A Spider on the Stairs by Cassandra Chan Page B

straightforward,” said Bethancourt, disappointed. “A quarrel of some kind, and things get out of hand.”
    â€œAh, but here’s where it gets interesting,” said Gibbons. “How did she and her killer get into the bookshop in the first place?”
    Bethancourt shrugged and lit a cigarette. “The killer’s probably someone who works there and has a set of keys,” he answered.
    â€œPossibly,” conceded Gibbons. “But why were they in the bookshop on Christmas Eve?”
    â€œStealing something, most likely,” suggested Bethancourt. “Old Mittlesdon has some very nice editions, some of them worth thousands. Christmas would certainly be an excellent opportunity to loot the place—it’s probably the one time you could be certain Mittlesdon wouldn’t be there.”
    â€œYes.” Gibbons sighed. “I’d thought of that, but Mittlesdon says his most valuable items were in the safe, and were all accounted for. Moreover, no one except him has the combination.”
    Bethancourt shrugged. “It still doesn’t strike me as very interesting,” he said. “No doubt they had a plan for getting into the safe, but argued before they got to that part of the program. When the argument ended in murder, our killer got the wind up and fled.”
    â€œA very plausible scenario,” agreed Gibbons. “But things might have a different interpretation put on them. Anyway, I’ll know better once I’ve managed to talk to all of the key-holders.”
    â€œI take it you didn’t have time to track any of them down today?” asked Bethancourt.
    â€œNo.” Gibbons shook his head. “By the time I was done at the scene and with the autopsy, I only had time to follow up with Mittlesdon. He was still quite shaken up, but he managed to give me a few details about his employees.”
    â€œAnything interesting?” asked Bethancourt.
    â€œNo, just clearing up who’s in charge of what. Unfortunately, the one piece of real information I got from him was not encouraging.” Gibbons frowned at his glass and then sighed and drank.
    â€œWell, what was it?” asked Bethancourt impatiently.
    â€œOh—sorry,” said Gibbons. “I think I must be tired. Well, it’sabout the keys. All employees have the key to the office door, but only four of them have the keys to the store itself.”
    â€œThat would seem to narrow it down nicely,” said Bethancourt. “And yet I see from your expression that for some reason it doesn’t.”
    â€œIt doesn’t because people are quite cavalier with their keys,” said Gibbons. “So far as I can tell, nearly any of the employees could have made off with a set of keys for long enough to have copies made. For example, the back door is always kept locked, but the smokers go out that way to have a cigarette, and it’s common for them to borrow a set of keys from one of the managers, or even the spare set that’s kept in the office.”
    â€œOh dear,” said Bethancourt.
    â€œMr. Mittlesdon earnestly assured me that all of his employees were very trustworthy,” said Gibbons dryly.
    â€œExcept perhaps for the one who’s a murderer?” suggested Bethancourt.
    â€œHe hasn’t got that far,” said Gibbons. “He’s still in the ‘it must be an outsider’ phase.”
    â€œIt really can’t have been, can it?” asked Bethancourt. “I mean, quite apart from the matter of the keys, there must have been some reason for your killer and victim to have been at a bookshop at Christmas—it’s not like they could have wandered in there by accident.”
    â€œNo, most certainly not,” agreed Gibbons. “Well, we’ll see what comes out tomorrow.” He yawned. “That drink’s gone straight to my head. I’m sorry, Phillip, I think I had better go to