Murder in the Cotswolds by Nancy Buckingham

the local later on, and I wanted to tell him it didn’t look as if I’d be able to make it. That would have been about nine-thirty.”
    “Tried to, you said.”
    “He didn’t answer, so he must have been out. Why should I have to account for my movements like this, when I’ve done nothing?”
    “The sergeant has already explained your rights to you, Mr. Gower. You’re under no obligation to tell us anything.”
    “And if I don’t, you’ll be all the more suspicious.”
    Kate didn’t reply. She’d come here this morning as certain as she could be that they had tracked down their murderer. Nothing had transpired to change her opinion; indeed, it was only strengthened by the feeble alibi Richard Gower had given them. She felt a flash of anger against him that he couldn’t put up a more plausible defence than this.
    “I’d like you to provide us with a written statement, Mr. Gower.” Her voice came out harsh and uncompromising. “At a police station would be best. Can you come with us now?”
    “I’ve told you, I’m tied up all day. I have to put the paper to bed.”
    “Very well. Shall we make it tomorrow morning? Ten o’clock? Either here or at Chipping Bassett.”
    He shrugged. “This is really ridiculous. You insist it was my car, but I happen to know that it’s just not possible.”
    “Could you have left the car unlocked, sir?” asked Boulter.
    “You mean ... ?” Gower checked himself and shook his head. “No, I definitely locked it. I remember I had to go out to the car for my briefcase, which I’d forgotten to take in with me. The car was locked, and I relocked it.”
    The sergeant had offered Gower a chance to ease himself off the hook, but he hadn’t taken it. Was that innocence, or cleverness? It was just conceivable, Kate reflected, that someone else had borrowed his car for the killing. Had seen it parked outside his home ... had risked it not being missed for long enough ... had happened to have a key that fitted (the lock had not been tampered with). It stretched credibility too far.
    But you want it to be true, Kate, don’t kid yourself.
    “I’m afraid we’ll have to hold your car for the time being,” she said in an even tone.
    “You mean I can’t use it? For how long?”
    “We need to give it an exhaustive examination, and that takes time. I’d advise you to borrow or hire a car.”
    “It’s me who pays, I suppose?”
    Kate stood up to leave. “You have more serious things to worry about than the cost of hiring a car, Mr. Gower. Don’t forget, ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Where do you prefer?”
    “Oh, it had better be here in Marlingford.”
    “Very well, I’ll make arrangements. While you’re there, we can take your fingerprints.”
    “And if you find my fingerprints on my own car, your brilliant police mind will grab that as certain proof that I committed murder.”
    “No. But if you want us to believe that someone else must have driven your car for the killing, you’d better hope we find some fingerprints that don’t belong to you.”
    In the Market Square, when the two police officers reached it, the Volvo had been taken away. A red Maestro had snatched the vacant space.
     
    * * * *
    The scent of honeysuckle hung on the warm night air as Tim Boulter dropped Kate off at the garden gate of her aunt’s cottage. It was well past eleven o’clock.
    “My supper will be dried to cinders and the wife’ll be as mad as hell,” he forecast morosely. “Nothing new in that, though.”
    “Blame it on me,” Kate suggested as she stepped out of the car.
    He chuckled without amusement. “You reckon that would help? Night, ma’am.”
    “Night, Tim.”
    “What time d’you call this, girl?” scolded Felix from the living room as Kate let herself in.
    “Give me a drink and don’t nag.” Kate flopped into an armchair.
    “It’s all over town that it was murder,” said Felix, pouring whisky for them both. “I know I shouldn’t ask, but ...”
    “Then