a bit inconvenient for Henry because Crispin might just be able to tell us what Henry was doing.’
‘Only if he’s still alive,’ said Elsie.
‘Henry certainly didn’t kill him.’
‘But Henry was drunk and thinks he may have killed
somebody
.’
‘Yes.’
‘And Crispin’s vanished.’
‘Yes.’
‘All of which is consistent with Henry killing Crispin.’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t keep saying “yes” like that, Ethelred. It’s irritating. Say something with more than one syllable.’
‘Sorry.’
‘That’s only marginally better.’
‘If Crispin was dead, Emma would have noticed.’
‘Not necessarily.’
‘I’m not joking.’
‘Nor am I. Who knows what Crispin told Emma or where he said he was going? If only half the things I’ve heard about him are true, he must have been constantly making up stories to explain an absence for a night or two. That she’s not concerned doesn’t mean that all is well. And if she only half-believed the latest story, it might explain why she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself by telling you he’d been at a book fair in Amsterdam for the past week, or whatever lie he’d sold her, when you mightknow exactly whose bed he’d been in.’
‘So, who’s the letter from?’
‘Did anybody other than Henry even know you were on the case?’
‘Nobody at all. I told you that.’
‘That’s not quite true, in the sense that you’ve been clumping round the country asking everyone whether they’ve seen a short, pompous crime writer murdering one of his mates.’
‘Fair enough. Denzil at the pub knows I was asking questions. And I did tell the man at the club that I was a private detective, and I did give him my phone number.’
‘And Emma. She might have guessed from your clumsy attempts at detective work that something was going on.’
‘I scarcely think this was written by Emma. Denzil, maybe, if he can write at all.’
‘Could Henry have told anyone else he was employing you?’
‘It would be an odd thing to do under the circumstances.’
‘Could you have been followed, then?’
‘Yes, easily; but how would anyone have known I was worth following?’
Elsie chewed one of my chips thoughtfully. ‘You’re right. None of this makes sense. To want you off the case somebody has to know you’re on it. And even if they did, why would they want you off?’
‘Because I might be about to come up with something that would clear Henry and put the blame firmly on somebody else?’ I suggested.
‘But that would assume they thought you were in some way a competent investigator … That’s yummy, by the way.’
‘Yes, but I wish you wouldn’t do it.’
My agent had been assisting her thought train by squirting large amounts of tomato ketchup on my plate and then dipping my remaining chips into it one by one.
‘Shame to waste them,’ she said, stuffing three chips into her mouth very quickly.
‘I wasn’t wasting them,’ I said. ‘I had plans for them that didn’t involve ketchup.’
‘Prevention is better than cure,’ said Elsie vaguely. ‘We have to assume that, while you investigate on Henry’s behalf, somebody out there who has a very strong interest in the case is carrying out their own investigations, and doing their best to put a spoke in yours.’
‘Possibly,’ I said.
‘Of course, if I were married to Crispin, I’d murder him, then cover things up with an elaborate but foolproof stratagem, almost certainly involving phony death threats.’
‘But you’re not married to him. Emma is.’
‘You know her well?’ Elsie paused, chip in hand, scrutinising me more than I would have wished.
‘I’ve met her. Maybe once or twice.’
‘So have I. She’s quite attractive. Definitely your type.’
‘As I say, I might have talked to her once,’ I said. ‘Or possibly twice. She sometimes goes to conferences with Crispin. You get talking to people in bars. Quite innocently. Anyway, returning to the subject in hand, if
‘Only if he’s still alive,’ said Elsie.
‘Henry certainly didn’t kill him.’
‘But Henry was drunk and thinks he may have killed
somebody
.’
‘Yes.’
‘And Crispin’s vanished.’
‘Yes.’
‘All of which is consistent with Henry killing Crispin.’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t keep saying “yes” like that, Ethelred. It’s irritating. Say something with more than one syllable.’
‘Sorry.’
‘That’s only marginally better.’
‘If Crispin was dead, Emma would have noticed.’
‘Not necessarily.’
‘I’m not joking.’
‘Nor am I. Who knows what Crispin told Emma or where he said he was going? If only half the things I’ve heard about him are true, he must have been constantly making up stories to explain an absence for a night or two. That she’s not concerned doesn’t mean that all is well. And if she only half-believed the latest story, it might explain why she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself by telling you he’d been at a book fair in Amsterdam for the past week, or whatever lie he’d sold her, when you mightknow exactly whose bed he’d been in.’
‘So, who’s the letter from?’
‘Did anybody other than Henry even know you were on the case?’
‘Nobody at all. I told you that.’
‘That’s not quite true, in the sense that you’ve been clumping round the country asking everyone whether they’ve seen a short, pompous crime writer murdering one of his mates.’
‘Fair enough. Denzil at the pub knows I was asking questions. And I did tell the man at the club that I was a private detective, and I did give him my phone number.’
‘And Emma. She might have guessed from your clumsy attempts at detective work that something was going on.’
‘I scarcely think this was written by Emma. Denzil, maybe, if he can write at all.’
‘Could Henry have told anyone else he was employing you?’
‘It would be an odd thing to do under the circumstances.’
‘Could you have been followed, then?’
‘Yes, easily; but how would anyone have known I was worth following?’
Elsie chewed one of my chips thoughtfully. ‘You’re right. None of this makes sense. To want you off the case somebody has to know you’re on it. And even if they did, why would they want you off?’
‘Because I might be about to come up with something that would clear Henry and put the blame firmly on somebody else?’ I suggested.
‘But that would assume they thought you were in some way a competent investigator … That’s yummy, by the way.’
‘Yes, but I wish you wouldn’t do it.’
My agent had been assisting her thought train by squirting large amounts of tomato ketchup on my plate and then dipping my remaining chips into it one by one.
‘Shame to waste them,’ she said, stuffing three chips into her mouth very quickly.
‘I wasn’t wasting them,’ I said. ‘I had plans for them that didn’t involve ketchup.’
‘Prevention is better than cure,’ said Elsie vaguely. ‘We have to assume that, while you investigate on Henry’s behalf, somebody out there who has a very strong interest in the case is carrying out their own investigations, and doing their best to put a spoke in yours.’
‘Possibly,’ I said.
‘Of course, if I were married to Crispin, I’d murder him, then cover things up with an elaborate but foolproof stratagem, almost certainly involving phony death threats.’
‘But you’re not married to him. Emma is.’
‘You know her well?’ Elsie paused, chip in hand, scrutinising me more than I would have wished.
‘I’ve met her. Maybe once or twice.’
‘So have I. She’s quite attractive. Definitely your type.’
‘As I say, I might have talked to her once,’ I said. ‘Or possibly twice. She sometimes goes to conferences with Crispin. You get talking to people in bars. Quite innocently. Anyway, returning to the subject in hand, if
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