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Authors: Catherine Aird

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‘As a consequence of which', continued Sloan carefully, ‘David Collins took steps to see that he didn't have any more children.' The Greeks probably had a word for this: Shakespeare had simply caused Richard III to declare among his other physical deficiencies, ‘I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty', which was explicit enough.

The Bishop of Calleford nodded. ‘That is quite understandable in the circumstances.'

‘But,' plodded on Sloan, ‘in the course of James's treatment he then found out quite conclusively that he wasn't James's father.'

The Bishop raised both his hands in front of him in a gesture that might have been a blessing. ‘That would be a very difficult one for any man – especially a husband – to live with,' he conceded.

‘It seems that the parents had both gone in for some genetic testing after the child's diagnosis had been made and this got married up with the results of some similar examinations the hospital had done on the boy.' Detective Inspector Sloan had moved from considering a little learning being a bad thing, to deciding that even more learning was an even worse thing. Medical science and doctors could go too far.

‘That was when the situation changed, I take it?' said Bertram Wallingford quietly.

‘And the rot set in,' supplemented Crosby.

The Bishop of Calleford said almost petulantly, ‘I do wish people would leave vengeance to the Lord. The Bible tells us clearly that it is His. Quite clearly.'

*   *   *

‘So, Inspector,' concluded the old lady at Aumerle Court, ‘my great-nephew was simply not up to the pressures of today and sought consolation elsewhere.'

‘They don't make them like they used to, Miss Pedlinge,' said the policeman.

‘True, very true.' She swung her wheelchair away from him and stared out at the maze. ‘And I should therefore be tempering the wind to the shorn lamb, should I? Is that what you're saying?'

‘To two shorn lambs, madam…'

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘I think you will find your agent a somewhat chastened man.'

‘Ha! So he comes into this debacle, too, does he?'

‘We don't know to what extent and he declines to tell us anything more.'

‘At least one person round here can keep their mouth shut—'

‘Now, Miss Daphne…' began Milly Smithers.

‘But there is a rumour going around,' said Sloan carefully, ‘just a rumour, mind you, that Captain Prosser has made himself responsible for the expenses of little James Collins's upbringing.'

Detective Inspector Sloan found himself the recipient of prolonged scrutiny from a pair of shrewd old eyes. ‘That, Inspector, is what I would call really confusing the issue.' She gave a high cackle.

‘In both senses,' agreed Sloan appreciatively.

‘So I've got to be kind to him, too, have I?'

‘Now, Miss Daphne,' said Milly Smithers, ‘there's no call for you to get excited.'

‘More's the pity,' said the figure in the wheelchair.

*   *   *

Eric Paterson swung round on his swivel chair at the offices of Double Felix to face the two policemen. ‘I was beginning to wonder about David myself, Inspector, and then when Sharon told me you'd taken off at the mere mention of holograms, I guessed, too.'

‘If you would explain a little more about them it might help,' said Sloan.

‘I'll say,' said Crosby.

Paterson tilted his chair back. ‘It's essentially a photograph produced without a lens, by the interference between two split laser beams, which … oh, good, coffee. Thanks, Sharon … sugar, anyone?'

‘No, thanks.'

‘Yes, please.'

‘Where was I?'

‘With two split laser beams,' said Sloan.

Paterson carried on, ‘Which, when suitably illuminated, shows a three-dimensional image which you can design yourself, of course.'

‘Well, I never,' said Crosby. ‘Got a spoon, anyone?'

‘But', admitted Paterson, ‘I would never have worked out why he did it. He never gave anyone a clue how he really felt about Margaret.'

‘Everyone was playing their cards very close to their chests,' said Sloan.

‘Especially him,' said Crosby. He drained his coffee. ‘We don't know when he found out about his wife having had an affair, of course.'

‘Someone had got a dead man's hand, all right,' said Paterson. ‘Or don't you play poker?'

‘Not as a game,' said Sloan sedately. The poker the police played was of quite a different variety.

Paterson jerked his head. ‘When do we get to get our van back?'

Constable Crosby came into his own at last. ‘When we've checked the oil on the inside back floor with that in the motorbike Collins had hidden in it to get from Calleford to Aumerle Court and back. Those little machines may not be Harley-Davidsons but they aren't at all bad.'

‘And the beauty of it,' said Sloan, mindful of his friend from Traffic Division, ‘is that you can never see who's on them when they're wearing leathers and a crash helmet.'

‘You can get away with murder then,' added Crosby, stirring his coffee.

‘Not quite,' said Detective Inspector Sloan, closing his notebook with a snap. He permitted himself a wry smile. ‘Not now we've seen the light.'

Also by Catherine Aird

The Religious Body

A Most Contagious Game

Henrietta Who?

The Complete Steel

A Late Phoenix

His Burial Too

Slight Mourning

Parting Breath

Some Die Eloquent

Passing Strange

Last Respects

Harm's Way

A Dead Liberty

The Body Politic

A Going Concern

Injury Time (short stories)

After Effects

Stiff News

Little Knell

AMENDMENT OF LIFE
. Copyright © 2002 by Catherine Aird. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.minotaurbooks.com

ISBN 0-312-29080-2

First published in Great Britain by Macmillan An imprint of Pan Macmillan Ltd.

First St. Martin's Minotaur Edition: January 2003

eISBN 9781466870277

First eBook edition: March 2014

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