Free Blood Will Out by Jill Downie

evening with Elodie Ashton, and I apologize for intruding so late, but I just couldn’t leave it until tomorrow morning, because I have put the wheels in motion.”
    Wheels in motion? Was he to be expelled from the island? To be burned at the stake at the foot of Fountain or Berthelot Street, like they did in the old days? Disbelief turned into apprehension. What game was this woman playing?
    â€œElodie, bless her, phoned me earlier this evening and explained, and it all sounds quite thrilling . A part for me !”
    Aha. The cooing voice continued.
    â€œAs Elodie said, the academic sense of humour is often — esoteric , was her word for it, and I completely misunderstood, didn’t I! So, I have arranged a little get-together at my house for tomorrow evening. I have managed to get hold of most of the Island Players who really matter and I very much look forward to having a first read-through of your play.” The timbre of her voice deepened, vibrating with emotion as Marie Gastineau moved into “actress” mode. “From what Elodie says, you have seen past my façade of society hostess and sensed hidden depths. Evil is certainly within my range, and will make a welcome change from my usual roles.”
    Evil? Not at all the reaction envisaged by his neighbour. Or was she the one who had suggested it?
    A trill of laughter bubbled up from the answerphone, then the message concluded on a note of command, the familiar, imperious Marie Gastineau firmly back in control. “Call me in the morning to confirm — won’t you?”
    â€œBloody hell,” said Hugo Shawcross.
    He had been regretting his abrupt departure, earlier than he had planned, thanks to that chit of a policewoman. But, it turned out it was just as well. He sat down at his desk and turned on his laptop.
    Aloisio Brown sat in Moretti’s office, reading a pamphlet on the desk. He was tanned, dark-haired, probably very much like his Portuguese mother, thought Moretti. He stood up as they came in, turning a pair of large brown eyes in their direction, smiling as he did so. Next to him, Moretti heard Falla’s intake of breath. Moretti extended his hand.
    â€œAloisio Brown — have I said your name right?”
    â€œCall me Al. Everyone does, except my mother.”
    The smile turned into a grin, and the brown eyes turned towards Liz Falla.
    â€œDetective Sergeant Falla, I presume?” It was clear what those brown eyes thought of what they were surveying.
    â€œCall me Falla. Everyone does, except my mother. Well, almost everyone. Hi.”
    Moretti could almost hear the violins playing.
    â€œYou have just got back from the scene of the suicide, I’m informed. Sergeant Jones let me sit on the interview with the postman. I heard your question to him, sir.”
    â€œWhat did you make of it?”
    â€œI’m not sure, but I presumed it was unexpected, given the way the deceased was living. That he didn’t smell, I mean.”
    â€œYes.” Quite the brainiac. “Falla, play the message from Dr. Edwards for — Al.”
    Dr. Edwards’s light voice filled the office. When the message was finished, Al Brown looked at Moretti.
    â€œLiquid sunshine,” he said.
    â€œLiquid sunshine?”
    â€œThe sound of the pathologist’s voice.” Al Brown smiled at Liz Falla, who smiled back.
    â€œWe don’t have a pathologist on the island,” said Moretti. He could hear his own voice sounding somewhat metallic. “Dr. Edwards was the duty doctor.” There was a silence, then Moretti continued. “And doesn’t liquid sunshine mean rain?”
    Before anyone could add anything to the absurd dialogue, the phone rang. Moretti picked it up.
    â€œMoretti.”
    â€œHello, Detective Inspector Moretti. DS Falla told me you were the officer in charge. This is Irene Edwards.”
    Moretti put her on speakerphone, and sunshine or rain filled the office,