle where they were this afternoon and what they might have seen or heard. Also, of course, any other thing