Deborah Crombie - A Share In Death

“I understand how you must feel, but I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you to stay on a bit longer, at least until we complete the formalities.” Raskin’s voice was gentle and sympathetic, and Kincaid saw Maureen relax a little in her chair. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind telling me what you did this morning?”

“The children woke us. We had breakfast, then after a bit we all went down to the pool. Emma joined us-”

“For how long?”

“Oh, about an hour, I suppose. She said she’d had enough, then not too long afterwards the children began to get hungry again, so we came up ourselves. We were just changing when Janet Lyle came and said something was happening-she didn’t know what.” Maureen leaned forward in entreaty. “Please tell me exactly what’s happened. I know Penny’s… dead, the constable told us. But what happened to her? Is it like… Sebastian?”

Raskin spoke formally, the policeman’s best emotional defense, Kincaid thought wryly. “Miss MacKenzie suffered a severe blow to the back of the head. I’m afraid that’s all we can tell you just now.”

Maureen sank back in her chair, and it seemed to Kincaid that with the confirmation of her worst fears, all the emotional tension drained from her. She took her leave quietly, but when she reached the door she turned and spoke. “I’m going to see about Emma. Someone must. She shouldn’t just be left on her own like this.” The set of her mouth brooked no argument.

They came and went in quick succession, with varying degrees of cooperativeness.

Cassie slid into the visitor’s chair, slipped off her pumps and tucked her feet up under her. It was as deliberate a demonstration of ownership, thought Kincaid, as he’d ever seen. She glared balefully at the neat stack of papers on her desk. “You do realize how long it will take me to put that right again?”

Peter Raskin allowed himself a hint of a smile. “And I thought I’d done you a favor.”

“Where’s Chief Inspector Nash?” Cassie’s eyes went quickly to Kincaid.

“Attending the autopsy,” Raskin said. “Rank hath its privileges. Now, if you wouldn’t mind-”

“I was here all morning. Working.”

“Did-”

“Oh, I used the downstairs loo once or twice, if that’s the sort of thing you want to know. I straightened the sitting room and the bar. Patrick Rennie was working at the sitting room desk. And Eddie Lyle came through for something or other. I saw no one else.”

“Admirably succinct, Miss Whitlake,” said Raskin, unruffled by her assumption of the interview.

“Call me Cassie. Please.” Cassie switched the seductiveness on full power, and Kincaid watched with interest to see how Raskin would respond. She stood suddenly and leaned over her desk, forcing Raskin to move back as she opened the center drawer. “Sorry.” After rummaging for a moment, she produced a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a book of matches. “Secret vice. Doesn’t impress the customers.” Her hand trembled as she struck the match, and Kincaid thought that for all her aplomb, her nerves betrayed her.

“The Superintendent here,” again that swift glance at Kincaid, “thinks I ought to fess up. And I’d much rather confess to you, Inspector, than Chief Inspector Nash.” Cassie awarded Raskin a floodlit smile.

“Do go on.”

“I said that I spent Sunday night alone in my cottage. Well, it’s not true. I wasn’t alone, and I wasn’t in my cottage. I’d met Graham Frazer in the empty suite… oh, around ten, I guess, and we were there until nearly midnight.” Kincaid marveled at her ability to turn a potentially embarrassing revelation into an almost flirtatious challenge.

“Did you do that often?” Raskin asked, then colored slightly as he realized how it sounded. “I mean, the two of you.” Not much better, thought Kincaid, amused to see a crack in the imperturbable Raskin’s composure.

“Well, we’ve had a thing, you might say, for the last year or so.” Cassie drew on her cigarette and leaned forward confidentially. “Graham didn’t want anyone to know. Custody problems. Of course, I would have said something right away if I’d known it would be important. I hope,” her voice became intense, “it won’t have to go any farther.”

Raskin stood and moved toward the door. “I can’t make any promises, of course.” He sounded ingratiatingly smitten. “Thank you for being so cooperative, Miss Whitlake.” Raskin’s emphasis fell on the formal address. He’d had the last word, after all.

“How’d you manage to worm that tidy bit of information out of her?” Raskin asked Kincaid when he had shut the door.

“My irresistible charm.” Kincaid grinned. “That, and a bull’s-eye guess. I told her I knew they’d been together, but I didn’t understand why they wouldn’t admit it. Figured I had nothing to lose.”

“Apparently not. Let’s have Mr. Frazer in next and see what he has to say about it all.”

Graham Frazer began as intractably as he meant to end, with a bulldog glare at Kincaid. “Stopped sitting on the fence, then? Give you a sore bum, I should think.” Angela, following in his wake, looked mortified.

“Daddy-” Frazer ignored her and sat in the chair, leaving his daughter to stand, awkward and hesitant. Kincaid stood and offered her his barstool with a flourish. He won a small smile.

“I was working in the suite all morning. Catching up on some paperwork,” Frazer said in response to Raskin’s question. “Angie was sleeping. That’s what teenagers do, isn’t it?”

Angela bristled on cue. “Daddy, that’s not-”

“Fair,” Raskin finished for her, and smiled. “What is your business, Mr. Frazer?”

“I’m in assurance. A bloody bore, but there it is. It pays the bills.”

“I see.” Raskin carefully straightened his notes. “And you didn’t leave your suite for any reason before ten o’clock this morning?”

“I did not.” Even the bullying humor had left Frazer’s voice, and he offered nothing further. “Now if you’re quite-”

“Angie,” Kincaid interrupted, “what time did you wake up this morning?”

She looked at her father before she met Kincaid’s eyes. “About ten, I think.”

“Angie,” said Raskin, “you can go now, if you’ve nothing to add to your father’s statement.” Frazer started to rise. “Mr. Frazer, if you don’t mind, I’ve a few more questions to ask.”

“I do mind. Do I have a choice?”

Raskin waited until Angela had gone out and closed the door behind her. “You can have a solicitor present if you wish, of course, but these are very informal inquiries, Mr. Frazer. We are not accusing you of anything.” Frazer deliberated, then nodded once. He’s decided he’s better off not to make a fuss at this point, thought Kincaid.

“Mr. Frazer, Miss Whitlake has informed us that the two of you were together on Sunday evening, from around ten o’clock until midnight. You had both previously made statements to the contrary. According to Miss Whitlake you urged her not to mention this as you were concerned about your child-custody hearing.”

Graham Frazer’s flat, heavy face didn’t register emotions easily, but Kincaid thought his utter stillness indicated the extent of his shock. After a long moment, he spluttered, “She told you that? Cassie? She was the one who insisted-” He fell silent, then said softly, “Bitch. I knew she was trying something on.”

“Are you saying that you were not the one to suggest lying about your activities that evening?” Some of Raskin’s polite formality had dropped away.

“Yes. I mean no. It wasn’t my idea. Why should it make any difference to the damned custody hearing? And even if it did, I’m not sure I’d care-I’m beginning to think Marjorie’s welcome to her. No, Cassie was the one worried about her reputation. Begged me not to embarrass her.” Frazer gave a mirthless snort. “She’s the one who’s made me look a fool.”