Murder in the Cotswolds (26 page)
“Just had a phone call, guv. From Linda West. She’s found the missing emerald ring at the back of a drawer in Belle Latimer’s bedroom, would you believe?”
“No, Tim, I would not believe.”
His smile broadened. “Several other items, too, that we knew nowt about. A gold hunter watch, some earrings, and a silver snuffbox. It seems she’s handed it all over to her new boss, Stedham, but she deemed it necessary to phone and inform me. Just to prove what an honest, upright citizen she is.”
“You must have frightened Linda more than you knew. Congratulations.” On an impulse, Kate went on, “Tim, we didn’t really get a chance to talk last night, with all the crowd there. D’you fancy a quiet drink at lunchtime to wind things up?”
“Sure, guv, that’d be great.”
“How about asking your wife to join us? Yesterday morning I hardly did more than just say hello to her. I’d like to meet her properly.”
Boulter’s face registered heavy doubt, but Kate couldn’t stop herself. “Why don’t you give Julie a ring now, Tim? I’m sure she could find someone to look after the children for an hour.”
“Well, I suppose I could try....”
But his whole demeanor, when he returned three minutes later, told Kate that she’d made a boob.
“Julie can’t come,” he said shortly.
“Oh, that’s a pity. Maybe some other time.”
Boulter couldn’t leave it there. At the door, he turned back, his face flushing with helpless anger. “It’s not a matter of can’t,” he burst out, “it’s won’t. She bloody
won’t
come.”
And you’ve bloody made things worse for them, Kate, by poking your nose in. Will you never learn?
* * * *
The poshest place in the Cotswolds, Richard had promised her. It being Saturday evening the restaurant was full, but he’d somehow wangled a table at short notice. They sat in the adjoining cocktail lounge, studying gilt-edged menus, while across the room a pianist played Gershwin.
“Five quid a forkful,” Kate observed, looking at the prices. But not too critically. She felt in a mood to be pampered.
“Next time,” said Richard, “it might have to be Joe’s Caff.”
“Next time,” said Kate, “it’ll be
my
treat.”
They grinned at each other, saying a lot more without words.
Richard raised his glass to her. “Cheers, Kate. You must be feeling very proud of yourself.”
“A mite proud, yes. But a bit down, too.”
“Down?”
“I let myself be conned by Alison Knight. Used by her—just because she was another woman.” Kate laughed dryly. “We’re told never to get personally involved with the people in our cases. But that’s impossible. I’d have to be a corpse not to feel involved to some extent. Even now, even though I hate and deplore what Alison Knight did, I can understand something of what motivated her. What drove her to commit murder.”
“Are you going to tell me about it?”
Kate didn’t just say no, she hesitated. Richard had taken quite a beating in those first days, and he was owed a few explanations.
“Whatever I tell you has to be off the record? Is that clearly understood?”
His glance reproached her. “You shouldn’t need to ask me that.”
“Sorry, Richard, I withdraw the question.”
So she told him, not everything but a lot of it. Richard listened impassively, watching her face.
“I’ve never met Alison Knight,” he said, when she’d finished. “What’s she like?”
“Very attractive, even more so than that picture in the Troubadours proof showed. She’s also very intelligent. And now she faces years and years in prison. I wonder how she’ll cope.” Kate held back a moment, then said, “You know, I almost wish that I’d not been quick enough to stop her swallowing poison.”
“Don’t doubt yourself, Kate. You did what you had to do. What happens to Alison Knight from now on is out of your hands. So forget the job for a couple of hours and just enjoy yourself. Choose the most expensive item on the menu, and I’ll order the best champagne.”
Kate chuckled. “I know what you’re up to, chum. You’re trying to soften me up, to make sure I don’t bring charges for your little escapade in Prescott’s office.”
“Sure I am. I thought a ritzy dinner here ought to do the trick.”
“Huh! For your information, buying off a detective chief inspector comes a helluva lot pricier than that.”
“Okay,” he said recklessly, “I’ll throw in a liqueur with the coffee. How’s that?”
“It’s a deal.”
Copyright © 1988 by Erica Quest/Nancy Buckingham
Originally published as Death Walk by Doubleday/Crime Club [ISBN 0385243324]
Electronically published in 2014 by Belgrave House/Regency
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