Detective Sergeant Northcott.â
It didnât feel right to Jan to be taking this room over. She realised now that she had always adopted a deferential air when she brought in the bossâs visitors. Now she forced herself to take charge, inviting the very tall black man to sit in one of the two luxurious armchairs, seating herself carefully on the edge of the matching but smaller armchair alongside him. She invited Peach to take the swivel chair behind the big desk, but he declined and came and sat in the armchair which matched Northcottâs and was directly opposite to her.
He smiled briefly and she felt him assessing her, with his head tilted fractionally to one side. It wasnât the sort of sexual review to which she had accustomed herself and learned to deal with over the years, but rather a cool estimation of her usefulness, of how much she might be able and willing to give them in the way of information. She found it disconcerting. It felt as if she was being interviewed without warning for a job, as she had not been for many years now.
She was relieved when Peach eventually smiled and spoke. âWe have great hopes of you, Ms Derkson. As James OâConnorâs personal assistant, you can probably tell us more about him than anyone we have seen so far.â
âI doubt that. I understand that you have already seen his widow.â
âAnd how do you know that, Ms Derkson?â
âIâm Mrs Derkson and I have no objection to your calling me that. I would prefer it, in fact. And I had occasion to be in touch with Mrs OâConnor yesterday, about a business decision. I imagine there will be many other such occasions in the weeks to come.â
Her voice faltered a fraction on that last thought, but then she was instantly her business self again. Her watchful, intelligent grey eyes were exactly the colour of her straight skirt. The paleness of her cheeks was accentuated by the whiteness of the perfectly laundered blouse beneath them. The heels on her black shoes were precisely the right height to combine elegance with efficient movement. Yet Peach noted that she was clearly uneasy. Perhaps she was unused to sitting in an armchair in this room, where she had deposited so many people who had come here to see her employer. Or perhaps some deeper malaise was troubling her.
The DCI spoke slowly and soberly, as if respecting the place where they sat. âYou know more about James OâConnorâs business dealings than anyone else we are going to speak to. You were also on the top table, the hostâs table, at Claughton Towers on Monday night. That implies that you were regarded as a friend as well as a trusted employee. We need both information and opinions from you, Mrs Derkson.â
âAnd you are welcome to both, in so far as it is in my powers to offer them. I shall be as open as I can be, but I fear you will be disappointed. James OâConnor was rather a private man, in his business dealings as well as in his family life. I made appointments for him, typed whatever letters he thought appropriate. I fear I know less of the various businesses which have their headquarters here than you would like me to.â
âYour employer played things close to his chest?â
They caught the tiniest smile on the wide mouth. âThat is one way of putting it, yes. He committed as little as possible to paper. He once told me that you could be more flexible that way. People couldnât quote back at you from what youâd written in different circumstances months earlier.â
âDo you know that he was under police investigation?â
She frowned. But she took plenty of time over her reply and took care not to let any annoyance show. âNo, I didnât know that. Iâm surprised to hear it.â
âHow surprised?â
She crossed her legs, made a deliberate attempt to appear more relaxed than she had seemed hitherto. âMr OâConnor was a
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