Believing the Lie - Elizabeth George [155]
“I did want to speak to you both,” Lynley said.
They exchanged a look. He realised it was more than time to drop the pretence, which hadn’t worked with Mignon and which certainly wasn’t going to work with anyone else.
He took out his police identification and handed it to Manette. Her eyes narrowed. She pushed it to McGhie and while he was examining it, she asked the obvious question, “What’s this about? I can’t think it likely Scotland Yard’s on the trail of replacing their lavatories and they’ve sent you up here to evaluate our line of loos. What’s your guess, Freddie?”
McGhie was blushing faintly, and Lynley didn’t think his growing colour had anything to do with lavatories. He said to her, “I’d thought…” He shrugged, one of those you know movements in which a couple’s history allows them to communicate in a truncated fashion.
Manette barked a laugh. “I appreciate the vote of confidence,” she said. “But I have a feeling the inspector here likes them a little less long in the tooth.”
“Don’t be stupid. You’re only forty-two,” Freddie said to her.
“Female years are like dog years, Freddie. When it comes to men, I’m closer to eighty. What can I do for you, Inspector?”
He said, “Your father’s asked me to look into Ian Cresswell’s death.”
Manette’s response was to McGhie. “I rest my case.” There was a kitchen table at which she then sat. A bowl of fruit was in the centre of it, and she took a banana and began to peel it. She said, “Well, this must put a real pin in poor Mignon’s balloon.” She used her foot to push one of the other chairs out. “Sit,” she told Lynley. She said the same to McGhie.
Lynley thought at first that the gesture indicated her full cooperation, but she disabused him of that notion straightaway. She said, “If Dad thinks I’m about to finger anyone for anything, I’d appreciate your telling him that kite won’t fly. As a matter of fact, no kite’s launching from this house at all. Honest to God, I can’t believe he’d do this to his own family.”
“It’s more a matter that he wants to be sure of the local police,” Lynley told her. “That happens, actually, more often than people think.”
“What’s that exactly?” Manette enquired. “Someone pops down to London and asks for a second investigation into a matter already settled by the coroner so Scotland Yard takes up the case? Just like that? Please, Inspector. You can’t think I’m that stupid.”
McGhie said to Lynley, “What’s prompted this? It was a straightforward matter according to the coroner.”
“Dad’s throwing his weight,” Manette said to him. “God only knows how, but I reckon he knows someone who knows someone who’s willing to pull a few strings or make a donation to the widows and orphans. That’s how these things happen. My guess is he wants to see if Nick’s involved, no matter what the coroner said. God knows how Nick would have managed things, but with his history I daresay anything’s possible.” She looked at Lynley. “I’m right, am I not? You’re here to see if I can assist in putting the screws on my brother.”
“Not at all,” Lynley said. “It’s only a matter of getting a clear understanding of where everyone fits.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that sometimes a death is placed too conveniently in time. A coroner wouldn’t be looking at that. There’d be no reason to if the circumstances are straightforward enough.”
“So that’s why you’re here? You’re determining the convenience, as you say, of my cousin’s drowning? And whom did Ian’s death convenience? Because I must tell you it didn’t convenience me. What about you, Freddie? Were you convenienced?”
McGhie said, “Manette, if Scotland Yard’s here— ”
“Oh bother,” she cut in.