Doctor Who_ The Banquo Legacy - Andy Lane [50]
One of my sergeants when I was just an innocent young constable told me that negative information could sometimes be more useful than positive. I was doubtful then, but I didn’t dare ask him why. I am even less sure now.
‘A cup of tea for you, sir,’ said Simpson and, so saying, placed a cup of tea in front of me.
Catherine Harries leaned forward confidentially. I glanced sideways to find Simpson poised by the door with a tray in his hands. I caught his eye, and he left with that insufferably superior expression still dripping from his face. I wondered exactly how many conversations went on that Simpson couldn’t help overhearing.
‘Inspector Stratford, is it true that my brother was murdered?’ Seeing the stunned look on my face she continued in a rush: ‘I’m sorry to be so blunt, but it was something Sir George let slip last night after he sedated me. He thought I was asleep, but I wasn’t – not quite. He was talking to the Doctor. Is it true? I must know.’
She bit her lip and gazed anxiously into my eyes. My mind rebelliously conjured up images of Susan Seymour and the beauty of her eyes.
‘I’m afraid it does seem to be true, Miss Harries. We do think that your brother was murdered.’
She gasped and closed her eyes. ‘You don’t know who did it?’
‘We’re not entirely sure that it was murder, but that is the theory we are working on. We have not discovered who the murderer is yet, or even if it was someone inside the house. But we are working on it.’
‘You think it might have been someone from outside?’ Miss Harries seemed to be genuinely incredulous and I wondered at how easy it was for her to suspect her friends. Did she know something that I did not?
‘It’s a possibility that we cannot overlook,’ I admitted.
She shivered and hugged herself. ‘I feel so helpless. I feel as if whoever did it is still wandering about the house – and he might kill someone else.’
Her fingers began to knead the material of her dress as she sat, arms folded and hands clutching shoulders. She didn’t look at me, but stared blindly at the cooling cup of tea before her.
‘I had the oddest dream last night. At least, I think it was a dream. It was difficult to tell. I don’t know what it was George gave me, but it left me feeling most peculiar. I kept waking up during the night feeling very restless and thirsty. But I was too tired to move. Then, once I woke up, it was still night because I could see the full moon shining in through the window, and… I could hear someone else in the room with me. I couldn’t hear any breathing, just the rustle of clothes as he moved around the room. I couldn’t move, I was too terrified. I didn’t dare turn over, in case… in case – oh, I don’t know. Eventually I think I fainted. I must have slept for quite a while because when I woke up again the moon was gone. But he was still there.’
She looked at me, cold and piercing. A chill ran through the room. ‘I could still hear him in the room. And he was making noises, groans. I was so scared I was trembling and crying, and praying for my life in case he heard me.’
Her eyes were wide and dilated; not looking at me, but beyond me into the recent past. ‘Then the groaning stopped and I heard him move. I thought