Doctor Who_ The Banquo Legacy - Andy Lane [66]
‘Well, I covered it up first, of course, sir.’
‘Of course.’
‘She must have uncovered it again,’ Stratford mused, pulling the sheet back over the wreck of humanity on the bed.
‘Could she have died of fright when she saw it again, close up?’ Baker’s suggestion was a weak one and he knew it.
‘Why go to the other side of the room to do it?’ Kreiner asked him.
‘She could have staggered back, knocked over the chair –’
‘No,’ said Stratford, ‘she couldn’t.’ Stratford could not have failed to see the marks as Baker had. ‘She’s been strangled.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Baker, ask Miss Seymour if I could see her for a minute in the study, would you please?’ The inspector was back in control. Baker departed on his appointed task.
‘It’s time I got this sorted out,’ Stratford decided, and for the first time I felt that he was addressing us as equals.
‘You know who did it?’ Kreiner asked. I was surprised he seemed slower to realise than I had been.
‘Oh yes, I think so.’ Stratford’s eyes were on me as he answered.
Simpson raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Stratford knelt by the body again. ‘There’s only one person we can’t account for,’ he went on, lifting Beryl’s hand from its rest beside her head. He brushed the fine blonde strands away from it and pulled something from her clenched hand. ‘And this rather confirms it all.’ He smoothed out the scrap of paper and held it up for us to see. It was part of a page from a small pocketbook, but before I could read the words written on it or make sense of the tiny scrawled dates and numbers, he had spirited it away.
As Stratford strode from the bedroom it was with the relieved confidence of a man whose work is done. Kreiner and I exchanged glances and followed. I could see some of the line of argument the inspector must be pursuing; but why did he wish to see Susan? As Simpson carefully closed the bedroom door behind us, the final part clicked into place. Or so I thought.
* * *
THE REPORT OF INSPECTOR IAN STRATFORD (11)
I leaned back in the leather chair and steepled my fingers on the desk blotter in front of me. Baker stood by the study door and Miss Seymour sat demurely in a chair drawn up in front of the desk. There was a puzzled, faintly questioning look on Baker’s face, and the ghost of a similar expression in Susan Seymour’s eyes. Neither of them quite realised what was going on, but they could both sense something of the triumph that filled me. The look that they shared was one of reassessment. For once in this case things were going my way, and I felt as if I could not make a wrong move. I felt in command.
In my right hand was the piece of paper I had found in Beryl’s dead fist, grasped tight like a talisman.
‘I realise, Miss Seymour –’ and my voice was deep and confident – ‘that this is a rather sensitive matter for you, but would you like to tell me why you were breaking off your engagement to Richard Harries? I believe I already know, but I need confirmation.’
Susan Seymour’s delicate head dropped, and a rose-tinted blush stole across her delicate cheeks. I suppressed the feeling that I could sense moving within me and continued like a professional. ‘I can assure you that it is vital that I know.’
‘I found that –’ she paused, hesitant, like a deer startled by a noise – ‘that the more I got to know him, the less I got to like him. It is as simple as that, Inspector.’
‘What in particular, Miss Seymour? Perhaps it had something to do with this.’ I opened my hand to display the scrap of paper. A calculated risk, but one that immediately paid off. The colour heightened in her cheeks and she drew herself up.
‘Yes, Inspector, that was the reason.’ Over her shoulder I could see surprise almost comically etched into the lines of Baker’s face.
‘I realised earlier on today,’ I said, softer. More conciliatory. ‘Finding the evidence was another thing entirely.’ I indicated the torn paper in my hand. ‘Fortunately, your fiancé kept meticulous records. The scientist in him, I expect. Beryl must have found the records in his desk, and