Free Dead Reckoning by Patricia Hall Page B

outline, Mr.. Earnshaw,” Thackeray said. “You and your son were too shocked last night for a lengthy interview.” He glanced at Matthew Earnshaw who had also been far too drunk to be coherent when he had recovered from his
brief collapse at the mortuary but who did not appear to be in much better condition this morning. He wondered whether he had slept at all or whether he had kept on drinking all night. It was impossible to tell. It was odd, he thought, how deep his revulsion was these days for the weakness which had once threatened to destroy his own life. There’s no one so fierce as a convert, he thought.
    â€œLet’s start with your son Simon’s recent activities, shall we?” Thackeray said. “And then work as far back as seems sensible. You said he was studying for a post-graduate degree. Do you know the names of any of his friends at the university? Or enemies, for that matter? We will need to talk to as many people he was in contact with as possible.”
    â€œHe kept his new life very separate,” the dead man’s father said. “He’s brought nobody here from the university on the odd occasions he’s come up to Broadley since. Never talked about it much, to me, anyway. Knew I didn’t approve, I suppose. Thought it was all a bloody waste of time. What about you, Christine? I know you have sneaky lunches with Simon when you think I won’t notice. Was he any more forthcoming with you?”
    Christine Earnshaw turned her gaze very slowly from the elaborate flower arrangement in the stone fireplace and looked at her husband and then at Thackeray with heavy, dazed blue eyes, puffy with crying.
    â€œHe talked about his new life to me,” she said, so quietly that Val Ridley, on the other side of the room, had to strain to catch what she was saying. “He loved his course. It was what he had decided to do, decided for himself I mean, not something Frank pushed him into.” She flashed another glance at her husband and Thackeray was surprised at the venom in it. There was some history there, he thought, and it might be necessary to tease it out.

    â€œDid he mention friends and fellow students at the university, Mrs. Earnshaw?” he asked quietly. “A lot of them are still on vacation and we need to trace them as quickly as we can.”
    â€œHe talked a lot about someone called Steve. He was working on some project with Steve, something about regeneration? Would that be right? I never totally understood what his course was all about. It seemed to cover so much.”
    A snort of derision from the other end of the sofa distracted them briefly, in time to notice Matthew Earnshaw refilling his glass from a bottle which he had evidently tucked out of sight into the cushions of the sofa behind him.
    â€œNo other name? Just Steve?” Thackeray persisted.
    â€œJust Steve,” Simon’s mother said. “I’m not sure whether he was another student or a teacher.”
    â€œI’m sure we’ll be able to trace him,” Thackeray said reassuringly. “Any other names?” But Christine Earnshaw shook her head.
    â€œNow the other point Matthew raised last night was Simon’s girlfriend. Did you know anything about her?”
    â€œHe had a lovely girlfriend called Julie before he gave up work at the mill,” Mrs. Earnshaw said. “They’d been going out for years but he broke up with her. I don’t think she understood what he was doing going back to college.”
    â€œDid any of us?” Matthew Earnshaw asked the room at large.
    â€œBut a current girlfriend? You said last night, Mr. Earnshaw, that there were messages on the answerphone. Do any of you know who those could be from?”
    â€œShe rang here an’all,” Frank Earnshaw said. “Said she was supposed to be meeting him. But she didn’t say who she was. It wasn’t Julie. I’d have recognised her