Deborah Crombie - And Justice There Is None

Kit had stood, transfixed, and it seemed to him that to make a mark upon such beauty was more than he could bear. Then his mother had called out for him to join her.

He'd put aside his hesitation and plunged out into the snow, and it had been a good time, one of the best. With that thought, he fell asleep.

According to Dr. Ling, Arrowood had been dead several hours, but she would have to use calculations involving air temperature and environmental factors to be more precise. Nor could she give them any immediate guess as to the nature of the weapon until she had cleaned up the corpse- the wounds were simply too much of a mess.

She did speculate, however, that unlike his wife, Arrowood might have lived for some time after the attack, too weak from loss of blood to do more than make a futile attempt at getting help.

None of this came as any surprise to Kincaid and Gemma. Adding to their frustration, the crime-scene officers reported no evidence of disturbance inside the house. The front door had been locked, and Arrowood's keys had been found in the drive a few feet from his body, as if he'd dropped them in the struggle.

When the responding officers arrived, they had indeed found the driver's door of the Mercedes ever so slightly ajar, and the dome lamp burning.

"He must have been jumped just as he opened the door," Kincaid said as they shed their coats in the warmth of Gemma's office.

"If that door had been closed properly, he might have lain there, covered in snow, until someone missed him."

"Apparently, since it looks as though Mrs. Du Ray's creeping figure didn't feel inclined to call for help."

"It must have been Alex Dunn," said Gemma. "The description fits him to a tee. And it means he can't have murdered Karl, if he found him already dead-"

"What if he fought with him, then came back to see if he'd been successful?"

"Then why run away, as if he were frightened by what he'd found?" argued Gemma.

"I don't see that we can get much further until we've had a word with Dunn. Why don't we send a car to bring him in, and get a forensics team started on his flat?"

"I demand my solicitor," Gavin Farley snarled as they entered the Spartan confines of the interview room, with its metal-and-laminate table and molded plastic chairs. "I'm not saying anything without my solicitor here." His hair was uncombed, and although he'd pulled on jacket and trousers, he still wore a purple satin pajama shirt, which detracted considerably from his authority.

"Surely there's no need for that," rejoined Gemma mildly. "We only want to ask you a few routine questions."

"And for that you drag me out of bed with my wife, in the middle of the night, and you frighten my children half to death? I'm telling you I won't have it. I want my solicitor." Farley folded his arms across his purple satin chest and glared.

Gemma sighed and summoned a constable. "Please take Mr. Farley to phone his solicitor, then bring him back here."

As soon as the door closed, Kincaid said, "Can't say I blame the chap. I've seldom had less reason to roust a man from his bed on Christmas Eve."

"And what about the shower in his shop, and his lying about his row with Dawn?" countered Gemma. "Besides, I think he's cleverer than he'd like us to believe."

Escorted by the constable, Farley came back in, a smug look on his face. "My solicitor's on his way. You'll have to wait until he gets here."

"Fine." Kincaid smiled at him and relaxed into his chair. "Can we get you anything? A coffee?" When Farley shook his head, Kincaid continued, "There's no reason we can't get acquainted while we wait, is there, Mr. Farley? I hear you're quite an expert in woodworking. Is this a longtime passion of yours?"

The struggle between caution and pride was evident in Farley's expression, with pride the winner. "Since I was a boy. My father had a little shop. My own son, unfortunately, only seems to be interested in videos and computer games. No respect for the handicrafts these days."

"Is it animals you carve? With such firsthand experience-"

"No, no. I need a complete break from work; otherwise, the stress…" He shrugged, as if Kincaid would understand his predicament. Just out of Farley's line of sight, Gemma rolled her eyes.

"I've never quite managed a hobby, myself," Kincaid admitted. "But it must be very nice to get away from it all, have one's own space."

"No way." The veterinarian pinched his lips together and set his jaw in a stubborn line. "I see what you're doing, and I'm not going to talk about my shop."

"Then what about the thefts from your surgery, Mr. Farley?" Kincaid inquired, all innocence. "Surely you want the help of the police with that? I understand you have some supplies and medications missing?"

"How did you- That's a purely internal matter."

"You're not accusing Miss Poole, are you?" asked Gemma sharply.

"I- No! She was merely negligent, but I don't see why it's any of your business."

"If some unauthorized person came into your clinic and stole your property, Mr. Farley, it should have been reported to the police," said Kincaid. "Was there by any chance a scalpel among the items missing?"

Gavin Farley's mouth dropped open. "Yes, but- I- You can't think-" He gaped at them, fishlike, his pupils dilating into black orbs.

At that moment there was a knock on the door, and a constable brought in a man in a neat pinstriped suit.

"Miles!" Farley exclaimed, shooting from his chair and clasping the man's hand fervently.

"Hullo, Gavin." The solicitor disengaged his hand and turned to the two detectives. "I'm Miles Kelly, Mr. Farley's solicitor." He was in his mid-thirties, Kincaid guessed, dark-haired, with a strong face. In spite of his suit and crisp white shirt- the obligatory solicitor's badge- the dark blue shadow on his chin revealed that he hadn't taken the time to shave. "What seems to be the problem here?"

"I take it Mr. Farley has made you aware of our investigations," Gemma answered, "and of his involvement with the woman who was murdered just over a week ago-"

"She was my client, for God's sake!" Farley interrupted. "I keep telling you-"

"Gavin, calm down." Kelly turned back to Gemma. "Inspector, he rang me yesterday to say you were having his house searched. As all the documents were in order, I told him that cooperation was the only appropriate response."

"Very wise of you, Mr. Kelly," Kincaid said. "And he followed your instructions. The problem is that there was another murder, hours ago, and we'd like to ascertain Mr. Farley's whereabouts during the time in question."

"Another murder?" Farley's voice seeped out in a whisper. "Where- Who-"

"Karl Arrowood," Gemma informed him tersely. "Are you sure you never met Dawn's husband, Mr. Farley?"

"No. Never. I wouldn't have known the man if I'd passed him in the street."

"Then why should you mind telling us where you were last evening?"

"I- It's a violation of my privacy. Why should I tell you, if I had nothing to do with this? You can't just go about-"

"Gavin," interrupted Miles Kelly, "don't be difficult. Tell them what they want to know, and then we can all go home."

Farley stared at his solicitor as if he might protest, then gave a shrug of acquiescence. "I was at home. All evening. With my wife, and my mother- and father-in-law. Our next-door neighbors stopped in for a drink as well."

"What time did your in-laws arrive?" asked Gemma.

"Around half-past six. My wife always has them for Christmas Eve dinner, then on Christmas day we go to my parents' in Henley."

"And they left when?"

"About half-past nine, I believe. I didn't know there was any reason to make note of the time."

Gemma ignored his sarcasm. "And you didn't leave your house at all in the interim? Not even to go to your shop?"