The Saint Valentine's Day Murders by Ruth Dudley Edwards Page B

until proved innocent.’
    ‘Except Mr Shipton,’ said Greenstreet helpfully.
    ‘Of course except Mr Shipton.’
    ‘And the clerical assistant and the typist,’ said Greenstreet, who had been studying the staff list carefully.
    Amiss noticed Lorre’s hand twitch as if it ached to land a blow on his moronic colleague’s fleshier parts – but he confined himself to a quick grinding of teeth. ‘Now, Mr Underhill. If Mr Amiss will leave us, we will take an account of your movements on the night of the outrages.’
    Amiss melted silently away, but not before he had observed Horace’s near-catatonia at the suggestion that he might himself have fouled up his seminar.
    Summoned for his interview half an hour later, Amiss was amused to see that by now the furniture had been rearranged to more forbidding effect. There were now only three chairs in evidence. Lorre and Greenstreet shared one end of the table and the lonely chair at the far end was intended for the interviewee. No blinding lamp, alas. Amiss felt tolerantly disposed towards them. This case must be rather fun compared to their usual work. As far as he knew, Security usually had a pretty dull time organizing rosters for the guarding of BCC property and investigating petty theft. Why shouldn’t they play Special Branch when the occasion presented itself?
    He had to admit they were thorough. They led him efficiently through all his movements between arrival and departure and asked detailed questions about who had been in his company throughout the evening. As he finished, Greenstreet passed his notes over to Lorre, who scanned them quickly and nodded.
    ‘Thank you, Mr Amiss,’ said Greenstreet with a beam. ‘You have been most helpful. We shall be coming back to you next week when we have completed our preliminary interviews…’
    ‘Assuming we have not already identified the culprit,’ broke in Lorre darkly.
    ‘Oh, yes, indeed. Assuming we have not already identified the culprit. Then we will want to look for motives and consider the… er… psych-ol-og-i-cal dimension.’ He smiled proudly and the interrogation was at an end.
    Amiss’s weekend with Rachel was a much-needed break. Although Lorre and Greenstreet had disappeared to Twillerton after two days in PD, they had left behind them an edgy staff who talked little and laughed less.
    He was surprised to be called to Room 510 at 9:15 on Monday morning. They must have worked fast – presumably they got double time for the weekend.
    He smiled brightly at them. ‘Did you enjoy yourselves at Twillerton?’ Then, recognizing from Lorre’s face that that had been the wrong thing to say: ‘I mean, did you have a productive time?’ That wasn’t successful either. Lorre glowered at him.
    ‘We got the job done, Mr Amiss.’
    ‘You mean you’ve… identified the culprit?’
    ‘Let us say,’ said Lorre, placing the tips of his fingers together, ‘that we have considerably narrowed the field of suspects and are therefore closer to reaching a conclusion as to the perpetrator of…’
    ‘The outrages?’
    Lorre nodded grimly.
    ‘Oh, well done,’ said Amiss heartily. Christ, Lorre was looking affronted again. ‘How can I help you?’
    Lorre leaned over the table and looked at him keenly. ‘Acting on information received, we are now pursuing a new line of investigation.’
    Amiss kept his face straight and tried to look encouraging. ‘And that is…?’
    ‘The sequence of practical jokes that has occurred over recent months in PD.’
    ‘Oh, surely they’re entirely irrelevant. They were all quite harmless.’
    ‘That is for us to decide, Mr Amiss. Now, we know that you were a victim of several of them. We want facts. What happened and when?’
    Amiss found himself dithering. How the hell could he protect Tiny without pleading the Fifth Amendment? He stalled.
    ‘They were all so trivial. It’s hard to remember them.’
    ‘Try, Mr Amiss.’
    Amiss stumblingly cited three or four of the most